#i will have to check out wisp before hand because i.... do not really know them. but big q tommy and tubbo pog

[skzdarlings]

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

-

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness.  Everything feels romantic.  Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix,  Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.   

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium.  He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance. 

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate.  A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in.  Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad.  He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek. 

You poke that cheek.  A muscle in his jaw twitches.  He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.  

“Do not,” he says. 

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.” 

You obey his demand for silence.  For about six seconds. 

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably. 

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says.  “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed.  You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him.  Felix sighs but slows his pace.  To your surprise, he answers your question.  “A month,” he says.  “I’ve been working there a month.” 

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say.  “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop.  Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together.  He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.   

“I already told you,” he says.  “My job is checking tickets.  Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.   

He smiles.  It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow.  He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver. 

“Let me guess,” he says.  “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart?  You can’t hold one down.  You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they?  Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring.  And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it.  Except by acting out.  It’s fun, right?  Looking for trouble.  Makes you feel something for a minute.  Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside.  You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped.  Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth. 

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues.  “You told me I was a good boy, yeah?  Your words.  And you think you’re bad.  A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?” 

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature. 

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says.  “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you?  You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay.  But you don’t make it easy.  And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.” 

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface.  To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background. 

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask. 

He is still smiling. 

He laughs, a low chuckle.  He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight. 

“No, I’m not,” he says.  “I’m just the same as you.  Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time.  Just so good, you know?”  He is almost theatrical in tone.   “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you.  Isn’t it?” 

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips.  It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes. 

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper. 

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good.  If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours.  He abruptly steps back. 

Oh.  You blink quickly.  Yes.  Of course.  It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it?  He does not need to flaunt it.  He can just smile at you. 

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his.  He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street.  So seemingly innocent.  Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat. 

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples. 

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs.  He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life.  It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are.  “I’m not sick.  See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run.  Twisted, on the other hand… well…” 

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate.  You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you. 

You smile back at him. 

You still intend to win.

-

It is a twenty minute walk.  Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations.  Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires.  He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed.   Very, very detailed.   

“Um, right,” he says.  “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.” 

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario.  He looks a little wan. 

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished. 

“I dunno, get creative.  My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh?  Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out.  Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end. 

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.  

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says.  “I am standing right beside you.  You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.”  You do not bother hiding your texts. 

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies.  “It sounds like my business.” 

“Well, it’s not.  We’ve already established the world revolves around me.  You’re the supporting character, pal.” 

“Right,” he says.  He blinks at the screen.  In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?” 

It never hurts to be thorough.  You type the address and send it to the boys. 

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes. 

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat.  “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over.  “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt.  “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow.  “Is this what you call winning?” he asks. 

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows.  “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say.  “And my opinion is the only one that matters.” 

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown.  Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips.  He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him.  “Come on,” he says.  “We’re almost there.”  

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse.  You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house.  Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway.  It is an ostentatious design to say the least.  You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.  

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties.  “This place belongs to my parents.  They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.” 

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach.  “About your background, I mean.  You and me really are alike.” 

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings.  Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite.  It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there. 

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door. 

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks.  He stands silent for a long moment.  When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say.  “You know.” 

“Uhh.”  He blinks quickly.  “I have feelings all the time.  Every day.”

“Wow,” you say.  “That sounds exhausting.  Explains a lot about you.” 

“All right.”  He shakes his head.  He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one. 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look.  You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door.  The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing.  It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping.  Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire.  You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips. 

Felix is none-the-wiser.  He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code.  It beeps and goes quiet.   You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight.  He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans.  Unassuming, gentle, sweet.  Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass.  But he can.  He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you. 

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space.  You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack.  The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care.  The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name. 

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts.  “Sorry for the mess.  I wasn’t expecting company.” 

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away.  You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing.  Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft.  It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky.  And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says.  “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.” 

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him.  The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality.  Mutual objectification is more your style.  Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings. 

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door.  “It’s freaky.” 

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking.  Ugh.   You shake it off and push open his bedroom door. 

He shakes his head and leads you in.  He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison.  His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets.  Yes.  That is more your thing.  Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core.  You want him to lose control.  You want to drive him crazy.  You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer.  A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top.  He takes it out and immediately unlocks you. 

The cuffs fall to the floor.  He scoops them up and jingles them in your face. 

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say.  “You evil son of a bitch.”   

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings.  But he knew you wanted to play him.  He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer.  Now there is no reason to linger.  Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again. 

He is going to make you ask for it. 

That is not your style.  You hate being out-smarted.  And you really, really, really hate losing. 

“Right,” you say.  “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says.  “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom.  It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights.  You are swimming in blue, breathing it in.  His hair, the room, and moonlight. 

You will never see this colour the same way again.  Of that much you are certain. 

“Blue,” you say. 

His brow crinkles.  “Blue?” he repeats. 

“Mm.”  You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze.   “Red.  Yellow.  Green.  Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath.  The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you.  He is dazzling.  This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room.  “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…” 

“Uh-huh,” he says.  He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely.  Now he knows what you are capable of doing.  Now you understand each other. 

He follows you, assessing every step you take.  There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more. 

“And what does blue mean?” he asks.  “To you?” 

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins.  So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting.  The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces. 

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth.  His confidence is easy.  He needs no grand display of machoism.  He just smiles that pretty pink mouth.  The glitter on his cheek sparkles.    

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says.  Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.” 

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand.  You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table.  You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.  

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well.  Because it is not as though he loves the clock.  It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents.  You can read him that easily too.  He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks.  He likes neon and blue and you. 

“Put what back?” you ask.  You have reached the front door.  Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. 

You push the door open. 

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say.  With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?” 

Red to stop.  Yellow to pause.  Green to give in. 

“Blue,” he says.  To play. 

You smile.  You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.    

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.” 

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came.  He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.   

“Sweetheart,” he says.  “Don’t make me do this.” 

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice.  There is nothing soft about him.  He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body.  You feel each glance.  A shiver races down your spine.  Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze. 

It also gets you so, so hot. 

All that tension snaps. 

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate.  You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe.  You show him no mercy this time.  Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again. 

You glance over your shoulder.  He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused. 

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again.   Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you. 

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth.  You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block.  There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes. 

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you.  You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone.  A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you. 

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes.  Your heart leaps.  The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend.  You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light.  You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds.   But running on the road will expose you too quickly. 

You will not surrender that easily.  He knows that. 

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea.  You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow.  He is not behind you so you race back to his house. 

There is no way he will circle back here.  He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates.  He would never guess you ran back into his house.  Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait. 

You run back up the driveway.  The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked.  Nope. He locked it.  Maybe that is why he was delayed. 

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in.  But no, you are still winning.  He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.    

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows.  You do not think he had time to set the alarm.  Did he?  Maybe that is why he was so far behind. 

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard.  You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape.  The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around.  There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit.    In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight.  Of course. 

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath.  You strategize your next move.  Should you pose on one of the pool chairs?  Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum.  Someone is making their way down the side of the house.  

You panic.  You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide.   You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it. 

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard.  He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered.  He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open. 

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence.   You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.    

 “I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence. 

Your heart leaps into your throat.  You should have known better.  Of course he had the same idea as you.  Now what?  How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move? 

You peek around the storage trunk.  Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight.  Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut.  He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock.  He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him. 

So that is why he took so long.  He unlocked the gate before giving chase.  He laid a trap and you ran right into it. 

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper. 

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly.  It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches. 

Your heart tempers itself when he stops.  He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.  

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard.  “You don’t need to hide.  I promise I’m not mad.”  He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees.  He hums thoughtfully to himself.  “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…”  He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning.  “Hmm, hmm, hmm…” 

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin.  You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him.  You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you.  So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him.   You almost want to scream.  He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him. 

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone.  He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid.  “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble.  Even though you are far away, it makes you jump.  You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping. 

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it.  He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing.  Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile. 

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says.  “I thought we were turning into friends.  Don’t you want to be my friend?” 

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table.  He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you. 

He is giving you time, you realize.  He wants you worked up.  He wants your heart racing.  He wants you quivering and soft and afraid. 

You look around frantically, searching for an escape. 

Your hope rises then plummets.  The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap.  It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you. 

You jump at another slam.  It was the shed door.  He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside. 

“Come on,” he says into the shed.  “Don’t be scared.” 

You take a deep breath.  You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned.  You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can. 

He is just as quiet.  You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena.  Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth. 

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him. 

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth.  He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand.  “Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  “Fight me.  Brat.” 

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before.  There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front.  You kick your legs as he straddles your backside.  He brings your hands together on the base of your spine. 

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration.  Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back. 

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up.  He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it.  You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm. 

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth.  It hovers like he expects you to start screaming.  You just exhale heavily, glaring.  “All right,” he says.  “Very good.  Come on.” 

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground.  He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him.  He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way. 

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs.  He catches you quickly.   You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again. 

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between.  With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together. 

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly. 

“Not quite,” he says, laughing.  “I’ve been picturing something else.” 

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open.  The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier. 

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough.  You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard.  But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand.   It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand. 

“This is what I was picturing,” he says.  It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper.  His lips graze your ear and you shiver. 

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth.  A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart.  His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons. 

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you.  “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.  He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more.  “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?”  You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips.  He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly.  “God, that’s hot,” he says.  “You might be a brat but your pussy...   It’s begging for it, isn’t it?  Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm?  Hmm?” 

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns.  You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast. 

“Tell me,” he says.  “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.” 

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply. 

“You can do better than that,” he says.  “Come on.  Show me how much you want it.  You can’t lie to me, sweetheart.  I can feel it, hmm?  Gonna feel it when you come.  Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that?  What’s it want?” 

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine. 

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says.  “Fuck you.  You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need.  You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right?  Go on.  Show me you want it.  Show me.” 

Your chest is heaving.  Your eyes close.  You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately.  It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking. 

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you.  He knows you are about to come.  This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand.  You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you.  The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue.   He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch. 

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth.  You catch your breath, slumping against his chest. 

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head.  You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth.  You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers.  You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself.  Strands of blue fall across his forehead.  He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel. 

He grins around his fingers.  Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his.  He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths.  His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his.  You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses. 

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly.  “Because for what we do next…”  He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is.  “Yeah, sweetheart.  For that, I need all of you.” 

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you.  You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright.   You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath. 

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone.  You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch.  You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant. 

You follow him to the open door.  One step, two steps. 

Then you say, “Blue.” 

You take off running into the house. 

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you. 

He slams the door shut behind him.  You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside.  It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape. 

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide.  There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances.  Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard.  And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about. 

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.    

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice.  His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual.  “Stop hiding.  I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…” 

You peer at him between some boxes.  He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too.  The glittering amusement has left his eyes.  They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air. 

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it.  He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place.  He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables. 

You shuffle with him, moving when he does.  He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses. 

“Come on now,” he says, turning around.  He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple.  “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says.  “I know you, sweetheart.  You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah?  Hmm.  You’re fast.  I bet you’re flexible too.  I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions.  Get you making all sorts of noises for me…” 

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move.  Your limbs are still shaky.  Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch. 

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses.  Did he hear that?  Maybe not.  He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs.  It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns. 

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs.  In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.”  Then he smiles again.  He turns in your direction slowly.  “You’re not scared of me, are you?” 

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you.  Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house. 

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good.  You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.” 

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet.  It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.    

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says.  He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you.  “Don’t make me come get you,” he says.  “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”    

You shuffle to the side.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs. 

“Right,” he says.  “Fine.  We’ll do it that way.” 

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away.  You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on.  It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide. 

You can hear Felix stomping after you.  You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide. 

You yelp when he bursts in behind you.  This time, he does not give.   He grabs you roughly when you try to run again.  With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder.  He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back. 

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom.  “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?”  He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him.  He smiles.  “Worth a shot, no?” 

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says. 

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you.  He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans. 

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him.  “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.” 

You were right.  You will never see the colour blue the same way again.  You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again. 

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open.  He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough.  He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick.  He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water.  You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face.  He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars.  Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he says.  He reaches down to wipe a tear.  “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle. 

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach.  He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress.  Then he swoops up.  He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything. 

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips.   He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.” 

“Oh god,” is your rough reply. 

“It’s Felix,” he says.  “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

He has a condom in his bedside drawer.  Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?”  He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips.  You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy.  “No, sweetheart,” he says.  “I’m gonna have all of you.  And you – are gonna – take it.” 

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you.  You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more.  When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before.  You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you.  You let them melt into the physical sensations.  When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you.  You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  His face is in your neck when he laughs.  It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement.  “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you.  He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes.  It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs. 

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle.  He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it.  Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes. 

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says. 

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck.  You get uncharacteristically bashful.  Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much.  Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed.  Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile. 

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks. 

You nod.  He smiles. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“That’s nice.  Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh. 

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes. 

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while.  You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light.  You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress. 

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head.  “What!  Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning.  “I better be prepared.” 

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you.  I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says.  “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back.  “I still won this round.” 

He lifts your face so he can look at you.  Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you.  You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore.  Vexatious vixen, indeed.   

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.” 

“Fine,” you say.  You kiss again, long and sweet.  Then you bop him on the nose.  “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head.  Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.   

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #lee felix smut #felix smut #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x you #skz x you #stray kids x you

[cherrychilli]

18+

Eddie Munson x flexible! reader, AFAB reader, allusions to PIV sex

Eddie finds out you're double jointed.

A/N: This one's super self indulgent because I'm very bendy and I felt like writing about it. Also they smoke weed but everything's consensual✌️

"C'mon, there's gotta be something about you I don't know already", he prompts after another smoky exhale, blunt pinched between his thumb and forefinger. It wisps out into the evening air beyond the back doors of his van, opened out to overlook a moon dappled lover's lake.

This is what the conversation had dwindled down to after having spent the whole day together, most other talking points already stretched thin by now.

Usually you would have considered the question more carefully but now that your intuition's been dulled by his stash, you search through the foggy corridors of your mind for an answer like you're feeling around for a light switch in the dark.

Eddie has been your closest friend for the better part of five years now and you weren't exactly a closed book by any means which made coming up with something all the more difficult.

Most of what comes to mind feels too mundane to mention so you pass them over in favor of searching for something that might pique his interest.

"Hmm, I'm kind of double jointed I guess", you slowly recalled, too mellowed out to realize the kind of implications something like that might carry to a man like Eddie.

But where there should have been raised eyebrows and a lascivious curve on his lips you find his eyes narrowing into a puzzled little squint instead as he looks at you from where he's leaned against the back of the driver's seat.

"But we've only had one", he turns the joint in his hand over to examine it closer as if a second one might be hidden somewhere underneath.

Maybe you'd given him too much credit.

You roll your eyes at him playfully, leaning closer on your hands and knees to pluck the joint out of his hand and take another puff. The weed might have made him a little slow and sluggish to fully comprehend your what you'd just shared with him but not enough to prevent him from sneaking a peek at your cleavage from this angle.

"No Eddie, it just means I'm flexible. Like, a little more than most people", you return to your side of the van, leaning back against the side door with your knees pulled up to your chest.

"So, like the splits?"

"More than that"

"More?", his eyes go wide and you can see a hint of redness bordering his sclera, certain the same tinge is present in own eyes too.

"Yeah, like check this out", you hand him back the last of the joint for him to finish off and put out. Holding up your left hand, you fold your thumb into your palm and gather the rest of your fingers with your right hand, slowly bending them back beyond what he thought to be your limit.

The unnatural arc might have unsettled anyone else but not Eddie and you begin to giggle when his face lights up instead of twisting into a wince.

"Shit, does that hurt?"

"Nope", you start to beam a little, letting him take your hand in his when he reaches for it eagerly.

Carefully, he manipulates them, making them bend in all kinds of ways; touching your thumb to your forearm, pushing the first joint of each finger back as far as possible.

"Oh that's fucked", he smiles big and wide as if he could gladly spend an entire day just messing around with your fingers.

"What else can you do?"

His impress fills you with a new kind of high, one much more heady than the weed and you fail to resist it now that you've gotten a taste.

"Mm, I can get my legs behind my head too", you shrug, this time much more aware of what you're divulging.

"Seriously? both of them?", he manages to ask calmly enough though you can almost feel him buzzing under his skin like a cicada about to take flight.

"Yeah, don't even really have to stretch to do it"

His jaw tenses, his normally expressive face unreadable before he quietly asks, "can I see?"

Oh this is dangerous. You feel like you're entering uncharted territory in your friendship but you like the look stirring in his eyes too much to deny him.

"Maybe just one", you offer, thankful that you're wearing your cotton shorts today instead of something denim.

Sitting criss cross on the old blanket he uses to carpet the back of his van for smoke sessions, you slip off your flip flops and place both hands on your right foot. With your left hand cradling the ball of your foot and your right hand gripping your heel, you begin to lift your leg up past your chest.

The underside of your thigh which he only gets to secretly ogle on days when you're dressed like this is bared to him as you get your calf over your shoulder, no trace of pain or discomfort on your face. Dropping your right hand, you duck your head slightly to maneuver your foot over it with your left hand then it's done. Your foot slips into place behind your head, heel nudging the nape of your neck. You're able to straighten up to look him in the eye, shooting him a wink while you wiggle your toes.

"There. Not so hard", you can't help but show off, drunk on the stunned look etched on Eddie's face.

And then his eyes trailed lower.

He does it quickly -- a mental snapshot that he'll file away for later. He memorizes the way your shorts have ridden up, so tight around your core he can make out the print of your underwear and the shape of your cunt beneath the stretched out fabric, wishing he could rip the stitches of the offending material apart and fit his tongue there instead.

Pleased with your display, you untangle yourself smoothly, limbs returning to their rightful alignments as Eddie takes a few seconds to blink himself out of his thoughts. His entirely non platonic, downright debaucherous thoughts.

"Woah that was...wow", he settles, pressing his lips together before his motormouth revs up and he lets out something he'll regret. 'You're like a sexy stretch Armstrong', nearly makes its way through but he's able to bite on to it and swallow it back down just in time.

"You're the first guy I've ever shown that to", you laugh but it comes out a little weak now that you're processing what you've just done.

"Seriously? what about Mark?", he asks, face scrunching up slightly like the name left a bad taste in Eddie's mouth.

The mention of your last ex sobers you up even more. "No, I never told him", you tell him simply, smothering down a laugh. The truth was Mark's idea of kinky was leaving the lights on so you never brought up your little contortionist act, afraid it would be too much for him to handle.

"Don't think he would have been into it", you tell Eddie instead and he looks back at you, deadpanned.

"What?"

"Sorry I just find that really hard to believe", he clears his throat, barely disguising his own interest.

The silence that follows has a certain weight to it. It's a familiar kind of weight that you've felt before on days when you're alone with Eddie and the line between friends and something more begins to blur. The weight of possibility.

"Always wanted to try it", you add, hoping like hell that you haven't misread that hungry look in his eyes.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I don't know just seems like it could be...fun?", you shrug, a not entirely successful attempt at appearing nonchalant because you've begun to sweat. The van feels far too small all of a sudden which doesn't make sense because you're nowhere near as close as you would like to be with the boy who's seems to be stuck on what to say next.

Call it a leap of faith or call it a huge fucking mistake but you decide to take the plunge and ask him the question that's been beating on the inside of your cranium like a hammer on a nail.

"Eddie, would it be weird if I ask you to-"

"Yes", he answers quickly. Resolutely.

The swiftness of it hurts like a guillotine coming down on your heart -- shot down before you'd even finished the question so you swallow down your regret like a throatful of gravel.

"R-right. Yeah I know it was stupid of me to even try to-"

He doesn't know where he went wrong until he sees your bottom lip tremble and the confidence you'd worn up until now completely strip away, realizing you've mistaken him eagerly jumping the gun for flat out rejection.

Eddie's hands come down on your shoulders as he bolts up to kneel in front of you, shaking you to shock the tears away before they have a chance rise and turn your eyes glassy.

"No! I mean yes, it's not not weird but I don't care because YES, I want to um, do that with you… is what I meant"

His grip eases up but his eyes stay wide to read your expression, chest no longer feeling like an anvil had been dropped on it when a smile breaks out on your face, the kind that feels like it could reach beyond his ribcage and touch his heart.

"Really?", you ask, somehow understanding him perfectly. If there was anyone who could make sense of Eddie's nonsense it was you.

"I mean, if you want to...", he leans closer when he catches you looking at his lips.

"I do want to", you lean in too, hands smoothing up his chest, bringing your lips closer to his.

For all the effort he put into keeping his unfiltered thoughts from spilling out it's just his luck that he stumbles over the very last hurdle before the finishing line.

"Oh my god I'm going to fold you like a pretzel"

It's so abrupt and silly and just so Eddie that you can't help but laugh, dropping your head. His lips skim your forehead and he laughs too, both of you holding each other, locked in a giggle fit until it tapers and subsides.

When you do look back up the heat that had been there before his gaffe returns tenfold. "Maybe leave the dirty talk to me", you place a hand on the back of his neck, pulling him in for a proper kiss.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things smut #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

[azriels-shadowsinger]

Confessions (Azriel x Reader) - Part Two

wc: 3.7k

warnings: smut! minors dni!

a/n: thank you so much for all the love on part 1!! hope yall enjoy!

Read Part One

Once you are alone again, you immediately go in search of Azriel. Maybe you’re imagining it, but you swear your lips are still tingling from where he kissed you. You don’t even know what you would say to him after royally fucking up that entire conversation, but you have to try. His usual spots were no luck, as were his room and basically the rest of the House of Wind.

He’s gone. Fuck.

The next best option to to go find Mor and hopefully sort through some of the thoughts racing inside your head. You find her in her room, lounging on her bed reading. She gives you that same worried and apologetic look from earlier, but you stop her before she can apologize again.

“Don’t say anything. It's fine, I’m fine. But we need to talk, like right now.” You say anxiously and sit on her bed with her. After you repeat to her everything that Azriel had said, Mor is beaming from ear to ear.

“He really said that? Holy gods, y/n! What did he say when you told him you felt the same way?” Her eyes are wide with excitement.

“Well…. I didn’t. Feyre interrupted to check on me, and then he left before I could tell him anything. And now he’s nowhere to be found.” You sigh and try to hide the disappointment on your face.

“Oh y/n. I’m sorry.” She says softly and wraps an arm around you. “He just left? He didn’t even give you a chance to say how you feel?” She questions.

“Not exactly…” you draw back, embarrassed. “He was basically begging me to tell him I felt the same, but I completely froze and didn’t say anything.” I murmur and look at my hands, ashamed.

“Y/n!” Mor yells.

“I know, I know! I’m a gods damn idiot! This is what I have wanted for literally centuries, but once I finally get a chance… I completely fuck it up!” You flop back onto her bed in defeat, running your hands over your face. “I don’t know what happened! He kissed me, and I just froze! What is wrong with me?” You groan. Mor rubs a soothing hand on your arm.

“It will be okay. You said he wasn’t anywhere in the House of Wind, so he probably found some mission that sent him away for a few days, just like he always does when he is avoiding his problems.” She reassures. You nod in agreement. “In the meantime, you need to figure out what the hell you are even gonna say to him, because you really can’t fuck it up again." She chuckles, and you throw a pillow at her.

“Not helpful, Mor!” You laugh.

———

Days pass, and there is no word from Azriel. Rhys said he should be back by the end of the week and even used his daemati powers to request that he return earlier, but Azriel refused.

You try not to let his absence and your lingering anxiety about the situation bother you too much. On the outside, you go about your day as normal, but internally, you feel like a complete gods damn mess.

———

The weekend arrives, and you anxiously await any news that Azriel is back. You don’t even bother trying to be subtle, checking the hallway between your rooms every time you hear the slightest noise.

Soon it is well after midnight, and you begin to accept that he isn’t coming home any time soon. You wander down to the kitchens in search of something overly sweet to ease your sorrows. Several chocolate chunk cookies later, courtesy of Elain, you still don’t feel much better. You stare out the kitchen window while you eat, lost in thought of what to do now.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something move. You turn around to look, but no one is there. You were about to call it a night and go back to your room when you see the shadows in the corner moving ever so slightly. Your breath catches in your throat and you stare at the wisps of darkness. Could it be?

Two small shadows dart out of the corner toward you. Having been caught, they move closer and swirl around your legs eagerly.

The cool sensation makes you giggle, and you look down at them, ignoring the ache in your chest that it wasn’t him. But he must be here somewhere if his shadows are back. You rush up to your room, shadows trailing behind you. Just as you turn onto your hallway, you see Azriel standing outside his door. He stops and stares at you for a moment, a pained look in his eyes. Before you can say anything, he quickly slips into his room and shuts the door.

Okay, ouch. You get that he might not want to talk, but he could at least be civil. The two shadows at your side linger for a moment before slipping under his door as well. Once again, you are alone.

———

Morning comes after a very poor night’s sleep. You wait until the sun peaks above the horizon before stepping into the hall and sitting on the floor against the wall, waiting for Azriel. Half an hour passes, and he still hasn’t emerged from his room. That’s unusual, he’s usually up to train by now. You knock on his door, but the other side is silent. He must already be gone.

You make your way to the training ring, and thankfully you found him there. Azriel and Cassian were sparring hand-to-hand in the ring, and it was apparently a very intense match since they were both glistening with sweat. Azriel faces away from you, so you can only see his shirtless back, but holy gods his back. You can’t help but stare as his broad shoulders move and his muscles ripple. Cassian finally notices you after several minutes and smirks at you, stopping the match. Azriel looks behind himself in confusion, but his expression immediately changes to panic when he sees you.

Well, it’s now or never. He will just keep evading you if you don’t talk to him now. You walk over to the training ring.

“Good morning, boys. Cass, do you mind if I step in and practice my sparring with Azriel? I’m a bit rusty and could use his help.” You ask sweetly, giving him a very obvious glare that says to leave. You’re not sure what all Azriel has told him, but he catches the hint immediately.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I have to, uh… go find Nesta.” He hurries off, leaving you alone with Azriel.

Azriel takes a step, like he wants to leave too, but you step in front of him.

“What do you want, y/n?” His prominent dark circles and sad eyes make your chest ache.

“I told you, I want to practice sparring. Just like we used to.” You give a hopeful smile and pull your hair up. He sighs in defeat and steps back into the ring with you. His shadows inch forward like they want to approach you, but ultimately stay by his side.

“Fine. But I don’t want to talk.” He mumbles. You nod and get into your fighting stance. He seems very apprehensive to attack first, so you make the first move. After a few minutes, the two of you get into the groove of it, moving so naturally with one another.

“You. Don’t have. To talk.” You say breathlessly between attempted punches. “But I’m gonna.” He obviously doesn’t like that, so he starts fighting back harder in an attempt to keep you from talking. You smirk at his increase in effort, dodging his punches. “Nice try. You forget who trained me.” The side of his mouth upticks ever so slightly.

“You’re right. That means I know all your moves.” He says smugly and avoids your attack. You try not to let his voice distract you, but damn, it’s so nice to finally hear him talk somewhat normally to you after so long.

“Last week, I didn’t-“ He swings at you, causing your words to cut off. You step aside and try again. "As I was saying-“ Another swing. You give him an annoyed glare and he just shrugs. “Azriel, will you please just let me ta-“ You dodge another attack. This is ridiculous, and it ends now. Quicker than he can react, you move behind him and knock his feet out from under him with one swift kick, immediately moving to pin his arms down and straddle his waist. Azriel half-heartedly fights back for a moment before giving up.

“Fine. You win. Can you let me go?” He avoids your gaze. You tighten your grip on his wrists. Azriel’s shadows wrap themselves around your legs, and you savor the familiar feeling of their chill.

“No. You’re gonna let me talk.” You and Azriel both know he could get out of your hold in a matter of seconds, but the fact that he doesn’t means he must be willing to hear you out. You take a deep breath and focus your spiraling thoughts. Azriel gives a silent nod, still looking anywhere but your eyes.

“Look, I messed up last week. I was still kinda freaked out about what happened with Mikael.” Azriel flinches at the name, his expression turning murderous.

“Fucking piece of shit got what he deserved.” Azriel mutters under his breath. You try not to think too hard about what that means, but the blood on his clothes last week makes it pretty clear what happened.

“Anyway, I was still freaked out, and then you were asking me to tell you if I meant what I said that night, and I just got embarrassed and panicked.” You take a deep breath. This is it. “I’ve spent centuries trying to hide my feelings from you. I even tried dating other males, but ultimately each relationship ended because I put you before them. And when you started spending more time with Elain, I got jealous and decided that I had to try and move on for real. So when you asked me to tell you how I felt, I just couldn’t handle the heartache. And then you kissed me, and every single thought left my brain. I heard you tell me how you felt, I heard you ask me to tell you I felt the same, but I couldn’t form the words Az.” He finally looks up at you, his eyes wide and hopeful. “And you left before I could get my shit together and tell you. So let me say it now. I have loved you, as more than my best friend, for longer than I can remember Az. I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out how to say that last week.” He looks surprised. "It's always been you.” You repeat the words he told you last week.

A moment passes. Then two. And then his hands are free from your grip, pulling you close to him and kissing you deeply. You don’t hesitate this time, kissing him back with just as much passion. Azriel’s hips lift slightly, making you suddenly very aware of your current position. You hesitantly move yourself to go from straddling his waist to straddling his hips, unsure of what exactly he wants to happen. He freezes for a moment, causing you to overthink and pull away slightly, but before you can pull back completely, Azriel’s hands grip your hips and pull them closer to his. He groans softly into your mouth, letting one hand move from your hip to the nape of your neck, pulling you closer.

One second, you are on top of him kissing, and the next he is flipping you onto your back, holding himself up with one hand next to your head while the other caresses your waist. His mouth begins to trail down your neck and onto the column of your throat, giving you rough kisses along the way. A small whimper leaves you, which only seems to encourage him more.

From across the training ring, you hear voices approaching. Shit, you both completely forgot where you are and how public this is. Azriel pulls away and quickly stands, reaching out a hand towards you to help you up. You wonder if the interruption will be the end of this heated moment between the two of you, but Azriel pulls you by the waist close to him.

“Your room or mine?” He asks with a strained voice. The voices get closer, and before you can answer, Azriel lifts you up with your legs around his waist and winnows you to his room.

———

Once you arrive inside Azriel’s room, he gently sets you on his bed and takes a step back, staring at you. You can’t tell what his expression says, but you suddenly feel very shy under his intense stare.

“Uh, you okay?” You ask hesitantly. He gives you a grin and nods.

“I’m great. More than great. I’m just taking a second to admire this moment because I’ve spent the pst week feeling like Prythian’s biggest idiot for confessing my feelings to you when you didn’t feel the same way.” He stalks closer to you, his grin transforming into a lustful smirk. “But now that I know you feel the same way…” he towers over you, gently pushing you back onto the bed as he moves above you. “I am going to savor this. Every. Single. Second.” He kisses up your neck between his last few words.

“Oh… uh, okay.” You blush hard as the words come out in a whisper and every thought leaves your brain. Well, every thought except for Azriel. His hands tangle into your hair as he kisses you, but unlike before, this kiss isn’t overly eager and desperate. It’s purposeful and passionate, but the hunger from before still lingers between the two of you. Azriel’s hands slowly slide up your waist, under your shirt. His fingers play with the hem for a moment.

“Is this okay?” He whispers in your ear and softly bites your earlobe. You nod in response, but he pulls back and puts a hand on your cheek. “I need to hear you say it. You need to tell me exactly how far you want to go. I don’t want to do something you aren’t comfortable with.”

“Az. Please, I need you. All of you.” You plead.

“Thank the gods.” He wastes no time slipping his hands under your shirt and bra. His fingers graze over your nipples softly, causing you to whimper quietly. Azriel pulls your shirt off and quickly unclasps your bra, throwing it across his room. His eyes darken as he stares at you. You instinctively try to cover yourself, but he immediately pins both of your wrists above your head with one of his hands. “Don’t you dare hide from me, sweetheart. You are fucking gorgeous.” His words come out low and gravelly, causing you to blush a deep shade of pink.

Azriel lowers his mouth to one nipple and sucks, biting gently, while he rolls the other one between his fingers. The sensation makes you let out a low moan. He switches, making sure to give both equal attention before moving lower.

“Can I trust you to keep your hands up there?” He asks gruffly.

“And if I don’t?” You challenge with a smirk. Azriel gives a low chuckle. You feel the familiar chill of his shadows moving up your arms and around your wrists, restraining you. Two more shadows start playing with your nipples and the cold feeling makes you arch your back.

“I always wondered how you would be in bed.” He lowers himself toward your stomach. “But it seems like you like to be a brat.” His eyes gleam with excitement. “And if this wasn’t the first time that I get to worship your body, believe me, I would fuck the brattiness right out of you.” His fingers play with the hem of your pants as he kisses down your navel. “But I’m gonna let that attitude slide just this once.” His filthy words send a rush of heat to your core.

His hot breath dances over your skin and he slowly drags down your pants and panties all at once. Azriel stares at your pussy with complete adoration in his eyes.

“You are so fucking stunning, sweetheart.” He groans and teases a finger around your entrance. “And so fucking wet. Gods y/n, you might have the prettiest pussy I have ever seen.” His fingers trail up to your clit and he circles it softly. Moans spill from your lips freely now as you buck your hips towards him. “Patience. I’m just getting started.” He smirks and spreads your legs wide, before lowering his mouth to your core.

Azriel switches between kitten licks to your clit and teasing your hole with his tongue. Your moans get louder as you become more desperate.

“More. Fuck, Az, more please.” You beg. He pushes one of his long fingers into your pussy and curls it, making you cry out.

“You like that, sweetheart?” He asks with a smug smirk, as if he doesn’t know the damn answer. His shadows continue to tease your nipples, while one trails down to circle your clit while Azriel fucks you with his fingers. You had never felt pleasure this good, this intense. Azriel returns to sucking your clit, occasionally grazing his teeth across it, causing you to throw your head back and moan loudly. The familiar feeling of pleasure builds in your core. As if he can tell you are close, he speeds up his fingers. “That’s it, y/n. Come for me.”

“Fuck Azriel!” You yell and clench around his fingers while grinding on his face. Your orgasm rips through you like an explosion. Azriel draws the feeling out longer with his fingers continuously moving inside you—slower now. “Az, please. I want you inside me. Now.” You whine. He looks up at you with a shit-eating grin, his chin wet with your arousal.

“I have waited a long fucking time to finally taste you, so I will stop once I get my fill.” He puts his tongues back on your clit and gives it a soft lick, causing your hips to buck at the intensified feeling. “Give me one more like this, sweetheart. I need you to cum on my face one more time before I’ll be satisfied.” He buries his face between your legs, eating you out like a male starved. This might be the hottest thing you have ever experienced. No male has ever been so eager to eat you out, especially not this well, and definitely never twice in a row.

It doesn’t take long for Azriel to bring you to the edge again. His fingers thrust inside your soaked cunt as he sucks your clit.

“Cum for me, sweetheart.” Right as your release bursts inside you, Azriel moves his face back up to your mouth, keeping his fingers in your pussy and on your clit to coax you through the orgasm. His shadows release your hands, and you grab onto his shoulders as he swallows your moans with his kiss. You eventually come down from your high and take a steadying breath.

Azriel grins down at you like a kid on Winter Solstice who got every present he wanted. “You are breathtaking, y/n.” He kisses you again and moves his hips above yours. “Are you sure, sweetheart?” His gentle tone fills you with warmth.

“Please, Azriel. Please fuck me.” He groans at your words and lines his tip up with your entrance.

“Let me know if you need me to stop, okay?” You nod. He slowly pushes himself into you, one inch at a time. Fuck, you knew he was big, but this is something else. “Are you okay?” He asks. You nod and lift your hips to meet his, encouraging him to keep going. Azriel pushes himself entirely into you and gives a low moan.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good.” He starts to slowly move in and out, gradually picking up his pace until he is pounding into you, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. “This pussy was fucking made for me.” He moans and drops his forehead onto yours. You feel your pleasure building again as his hand reaches down to rub your clit.

“I’m close, Az.” You moan into his shoulder. This causes him to slow down slightly, opting for agonizingly slow and deep thrusts.

“Not yet, y/n. I need to feel you more.”

Thrust

“I have wanted this for so long.”

Thrust

“So fucking long.”

Thrust

“And now you’re mine.”

Thrust

His eyes pour into yours intensely.

“I have loved you since I first met you, y/n.” He says in an intimately hushed tone.

“I love you too, Az. I have for so long.” Your words pull a moan from him, and he picks his pace back up, pounding his cock into you. His fingers return to your clit and he rubs circles, drawing out high-pitched moans from you.

“Cum for me, y/n. Fuck, please. Come on my cock, sweetheart.” It comes out more like a beg than a command. Your third orgasm causes you to clench around him and drag your nails down his back, probably leaving marks. A few more thrusts, and Azriel is spilling inside you, your name falling from his lips over and over.

You both lay there for a while, savoring the moment. After a minute, Azriel slowly pulls out of you, making you hiss from how sensitive your walls are. He heads to the bathroom and returns quickly with a wet cloth to clean you up. Once clean, he gets back into the bed and pulls you close to him. The two of you cuddle in silence for a while before he speaks up.

“I’m still convinced this is a dream.” He whispers in amazement while running his fingers through your hair.

“I’ll admit I’ve had similar dreams before.” You giggle. He turns you around to face him and raises an eyebrow.

“You’ve had wet dreams about me?” You blush hard and nod. “Fuck, that’s hot.” You giggle and bury your face in his chest as he pulls you closer.

“This isn’t a dream, Az. It’s real, and I really do love you.” You reassure him. You will tell him that a million times if that’s what it takes.

“I love you, y/n. So fucking much.” He hugs you tighter. The two of you doze off into a blissfully content sleep.

omg okay i hope yall liked this!! also btw i have never published smut ever before so i apologize if it sucked lol.

i’m having a lot of fun getting back into writing fics so please send me requests if you have any bc i suck at coming up with ideas.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar smut #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #a court of thorns and roses smut #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x female!reader #azriel x reader #azriel x reader smut #bat boys #bat boys smut #my writing

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Oh the Assistant!Kara AU tho…so one night Lena actually gets Kara to leave earlier than her (sisters night maybe?) but as she’s leaving she hears something suspicious and heads back up to be just in time to save Lena from an assassin, and is consequently horrified because people are actually trying to kill Lena? Like, she’s used to hearing death threats again Cat but none ever materialized and the fact that these so and Lena so…casually resigned? to them? Enter supergirl mode lol.

Okay but what if Kara *isn't* there? Lena is assaulted in the parking lot or in the lobby on her way out, and Kara doesn't hear about it until she's called to the hospital for a ride home. Injuries are minor, but bandages are visible, and Lena is shaken.

Kara is livid.

"...and where was the security guard?!" She ends a long diatribe with a frustrated huff.

"I don't know."

Lena's voice is so soft in the confines of the elevator up to her apartment, it stops Kara in her tracks. She looks at her boss, who's leaning against the wall of the elevator looking rumpled and tired in a bloodstained blouse. The wisps of hair that have come loose from its style makes Lena look so young, and for the first time Kara realizes that her boss isn't all that old in the first place.

In fact, she doesn't seem much older than Kara herself.

And tonight, her empowered, forceful, kind boss is just a rattled young woman who was attacked alone in a freaking parking garage.

"Hey," Kara says softly. Taking a risk, she reaches out to rest her hand gently on Lena's arm. "I'm sorry."

"Don't." Lena's voice comes cold and harsh, shocking Kara before it almost immediately softens. "Just... if you're kind to me I might just burst into tears, and I really don't want to do that just yet."

"It's okay." Kara kicks herself. "Sorry. Right. I can be mean..."

"I don't need mean," Lena says with a small smile. "I just... I just want to be home."

Right on cue, the elevator dings open, and Lena manages to unlock the multiple deadbolts with shaking fingers. The apartment inside is massive, and Lena flips on every light as she moves inside, allowing Kara to trail in behind her. They come to a stop in the kitchen, where Lena reaches into the fridge for a carafe of filtered water. She pours herself a glass and takes a long gulp before speaking.

"Thank you for driving me. Is there anything I can get you before I head home?"

Kara shakes her head. "No, I'm good. I'll clear your schedule for tomorrow-- I heard what the doctor said about the concussion, and you really should rest."

Lena nods her gratitude. "Thank you."

Kara turns to leave, then thinks better of it and turns back. "Actually, do you mind if I stay here tonight?"

Taken aback, Lena's eyes widen. "I-- what?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's late, and it's a long way back to my place, and I shouldn't be driving when I'm so tired. They say it's as bad as driving drunk," she punctuates with a dramatic yawn. She doesn't care what excuse she throws out-- Lena's apartment is too dark and too big for Lena stay here alone tonight.

"I don't know, Kara... it wouldn't be appropriate."

"Please," Kara says, falling solemn. "For me. I'll sleep on the couch."

Lena looks at her for a long moment. Finally, she relents. "Don't be ridiculous," she sighs. "You can use the spare room."

And if Kara checks every nook and cranny of that spare room-- and every other unoccupied inch of the apartment-- for any hidden intruders before she goes to sleep, well.

Who could blame her?

#supercorp #assistant au #imagine the guilt #soft lena is the best lena #protective kara is the best kara #fight me

[staytinyville]

Stay Alive (22)

BTS poly!ot7 x Reader

Magical Creatures AU

Series Masterlist

Warnings: None (THERE WILL BE NO MASTERLIST NEXT CHAPTER)

A/N UPDATES HAVE BEEN CHANGED (Please read not at the bottom). I will be updated Monday and Thursday now because I got ADHD when it comes to writing and I want to be caught up in the stories. I'm almost finished with this one so once I get all the chapters together, I will be updating this story everyday.

You mixed the food around on the plate before picking up a good amount with the chopsticks in your hand. You raised it up to the boy in front of you, waiting for him to take it.

“Tokki, it's fine.” Jungkook laughed. “I can feed myself.”

He still took the food into his mouth, but made to take the chopsticks from you. You sighed, realizing you were hovering over the poor boy. He probably wanted some space after being suffocated by the other boys all day. 

“Sorry, Kook.” You told him. “I'm just glad you're finally awake.”

“You saw me yesterday.” He grinned, teasing you.

“Yes but I was too busy dealing with knowing magical creatures are real to really have it set in your awake.” You laughed.

You frowned, as you began to think about the last time you had spoken to him. Watching him wither in pain. You found out why he was so aggressive to the guards and why he had growled so loud but that doesn’t make it hurt any less. 

“Your pain.” You asked him. “Do you go through those every full moon?”

“Only when I can't shift.” Jungkook hummed, talking after he swallowed his food. “They don't let me do that here.”

“How long do you have to stay in wolf form?” You questioned, thinking about how the moon worked. 

“Just for the day.” He told you. The grin that overcame his face as he began to think about his shift made you smile. 

“It's an amazing feeling. I hope to show you it one day.” He spoke, looking at you.

“I'd be more than happy to see.” You replied back. 

Someone had made their way into the room after knocking, smiles on all parties as you caught each other’s eyes. 

“Ah (Y/N).” Hoseok gleamed. “How are you?”

“I'm good Hobi.” You told him with a grin. 

“Good. Good.” Hoseok nodded to himself. “I came to check on Kookie for a little bit if you don't mind.”

“Not at all.” You said standing up and moving to give the boy room. 

You crossed your arms as Hobi began to wave his fingers in front of Jungkook. His back covered by the magic; the little wisps you caught going off to the side made you giddy. It reminded you of a fog. A fog that was colored a beautiful shade of dark purple. It suited Hoseok for some reason. 

When he turned around after finishing, he tilted his head catching your look.

“Are you okay?” He asked, seeing you staring with wide eyes. 

“Of course.” You spoke up. “Your magic just looks so beautiful. It's so amazing what you can do.” You told him. 

“Thank you.” Hobi blushed. 

“Can I see more?” You asked.

He looked at you worried for a moment, remembering how you had gotten a headache last time. But you hadn’t said anything this time.

“Sure.” Hobi shook his head. He raised his fingers up, moving them around as the purple mist started to form. Shapes began to come out from the fog, images of running horses moving past you.

As your eyes went wide from wonder, you suddenly felt a sharp pain in the back of your neck. You winced, sucking in a deep breath. Your hand tried to soothe the pain but it was futile seeing as the pain had been between your shoulder blades. 

“Hey, what happened?” Hoseok asked, dropping his hands and stopping the magic. Jungkook looked at you with worry, moving closer. 

“I don't know.” You spoke up, moving your shoulders around. “I just felt a pain in my back.”

Hoseok sighed, looking up at Jungkook. The boy only gave him a curious look. Hobi pursed his lips, remembering Jungkook wasn’t there when they spoke about the mark. He scratched at his chin, trying to come up with what to say. 

“(Y/N), do you know about the mark on your back?” He asked you.

Your eyebrows raised at his question. The only way to see that was to look under your shirt which you do not remember ever letting him do. As far as you knew, the only one who could have seen it was Jin but he assured you he didn’t look anywhere. It was your back, not your chest. 

“The weird birthmark?” You frowned at him. “When have you seen it?”

“When you fell into the pool.” Hoseok told you. 

Jungkook’s head snapped to his older friend, looking at him with an incredulous look. Hobi waved him off, signaling that he’d explain later. 

“Jin and Jimin found it when they were pulling you out.” He told you. “It's not a birthmark though. It's a spell mark.”

This only made the younger boy look back at you. He had missed so much in the time he was in a coma.  It was only a week. Someone really needs to catch him up.

“A what?” You squinted at him. 

“A spell mark.” Hobi repeated. “It's what happens when a witch or faerie places a spell on someone. You end up with a symbol that signifies the coven.”

You frowned, trying to think about what he had told you. You don’t have any sort of recollection of meeting anyone with that kind of ability. Up until yesterday, magical creatures were stories told at bedtime. You had no memory of meeting anything remotely magical outside of party magicians. 

“But I don't remember any kind of magical creatures?” You told him. “I'm positive I would know.”

“I think someone erased your memory about magic.” Hobi finally concluded. “Maybe, that's why it hurts when you see mine.” He sighed, looking down at his hand in thought. “I think it would be best to avoid looking at it for now.”

“Why would someone do that?” Jungkook asked, moving behind you to check on the symbol. 

You didn’t stop him as he pulled the neck of your scrubs back, trying to find the symbol in the dark. He pouted when he couldn’t see anything. 

“The symbol you have is for a coven that trains other people.” Hoseok told you both. “It belongs to a witch named Bang Si-hyuk–the leader of that coven.”

Jungkook seemed to perk up at the man’s name, tilting his head at Hobi. “Bang PD-Nim?” Jungkook exclaimed. 

If he had a tail you would imagine it wagging. 

“You guys know him?” You asked.

“He trained all of us before–everything.” Hoseok sighed. 

Your frown deepened as you tried to come up with a plausible answer. Everything was coming up empty and it was causing you to have an internal struggle. You wanted to cry from how frustrating things seemed to be. 

“Why would he do that to me though?” You looked at Hobi.

“Whatever it was, it had to do with your memories.” He watched as your eyebrows pulled together, noticing his mistake. “I—I went through them a while ago.” He told you quietly. 

“You went through my memories?” You frowned, looking at him upset. “Hobi.” You said disappointed. 

“I know, I'm sorry.” He quickly told you. “It goes against everything witches stand for and because of that I will live with the guilt.”

You sighed when he explained to you his reasoning. You guessed, the way he thought was enough of a punishment. 

“It's okay.” You told him. “I went through your book without telling you. We're even now.” You smiled.

It did leave you a bit unsettled that Hobi could easily go through your memories. Maybe it was different from your thoughts. You knew he would be weirded out with what you thought constantly. Quickly looking at him, you thought of something else. 

“You didn't like—see anything you weren't supposed to though did you?” You asked him. 

“No.” Hobi shook his head. Though he suddenly laughed as he realized what you meant. “Nothing naughty.”

“Hobi!” You exclaimed. 

The boy giggled, wiggling his fingers as he motioned to tickle you. However you were quick to place Jungkook between the two of you. When he calmed down, he looked at you softly.

“In your memories, you know about Yuri lake. It's the portal to our world.” Hobi further explained. 

“Yuri lake? I've never heard of it.” You told him. 

“It's in a cave in the mountains.” He said. “I saw you there but when you touched the water that's where everything stopped.”

A cave in the mountains? You lived in the countryside for a long while. You parents were hardly ever there so you were left with your grandparents most of the time. They had mountains in their backyard and you can remember going to explore there often. 

The bottom of the mountains had so many openings and caves that it gave you a lot of stuff to do while waiting for lunch or dinner. There wasn’t a time where you weren’t seen outside in that town. 

“I think I know the lake you're talking about.” You spoke up. “It's a moon pool behind my grandparents house in the mountains. It's my childhood home.”

Hobi hummed. He began to think about what he saw in your memories. He was able to see into the cave and where you had touched the pool but nothing past that. It also still left the figure with you a mystery. 

“There was also someone there with you. But they aren't really in your memories. Just a ghost figure.” He added. 

You tilted your head trying to think of something. You had so much trouble trying to think of  a friend you might have made in the small town. Once again, nothing came up and it frustrated you. You were upset that Hobi knew more about your own memories than you did. 

“No, I can't think of anyone.” You frowned. 

“They were probably erased from her memories too.” Jungkook said. 

“Possibly.” Hobi sighed deeply. 

The thought of having someone erase your memories, left you terrified. Even more when they were able to erase an entire person from your mind. Magical creatures were always seen as something all powerful compared to humans. Having someone be able to do that with your head left you frightened. 

However when you look over at Jungkook who was annoying Hoseok, you smile softly. Hobi was a witch just as much as this Bang Nim person was. He was even taught by him. Hobi trusted him, so you figured he must have erased your memories for a reason. You were going to trust what the boys had to say. So you knew to follow their plans. 

Series Masterlist

Due to the nature of the next chapter I will not be adding a taglist. The story will be posted on Monday, October 30 at 6:00 PM. Also please make sure I am able to tag you! I have a lot I am not able to tag.

@h3arteyes4mingi , @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh , @rinkud, @rln-byg , @singukieee ,  @hoshi-is-ult-bbg , @ldysmfrst , @k-p0p-4ever , @shadowyjellyfishfest , @forestsquirrel , @juju-227592 , @alienchickenpoopp , @dreamerwasfound , @afangirl91 , @psiphidragon , @puppyminnnie , @girl-nahh-two , @shyloh-the-cornsnake , @oemmi2005 , @ollyoxenfrees , @whynotlarene , @beeltsumuu , @cryingpages , @milopenne , @belikejk , @bts-4-life-ot7 , @woozixo, @serveruslovebot , @vintageoldfashion ,

#bts fanfic #bts #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bangtan sonyeondan #bts v #bts jin #bts namjoon #bts jung hoseok #kpop fanfic #bts imagines #bts min yoongi #jeon jungkook #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts ot7 #bts fantasy au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #hobi x reader #hobi x y/n

[gretavanlace]

Poppins (part 5)

Josh/Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, slight angst, etc

Sleep doesn’t plan on dropping in to visit you tonight, that much is clear. Still, it doesn’t stop you from staring up at the ceiling, longing for it.

If you could just quiet the storm inside your head, if only for a moment or two, you might be able to drift away.

All hope is lost completely when your phone begins to vibrate on the night stand beside you. It crosses your mind to ignore it, but no one calls at this hour for no good reason.

With an exasperated sigh, you roll to your side and grab it up.

“Perfect.” You mutter upon seeing Jake’s name displayed on the screen. Yet another facet stepping up to complicate this shit show of a night even further.

“This better be good.” 3 am phone calls don’t lend themselves to a proper greeting in your book.

“Well, hello to you, too, pretty girl.” He laughs, clearly bright eyed and full of piss and vinegar.

“I’m sleeping, Jacob.” You huff, flopping onto your back once again.

He calls your bluff. Of course he does. “No you’re not. You sound wide awake, and I need someone to keep me company.”

“No pretty young thing to follow you home from your gig tonight?” You ask, though you certainly don’t actually want to know.

He makes a sound in the negative, and then adds, “But if I get really hard up, I can just pop my head out the door and flag down one of the hookers that are loitering around this shit hole of a motel.”

“That bad?”

“I’ll put it this way,” he breathes a wisp of a laugh, “If I were to look under the bed and find a dead body, I wouldn’t be shocked. Not even a little bit.”

“Yikes.” You genuinely feel for him. Hotels and their germs freak you out as it is, you can’t fathom being expected to sleep in an establishment as fine as the one he’s describing.

“Make sure you check for bed bugs before you go to sleep.” It breaks your heart to think of him slumbering fitfully while tiny monsters feast away.

“You think I’m going anywhere near that bed?” He sounds offended, but you know better. “I’m sleeping in the fucking bathtub. I wish you were here, though.”

“So, you’d have me suffer through a night in hotel hell just so you’d have someone to keep you company? Narcissist.”

That halting laugh of his, the one you’re completely smitten with, makes an appearance, but his reply comes gently. “No. There’s just something about the thought of seeing something so beautiful surrounded by all this ugliness…I don’t know.”

That, you hadn’t expected.

He glosses over his honesty and begins telling you about the bar he’s playing. About how it used to be a speakeasy. How there are still scattered bullet holes in the walls from a raid. Al Capone once visited, he tells you animatedly, and broke a bartender's nose for speaking without respect…

On and on he prattles, and you let him, paying close attention to his every word. This isn’t your first time being ‘Jaked’ in the middle of the night.

And if you’re being honest, maybe your attentiveness has more to do with the fact that you miss him already. It’s good to hear his voice, that calming, soft rasp. His idiosyncratic tendencies - ‘you know’ as a place filler as he gathers his thoughts, interesting, suppose, it’s all so jake, and it makes you feel safe in the strangest way.

You ask questions in all the right places, not enough to interrupt, but just enough to encourage the stream of thoughts he has decided to share with you.

That is, until he catches on. “Are we whispering because it’s late, or because you’re at my brother’s?”

You pluck at the blanket thrown over you, chagrined. A child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “He was out of sorts with you gone, so I stayed. You know how he gets.”

“I get that way, too.” He points out softly. “Who babies me?”

You shrug, though he can’t see you “A girl in every port?”

“Would you stop with that?” He suddenly sounds sad, and it’s so unlike him you’re shocked into momentary silence.

It stretches on for a while, with you now staring at the wall as the tree outside lends the shadows of its leaves to dance and flutter in the night. And Jake, cooped up in some depressing, filthy room god knows where, breathing in stagnant air and mold spores.

He slices through it first, “Hey, poppins?”

“Hmm?” How easily can make your heart ache and pound without effort. They both can.

“Do you miss me?”

The hopefulness in his query makes you smile. He sounds almost…vulnerable?

“I do, Jake. I always miss you when you go away.”

A discreet hum of satisfaction is his only reply before the quiet returns. Then…

“Why are you at my brother’s, babe? Is this a ‘when the cats away the mice will play’ situation?”

Why is he always so calm and collected? Tipping his hand just enough to stoke the flames of your curiosity. And why is it so sexy?

“Are you the cat?” You ask softly, avoiding his actual question.

He sees your bet and raises the stakes “Are you two the mice?”

Still unwilling to hand over your secrets, you ask a question of your own. “What is this? You both really do get off on the competition of it all, don’t you? Is there a scorecard hidden away somewhere? Because I —“

“Hey,” he soothes, voice comforting like a warm, much loved quilt. “There’s no scorecard. We actually have a scoreboard. It lights up and everything. Cost a shit load.”

He successfully tugs a giggle out of you, plucking the thorn out of your side effortlessly. Seconds later, however, you’re right back where you started.

“Why, then? Sometimes I feel like I’m caught in sibling rivalry crossfire. Like I’m constantly ducking and dodging Kiszka bullets.”

“No such thing.” He’s trying his best to lighten things up. “We Kiszkas are noble and peaceful people.”

He desperately would like to be let off the hook… instead, you keep him dangling on the line. “I’m serious.”

At last, he gives in. “Alright, alright. The thing is, you can’t really blame us. Sometimes it’s unavoidable and that’s just science.”

“Science.” You repeat, unimpressed.

“Yes. Science. Identical twins, such as myself and my lesser half, share nearly indistinguishable brain wave patterns, and —“

“Jesus, do you two carry around some big book of twin factoids everywhere you go?”

Brushing your flippancy aside without comment, he continues on. “So, shared brain waves and 99.9% identical DNA means we view the world around us in much the same way. That’s why you hear those crazy stories about separated twins finding each other later only to discover they’ve been living parallel lives. Essentially, we’re the same person.”

“Is this where I come in?” You ask, trying hard to conceal the fascination hiding behind your nonchalance.

“Possibly.” In your mind's eye, you picture his fingers running over his lips in a gentle pinching motion. An endearing habit of his when he’s feeling contemplative. “But, sometimes I think it has very little to do with all of that. Sometimes I think it’s just you.”

“Me?’

“You’re the lighthouse, poppins…” his voice is soft and thoughtful. “And he and I are the ships. Question is, who will run ashore first?”

“Something happened between Josh and I tonight.” You confess. “And I honestly don’t know why I’m telling you. I just felt like you should know.”

“Doesn’t that make you think?” He questions, backing you into an invisible corner.

“Doesn’t what make me think?”

“The fact that you felt the need to tell me. It’s interesting, isn’t it?”

You’re not sure what to say to that, so you choose the easiest path and say nothing at all.

“Jealousy isn’t a character flaw I struggle with. Never has been.” You listen to the creaking groan of the likely cheap and worn chair he is repositioning himself in. “Territorial? I’ll own that, but almost never with Josh. So you have your fun, love. Get him out of your system. You and I both know which ship your light shines a little brighter for.”

He ends the call with little room for argument on your part. You consider calling him back to tell him he’s wrong (is he wrong?). Instead, you slip out of bed and pad down the hall towards Josh’s room, light and hushed on your feet.

~

Josh is dreaming of you. Lost in turquoise waters that lull him deeper and deeper, down down down. You’re everywhere. Your voice, echoing and purring with the delicate current. He is tangled in your silken hair. It glows in otherworldly shades of bioluminescent purple and he longs to touch it, but each lock dissolves into blinding glitter the moment he reaches for it. Closer to the floor of your sea he drifts, as your soft moans grow louder, accompanied by the alien mournful song of whales calling to one another, his unconscious world shifts…

Now you lie beneath him, twisted in wrinkled sheets, clinging to him as he rocks into you deeply. Your nails sting as they bite into and drag across his back and he hopes it burns forever. He likes it better here. Bathing in your ocean was bliss, but here he can touch your face. Here he can search your eyes for their secrets and taste your skin. He can hear the desire thrumming in your hummingbird heart. Here you are his.

He always thinks you’re beautiful, but like this, you are celestial. A supernova captured in his arms.

You call his name, but your eyes are cast over his shoulder. He knows without question who has come to dismantle his perfect world.

“Tell him to go.”

You shake your head languidly with a Mona Lisa smile, “I’d like him to stay.”

Squeezing around him just right, you run your fingertip down the bridge of his nose…

…and he startles awake with a curse.

~

His door isn’t closed, but merely pushed to…still, you lift a loose fist to knock lightly. A faint moan in the dark stops you.

It’s a tranquil sound, one you might expect to enjoy while caught up in slow and easy early morning sex. And while it isn’t overtly obscene, it steals the air from your lungs all the same.

He’s sleeping, your eyes have adjusted to the darkness enough to know that, but he breathes another sigh into the air, and then…your name.

Can a sound be poetic? Can inflection be art? Because that is the only way to describe the way your name sounds on his tongue.

He’s dreaming…and whatever world he has faded into holds some version of you inside of it as well. What is going on inside that brilliant, beautiful mind of yours, Joshua?

This is wrong. You should go back to bed and pretend this never happened…but the angel on your shoulder has taken the night off, leaving the shameless devil in charge, plotting nefariously.

A harsh hiss of “Fuck!” bites out of him, startling you. He sounds frustrated and furious. He is awake, and very unhappy about it.

Standing still as a statue, you wonder ridiculously if he can hear the wild beat of your heart.

Knock now, you think. Pretend you’ve just arrived at his door. For the second time, you raise your hand to knock, and for the second time, you stop in your tracks when you see it.

His hand slips beneath the sheets as a shutter of pleasure ripples out of his chest. It’s no more than a strangled gasp, but your body explodes into heated pins and needles.

The drag of his fist against the linens keeps time with the airy moans he is panting into the night. It’s fucking intoxicating and you so badly want to go to him.

Instead, you back slowly away from the crack into the door, retreating further back in the hall. You’ll slink back to bed and it’ll be like this never even happened —

A floorboard creaks. An inanimate object groaning to tattle tale and shine a spotlight on your presence.

He stops instantly as you clamp your eyes shut tightly for a split second…if I can’t see you, you can’t see me mentality.

And while you pray with your whole soul to disappear like smoke in the air, he rises, tucks himself back into his sweats, and confidently closes the space between the two of you.

Before you can process, his fingers lace around your wrist and pull you into the room. Your body is pressed against the door, his breath warm on your neck as he reaches behind you to twist the lock.

A single finger traces along your cheek before tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear. “Were you watching me?”

“I…” You stammer, guilty as sin. “I was just getting ready to knock and…”

His hand slides between your legs to tease his fingers over soaked cotton. “Oh,” he tilts his head, smug and pleased with his discovery. “Someone was enjoying the show. My sweet little thing has ruined her pretty panties.”

He finds your clit and presses against it, remaining still, taunting you with the delicious pressure of his touch. “Do you like to watch?”

You nod, the shame of being caught slowly seeping from your veins.

“Yeah?” He slips into your panties from the side and teases two fingers inside you, curling upward until your thighs are shaking. “You wanna watch me cum?”

A whine of desire trembles out of you, telling him all he needs to know.

His fucks his fingers into you just a hint faster. Building you up nice and easy, creating a heavenly push and pull that you never want to end. “Some other time, sweetheart. I’m far too in love with this soft little cunt of yours right now. Pink as cotton candy and just as sweet.”

Your hands are fisted into the shoulders of his worn out t shirt, steadying yourself as your hips rock to meet him.

“Jake called.” The words leave you as barely a whisper.

“Did he?” There is a conversational edge to his cadence. As though you might be discussing the weather while you clench and drip into the palm of his hand. “Missing you already?”

“I don’t know, he— oh, fuck…right there.”

“Right there?” You catch a glimpse of the cocky smirk playing over his lips in the dark. “I'll touch you right there, sweet girl. I’ll take care of you. Just relax and let me.”

Your back arches away from the door to bring your body nearer to his. You want him pressed against you, skin to skin. You want to melt into him and live there forever, surrounded by his warm light.

“You look so fucking pretty in this light.” The moon is filtering in through the window, cool and blue. You think of winter, and he mirrors your thoughts. “Like a snow angel.”

Your hand delves beneath his waistband of his tattered sweats. A chill races up his spine when you wrap your soft hand around him. “That’s it, sweetheart. Take what you want…good girl.”

You coil and quiver around his fingers, giving yourself away.

“You like that?” He nips his perfect teeth into your bottom lip. “You want to be my good girl? A perfect princess to make my cock hard and my heart ache?’

Tightening your grip, you stroke him faster, earning a groan, long and low, deep within his chest as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge with just his hand.

“Josh, please,” the air feels charged, the way it does just before a vicious summer storm unleashes. “I’m so close. Don’t stop.”

“Not gonna stop,” he rocks into your hand a little faster to catch up with you. ‘Not until I have what’s mine. Let go for me. Show me how beautiful you look when you cum.”

With another practiced twist of his hand, he drags you under, free hand covering your mouth to quiet your cries, though he wishes he could let you scream until you were hoarse and spent.

He chases after you, burying his face in the crook of your neck to muffle his own cries as he spills over your hand, tiny rivers of warmth that tickle your skin until your eyes flutter closed to savor the feeling.

It’s peaceful for a stretch, but when the words come, you don’t swallow them down like maybe you should. You speak them into existence like maybe you shouldn’t.

“He says you’re in love with me.”

His lips ghost over your cheek, light as the softest feather. “I am.”

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[yulin-pop]

⤷ ✧ The Trapped Princess of Twisted Wonderland

Fem reader

- order 80 | Series

↺ previous chapter

Ace put up that fake nice guy facade and it wasn’t convincing at all, maybe only because you knew it was fake anyway. Grim believed everything he said.

You kept a blank expression and almost wanted to run away but stayed. Things progressed the same as before. If there was anything different, you noticed he had a few people standing behind him snickering and whispering to each other.

“I haven’t introduced myself, have I? My name is Ace Trappola, my father is the Marquis from the Queendom of Roses!” He sounded very cocky, very artificial. “Don’t talk very much do you? I assume you’re a commoner.” Before you can respond, he got right to it.

“Everything about you reeks of low. You two were absolute fools back there.”

You knew it was coming yet it still startled you. The people behind him began to laugh louder, than people around you stared.

Grim was getting more and more heated by the second. You wondered if you should stop him or allow him to attack. Then again, you yourself had your own magic. Crowley gave you your magic pen too…

“Who do you think you are?!” Grim shouted at him. You put your hand in front of Grim and pointed your pen at Ace.

“Grim, just don’t.”

Ace didn’t seem intimidated at all. Now that you realize, you haven’t casted a single spell. You know you’re well able to but… how do you cast magic?

“You wanna know about magic?” Deuce asked as you stared at his pen curiously.

“How does it feel when you cast it?” You asked as you touched his arm. He has to think for a minute. Casting magic came to easy to him he couldn’t put it into words.

“Hm like delivering a punch sorta. It’s different for everyone. When you cast magic, you really have to imagine what you want to do with your magic. Like if I wanted a create a whirl of wind!”

He held his pen and a gust of wind made a complete mess of your hair, nearly knocking you off your feet.

From behind you, Ace caught you by the shoulders and laughed. “Deuce, you need better control of your magic…“

You look back at the stuck up, Noble boy Ace in front of you and continued to hold out your pen.

You wouldn’t want to hurt him too much. You squint your eyes then with the flick of your pen a little wisp pops out. Ace moved to the side as it approaches close to him and it fades out quickly.

“What kind of magic was that?! You’re useless!” Grim shouts as the heart rises to your face from utter embarrassment.

“H-how embarrassing…”

“I’ll do it!”

Ace and his friends had a short moment of laughter until Grim stepped up. While they were still distracted by your embarrassing attempt at magic, Ace took the fire spell head on.

Grim’s flames were hot, you knew from experience. There was smoke shrouding his figure, unable to make heads or tails of his well being.

When it all cleared out, Ace was knocked down on his butt with Crowley standing in front of him. You could tell from his expression he was not happy.

All three of you got scolded, mainly you and Grim for trying to resort to violence. But again, Ace is to blame for not having any manners.

“Oh… what to do with you lot. I know, Trappola and you two!” He pointed at the three of you, “You will take disciplinary etiquette classes with Professor Trein everyday afterschool for a week— two weeks actually!”

You eyed Ace and saw a look of absolute outrage mixed with a hint of regret.

“But Headmage, you don’t understand—“

“We can make that three weeks, Trappola.”

He bit back his excuses and the three of you nodded your heads. The first day, haven’t even gotten to class yet, and you already found yourself in the noble definition of detention.

“You are dismissed. You best make your way on to class before you’re tardy.” You checked the time and noticed it was about two minutes before the first bell would ring.

You walked with Grim to the first class of the day, but in front of you was Ace. It’s no surprise since you’re both first years but it’s awkward… You heard him sigh to himself as he seldomly walked without all his friends.

“Will you pick up your feet?! You really are a commoner.” Ace scoffed as he turned around.

“Stop picking fights. We already know what happens then.” You said. Grim wanted to yell at him but you just nudged him with your leg and walked ahead of the noble boy.

You didn’t realize until you entered the classroom that you had the same class as him. He clearly showed his dismay and found his seat right before the first bell rang.

—

The last bell rang just the same as how the first bell did. Students filled the air with chit chat as they left their classrooms and made their way down the halls.

You didn’t realize but Ace left the classroom? He went in the opposite direction of Trein’s classroom.

“Oh boy, let’s do him a favor and go get him before he gets in bigger trouble.” Grim said without any hint of surprise.

You nearly got ran over by those tall guys from Diasomnia and almost offended a few Heartslabyul students trying to make your way in Ace’s direction. Eventually, you reached him and looked him straight in the eye to make sure he was paying attention.

“Ace, why are you skipping? You’re just gonna get in deeper trouble if you skip.” He was surrounded by all his friends. It made you nervous of the response you’d receive.

“Don’t tell me you’re actually gonna go? Skip it, nice and easy. But, maybe you common folk need it.”

Why is he such an asshole?!

His friends erupted into laughter. “Let’s go Ace, she’s really not all that important anyway.” Just like that, the group left.

Rightfully, Grim was fuming.

“The nerve of that guy! We may not know etiquette but that doesn’t mean he can be such a jerk.” Grim continued to ramble on for a while until you just stepped ahead.

“We might be late. Let’s go.”

You weren’t gonna let yourself be bothered by this. You show up just as he takes attendance of who’s there. From what you see, it’s mainly those from the country side it seems or just people who are nervous.

There is one person that stands out, Deuce Spade. You wonder if you’d have an opportunity to speak with him. Becoming friendly with Ace is impossible at the moment— but what about Deuce?

—

“Spade, is it?” You approach him and ask. You apply what you’ve learned from the lesson just then. “My name is [Name].” You decided to keep the last name out and your title, “I believe we have to the same class. You’re from Heartslabyul?”

He stammered for a bit and scratched his head. His face turned pink and he looked down as he continued to stutter endlessly.

She’s a true lady. I’m so scared what do I even say to her?!

“Dude, pull it together.” Grim mumbled at his pathetic display.

Somehow that snapped him into shape. “Yes, I am Deuce Spade. My father is Spade Baron. I’m in class 1-A just the same as you… is there anything you need?”

You shook your head. “Not at all. I just thought I’d greet my classmate.” You smiled and he flinched with his face turning a darker shade of red.

From there, you found an actual friend. You’re glad to see that Deuce didn’t change very much. What the hell happened to Ace? He’s so stuck up and irresponsible! You didn’t think he would be this different.

Ace never got in trouble for skipping etiquette classes as far as you saw. It felt weird being in Night Raven but without Ace and Deuce arguing with each other.

Deuce was uptight around you. Grim was a little bit quiet. Ace didn’t even glance at you. It wasn’t right.

“Why do you push Ace to attend when you know he’s not?” Grim asked. You got laughed at for the fifth time this week trying to make him attend the etiquette lessons.

You didn’t want to give an answer so all you did was turned around and make your way in the direction of Trein’s classroom. You were lost in thought and didn’t see the person ahead of you.

“Deuce… You saw all of that?”

He panicked at getting caught but nonetheless responded. “Ah yeah! I figured I would wait for you this time so we could walk together but I saw that and…” He went silent. “Trappola is odd. In front of his friends he’s just like that to me as well but we actually dorm together. He’s really cool when it’s just the two of us. We still don’t really know each other but…”

It makes sense. Then again Ace may hold a grudge because of the fight on the first day.

It was then when you got back to your room, you began devising a plan!

—

Strategically you make your moves. You sit down next to Deuce at lunch. You weren’t going to eat though, you needed to do homework.

You take out the paper and a pen then get to work. You kept taking small glances at Deuce.

“Ah… I’m not sure if this is the right answer.” You let out a distressed sigh.

“Oh you’re doing the worksheet from class? Let me see.” He scooted in closer. As he did that, you leaned into him slowly.

“I don’t have the textbook. Do you?”

“No not at the moment. It’s in my dorm.”

Your eyes glint at the opportunity and you turn to look at him. “Can I borrow it?”

“Oh, yeah of course. I can bring it to you tomorrow.”

“Oh I wouldn’t want to put you through the trouble. Maybe I could just drop by your dorm directly after classes to pick it up. Maybe we can study together too!”

He was hesitant but agreed. Your plan was simple, just spy on Ace and possible try to befriend him. You highly doubt the second part. But you couldn’t help but ask a quick question.

“Deuce are you engaged to anyone perchance?” Immediately, his face turned pink.

With a little bit of fear, and maybe some hope, he responded. “N-no I’m not. Why is it that you ask.”

“No reason.” You smiled at him.

Grim scoffed while eating up his lunch. They need to stop flirting in public…

Grim was getting really tired of the after school lessons on behavior. He was so ready to drop it as soon as he could but you want to keep going for some reason! Grim couldn’t understand you half of the time but it seems like you could fully understand him.

You were rather mysterious. He knew all the basic info, for the most part. You haven’t even told him what kingdom you were born in or your last name. You haven’t told anyone actually? You always cut off the teacher before they say your last name and you don’t just go throwing around your title like most people at Night Raven do.

He got a peak at the role sheet somehow. “Emprithea? What kind of last name is that.” Probably just a small family name. Maybe a line of merchants?

He was snapped back into reality when tapped in the shoulder by you. “So are you gonna study with us after school?”

“Ugh do I have to?” Grim groaned. He’s never been one for sitting down and studying. It’s not like there was a huge test coming up so he really doesn’t have to.

Lazy, yes. But it’s his decision.

—

“Please don’t mind the slight mess.” Deuce said while opening the curtains to let the sunlight in. It really didn’t look much different from the previous world really. “I don’t have another chair but I can sit on the bed.”

“Whatever is fine with me.” After getting everything situated. He offered you his chair. You declined politely and insisted you could just sit on his bed.

“You’re the guest so you should get the chair.” He tried to reason with you.

“No thank you, I prefer sitting in the bed.” You hopped up on the bed next to him and smiled at him.

You were definitely a noble lady. A refined, pretty one at that. He didn’t even need to ask to know that. Most nobles could sense he was less experienced in terms of etiquette and they didn’t look down upon him persay but just treated him differently.

But you were so sweet and kind right off the bat. You actually wanted to spend time with him. He could just be getting his hopes up but you like him a lot too…

“[Name], you’re so nice…” He quietly said in bliss.

The door opened and walked in a familiar red head with a heart on his face. He didn’t say anything but he was surprised to see you specifically.

“Shouldn’t we start studying now?” You suggested trying to ignore Ace. But this is exactly what you needed.

If you’re correct, this is the day Ace gets kicked out of Heartslabyul. He doesn’t know that the tart belongs to Riddle… Or maybe I’d be a different reason today. By now you two would’ve already been best friends.

You were trying to do your work and yet you kept glancing over at Ace in the corner of your eye. You were glad he was preoccupied with whatever he was doing because with how hard you were staring, you’d definitely get caught.

The study session with Deuce went by smoothly even though you were distracted half of the time. About 20 minutes ago, Ace walked out of the room or whatever reason.

“It’s getting a bit late, perhaps I should be heading home now. I heard your housewarden is strict on curfew rules.” You said to Deuce as you put your papers into your folder.

Deuce nodded and helped put away your things and handed it to you neatly. “Yeah, there’s a lot of punishments being handed out everyday. Since, we have to follow every one of the Queen’s Laws.” He grimaced.

You nodded, “I see…”

The two of you stood up and ended that conversation quickly as you walked out the room. Since you didn’t want to get in trouble for talking down on Heartslabyul or the Queen.

Deuce led you down the halls and rooms to the exit but it was taking a bit and you felt as if you were going in circles.

“This place is still so hard to navigate…” Deuce said under his breath, suddenly you two were in the kitchen area.

Some of students were standing around chatting, some were eating or drinking some sort of tea. One of the guys standing around called out to Deuce.

“Yo! Deuce, chillin’ with your new girl

friend or something? Don’t let the warden know. There’s probably a rule against that.”

Deuce denied, “She’s not my girlfriend!!— Wait is there really a rule against that?”

“Probably.”

While they bantered, a certain red head opened the fridge. You couldn’t help but glance over and stare. Yeah, there were three huge tarts in there!! Those did look really good honestly.

“Ace, you better not eat those tarts.” Those words fell from your mouth so casually, you covered it with your palm quickly and saw him turn his head to look at you.

He did not seem pleased. Deuce was confused— why would you speak to him so casually like he was a friend? You seemed to regret it and shrunk back.

Ace scoffed and closed the fridge, he stopped in front of you. “Stop acting like we’re friends. I don’t know who you think you are but know your place.”

This is what you get. You were acting way too friendly with him. Like when you kept pestering him to attend the disciplinary etiquette classes and just now. The idea that Ace is your closest friend is still stuck in your head.

He walks away, but purposefully bumping shoulders with you which left a bad taste in your mouth. My Ace would never act like this.

“Hold it, Trappola.” Someone said in an angry voice. You hadn’t seen him up close, somehow his presence was even more overpowering than when you first met him in the first world. “How dare you speak to Lady Emprithea that way? “Know your place” you ought to know yours!”

Riddle shouted, overtaken with rage. He casted his signature spell, the collar clamped around his neck. Everyone was staring. Staring at you, but mostly at Riddle or Ace.

Most students grimaced and stared in pity. Then began to whisper.

“Wait, Lady Emprithea? I had no idea that girl was the princess of Ramshackle Kingdom!”

“There’s royalty where ever I go… Better watch my manners.”

“Shut up or else we’re next!”

Soon Riddle turned his attention to you, instinctively Deuce backed away from you two. “I”m sorry for his rudeness. I apologize.” He suddenly got down on one knee and took your hand. He gently kisses your knuckles then looked up at you with a soft smile. “It’s good to see you, Lady [Name].”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #deuce spade x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola #heartslabyul

[bornofchalk]

the year's first dream

The start of a new year, and perhaps the start of something new.

xiao x gn reader

words: 884

warnings: fluff, first kiss (feel free to suggest any warnings!)

author's note: this is embarrassingly late because the idea to write this only popped into my head minutes before the new year arrived, but i couldn't not write it! this is longer than what i usually write because i love xiao i gave in to the longwinded tendencies! i tried to take a more optimistic approach this time so i hope this is not ooc ;;

⠀

when you call xiao's name a quarter to midnight and your wait stretches from a couple of seconds to a handful, you forgo the quiet ticking of the hands of your watch for the beat of your pounding heart. your ears thank you for it.

there's no hiding the flinch that runs through your body when he finally does appear a few heartbeats later, materializing among familiar wisps of black and teal. in resisting the urge to check your watch one last time, you present the almond tofu that you have been holding to him, ignoring the way the pads of your fingers have gone cold against the chilled plate.

except xiao is not looking at you, but instead inspecting the surroundings for danger with a few quick sweeps of his gaze, danger that you know does not exist. do you really seem that nervous?

"what is it?"

"i wanted to see you," you don't say.

you swallow around the lump in your throat and hold the plate out a little farther, exhale a second longer as he receives it with a slight dip of his head.

"i made it this time," you say hesitantly. you think there might be a pause in the chewing of his first bite, but if there was one, it was a mere fraction of a heartbeat.

"it's not bad."

his tone gives away nothing, but there is a squeeze of something warm in your chest, and you manage a smile at the compliment. "i'm glad."

there is something graceful about even the way he eats, a simple smoothness to the retrieval and delivery of each spoonful. the cut of the dessert in no way rivals that of an experienced chef, but xiao seems to savor it all the same. you watch as he licks away a morsel from the corner of his mouth. you remind yourself that it is rude to stare.

"why did you call for me?"

"hm?"

there is a clink of tableware. you wring your hands. "is it not tradition to spend this time with family and friends?"

perhaps it is. but how are you to convey to him that, more than anyone else, he is the one that you want by your side?

it is now or never. the sound of your pulse has grown steady, and it becomes the pillar with which you steel yourself, steel your resolve.

"it is, but..." you draw closer until you feel you no longer can. your heart stutters at the way his eyes widen with the growing proximity.

"i called you because i want you to be the last thing i see this year," you murmur, "and the first thing i see in the next." you finally meet his eyes, and you find that, by some unseen force, you can no longer look away. "is that alright with you?"

you wonder if he can hear your heartbeat now, when you are close enough to feel the brush of his breath on your skin. you drink it all in — the wavering of his eyes, their ethereal gold under the moonlight, and the dilation of his pupils.

he hums, a confirmation so quiet you almost miss it.

"are you sure?"

"i'm sure," he breathes.

you think that there may be fireworks, faraway crackles and flickers of light at the edges of your vision registering faintly, but you cannot be sure when all you know is the visage of the man you love and the thundering in your ears.

"good," you say, sotto voce, "because this tradition is one that i can only complete with you."

there is a warm blush painted where you bring your hand to xiao's cheek. at the sight of his lidded eyes, rife with unspoken sentiment, you test the waters, hover just shy of the point of contact, and when the distance finally disappears, you find that you are not certain you were the one to erase it.

you think to yourself how perfect it all is — the sound of fireworks in the distance, kissing the one person you have longed to do this with, even the caution and hesitation and gentleness found in xiao's hands on your back and in the way his lips move against yours. it is a moment that you are reluctant to end, but this moment was always meant to be a fleeting one.

"happy new year, xiao," you whisper once you have parted enough to speak, and you mean it with your whole heart.

"happy new year," xiao echoes, voice thick with emotion in the way that never fails to make your throat clench.

"would you want to do this again next year?" and the year after that, and for the rest of the years to come?

a fond sigh tickles your cheek. "if it is what you truly want, i wouldn't be opposed."

with those words, you finally dare to smile freely, delight washing over you and bubbling out in the form of laughter, and you hope that you are not imagining the lift that graces the corners of xiao's lips.

when you lean in to kiss him once more, he meets you halfway, and you think you are a little closer to understanding what xiao means when he says that almond tofu tastes of sweet dreams.

#yaepublishinghouse #genshin #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #xiao fluff #xiao imagines #xiao #genshin impact #genshin xiao #ky(ra) writes

[scribbling-dragon]

I dunno, if you're still accepting prompts/ideas...

But... maybe little tango/jimmy beauty and thebeast? Mr. Canary going to his demon coalminer while his village is actively hunting demons because of past conflicts-

this was actually so so much fun to write, so i hope you enjoy it!

the canary and his flame

summary:

“And I keep telling you, Lizzie, there’s nothing to worry about, really.” He smiles at his friend, ignoring the frown she gives him, crossing her arms. “I mean it.”

“Uh-huh, and the stories about the monster in the woods aren't true? You and I both know that it killed-” she cuts herself off with a sigh. “I get that you like going out there, that you two did that a lot, but you don't have to keep doing that. All you're doing is putting yourself in danger, that’s no benefit to anyone.”

(ao3 link)

(3,123 words)

He pats his bag once more, resting firmly against his hip, checking that all of the contents within are safely secured. The latch of the bag holds firm, buckle glinting in the light as he steps through his front doorway, out into the midday sun. He squints a little as he emerges, shielding his eyes to peer up at the sky, checking the weather.

The skies are clear and blue, not a single cloud in sight, only a few wisps of white interrupting the great blue expanse currently hanging above them. He eyes it once more, just to be sure, aware of how quickly the weather can turn when he becomes involved in, well…anything.

“Jimmy!” He turns as someone calls his name, hand dropping to the bag at his side, holding it closer. He releases his grip on it a moment later, but the two sudden movements draw attention to the bag slung over his shoulders, and the newcomer narrows her eyes at it, before glancing back up at him. “Jim, c’mon, we've spoken about this before.”

“And I keep telling you, Lizzie, there’s nothing to worry about, really.” He smiles at his friend, ignoring the frown she gives him, crossing her arms. “I mean it.”

“Uh-huh, and the stories about the monster in the woods aren't true? You and I both know that it killed-” she cuts herself off with a sigh. “I get that you like going out there, that you two did that a lot, but you don't have to keep doing that. All you're doing is putting yourself in danger, that’s no benefit to anyone.”

Lizzie’s eyebrows press together, crinkling her brow. All it does is make her look decades older than she actually is, shoulders sagging with a weight she cannot bring herself to name. He’s almost tempted to tell her the truth behind his visits, to promise her that there is truly no harm that can come to him.

“You say that as though I'm not constantly in danger,” he scoffs. “I'm more likely to die to a falling tree branch than any monster in the woods.” His wings flutter behind him, as though to emphasise his words a little further. Lizzie frowns a little deeper at the reminder, eyes flicking to the bright yellow feathers, as though she’d forgotten they existed. “See,” he reaches out a hand to nudge at her shoulder, “I can already see the gears turning in your head, whatever you're thinking, knock it off.”

Lizzie cracks a grin at that, ducking her head and looking away. He notices the small bucket resting in the crook of her arm just then, watches as some water sloshes around inside of it, a quick flash of pink brushing past the surface, before disappearing again. He smiles a little, both at his obvious victory within their small argument (he wouldn't even call it an argument really, but it’s not a discussion either- he’s not sure what it would be, really) and also at the fact that Lizzie is still taking her axolotls on walks. Despite the fact that they, themselves, do not do any of the walking.

One of them, another pink one, pokes its head over the side of the bucket, peering at him, before twisting to look up at Lizzie, staring at her until she notices it too. “Oh,” the bucket jostles as she moves, and the axolotl slips out of sight once more, a small splash of water spilling over the side of the bucket and darkening the ground between them. “I'm so sorry, I forgot you were even there.” She glances back up at him, eyes narrowing once more in a threat that is more light-hearted than anything. “I better see you tomorrow morning as well, mister. I swear to the gods, if I have to come looking for you, I’ll kill you.”

“Surely that would be counterproductive?” He asks, calling after her.

“Not the point!” She calls back.

He smiles at her retreating back, watching her go for a moment longer. Watching her means he’s able to see the moment when she leans in, towards the bucket, lips moving as she speaks to the axolotls within. He begins walking in the other direction a few moments later, bag swinging back and forth, bumping against his hip as he walks.

The streets are still rather empty, despite the late hour, but he supposes that many of the residents prefer to finish their business in the morning before retiring for the afternoon, retreating to their homes for lunch. He certainly doesn't mind the emptiness of the streets, as it means he comes across only one other person on his trip out of the gates, and they're rather quick to hurry on past him, clutching something to their chest as they all but run down the street.

Jimmy pays it little mind, stepping out beyond the wall and into the lush greenery surrounding their small village.

There’s just something incredibly relaxing about walking through the trees, even though the tree trunks slowly inch closer and closer together, the canopy above him growing so thick that only a little light filters through to where he walks, and even that light is tinted green and dim, leaving him squinting into the darkness and he walks down the well-trodden path.

It’s not actually all that well-trodden, in actuality. In fact, the only indicator that he walks this path regularly is the occasional scraped off bark on a few of the trees along the path. It had been the best way he had thought of that wouldn't reveal the path to someone looking for it.

The birds continue to sing as Jimmy walks, high and chirping. It’s occasionally accompanied by the sound of beating wings, and one sparrow even shoots past his face, swerving around a tree trunk before it shoots back above the canopy again, disappearing from sight. There’s the slight rustling of small creatures skittering along tree branches and rummaging around in the foliage collecting around his feet, too.

He gives a squirrel a wider than necessary berth as he walks past it, wary of disturbing it and causing it to forget where it buried its acorns. It hardly even notices him, ear twitching only once before it resumes its scraping amongst the leaves, pushing an acorn into one of the small holes it makes. He almost trips over a tree root from staring at the squirrel for too long, stumbling and struggling to regain his balance as his foot throbs from the sudden impact.

The tree above him shudders as well, and he ducks backwards, out of the way of any stray falling branches that might choose to crash down on his head. Just on time, a branch, one which had previously been securely attached to the trunk of the tree, wiggles loose and crashes down to the ground.

It stirs up the browning leaves as it lands, sending them fluttering about before they settle again. He steps over it carefully, murmuring an apology to the numerous woodland critters he sent scattering with the loud crash of the branch to the forest floor.

His walk is altogether uneventful after that, only a few branches creaking above him in a breeze, as though warning him of how easily they could come crashing down on him if they so wished. None of them make the sound of a branch that is actually going to break, though, just a gentle creaking rather than the sound of splitting wood and bark that comes moments before it actually falls.

Something cracks, and he hops back, staring up at the canopy above, waiting from a branch to come plummeting from the darkness lurking there, shooting towards the ground, landing perfectly where he was just standing, mere moments before.

He waits, the sound of his own breathing heavy in his ears, head craned back to stare up at the darkness swathing the upper branches of the trees. No branch falls. There’s not even another creaking sound, nothing to indicate that the falling branch is caught amongst several other branches, twisted into a tangled snarl of leaves and wood, waiting to fall on him the next time he passes beneath it.

Something else cracks, to his left this time. He whirls to face in that direction, wings flaring out behind him. It’s an instinctual act, something done to make him appear bigger than he truly is. The undergrown wings that are for little more than show do very little to make him appear larger and more intimidating, but he can't help the reaction.

There’s a slow, sliding sound in the direction he’s looking. It sounds like something heavy being dragged over the ground, rustling amongst the leaves, only slightly disturbing them. Moving slowly, then. He watches, the sound of his breaths even louder in his ears, the blood in his ears thrums in time with his heart. He can feel it pumping in his chest, can feel the blood rushing through his veins as he attempts to see between the tightly clustered trees.

There’s another sound behind him, but he’s too slow this time. He’s halfway to turning around when something heavy presses into his shoulders, sending him crashing to the floor, scrambling to grab onto his bag and protect the contents of it. He hits the ground with a thud and a small oof, feeling the air rush out of him in one large exhale.

A growl rumbles through the air around him, and he relaxes, if just slightly, into the ground beneath his back. His wings are still awkwardly twisted beneath him, feathers caught and no doubt collecting all sorts of debris.

A grinning face looms over him, lips pulled back to show off teeth that are easily as large as his fingers. He doesn't hesitate to shove said grinning face away from his own, smacking at one of the hands holding him down until it releases him, allowing him to sit up.

“You need to stop doing that,” he chastises, opening the bag and peering inside, making sure none of the items within have been squished too much. He frowns, spotting a mushed up banana that’s going to make his bag stink for weeks. “Seriously.” He frowns a little more when his assailant doesn't stop laughing, a low, rasping sound.

“Aw, don't be so sour, love.” A furred hand pulls his own hand away from where it clutches at the bag still, claws carefully kept away from the skin. “You know I can't help it.”

“Yes, you can.” Jimmy says. “There’s no reason for you to do this every time, as much as it must be fun for you to watch me try and find you. It just leaves me in a mess, look at what you've done to my wings!”

“I’ll help you clean them up later,” those furred hands, far larger than his own, pull him to his feet easily. “Besides, surely you've missed me?”

He huffs a sigh, turning his head away to hide his smile. “You know I always miss you, Tango. It’s hard not to, the village is so boring without you there. No one even speaks to me anymore,” he frowns. “Only Lizzie and Joel speak to me, and Grian only pops into check on us every few months- and he brings his annoying boyfriend with him every time. Seriously, if I never saw the Scar again, it would be too soon.”

“I like Scar.”

“Of course you do.” He can feel a tail curling around his back as he walks, the pressure and weight of it just barely there. He doubts Tango even realises he’s doing it, though he’s not about to begin pointing it out, in the fear that Tango might stop doing it. He can see the tip of it flicking back and forth, the flaming fur at the edge dancing as they make their way down the last stretch of the path together. “You only like him because he comes to visit you.”

“I like seeing your brother as well,” Tango frowns, eyes flicking over to see him. “And seeing you is the highlight of my weeks, nothing could be better than that. But Scar brings fun things.”

“And the things I bring you aren't fun? This bag isn't light, you know.”

“You bring the essential things,” the small clearing they've  entered is quickly cut off by a rock face, the sheer wall stretching far above both of their heads. “Those are useful, certainly, and seeing you is always a delight. But Scar brought me these wonderful quills last time he visited, the ink has glitter in it, isn't that amazing?”

“The ink is quite nice.” He agrees. His feet carry him on this path easily now, years of practice making him familiar with the route they take. He ducks beneath Tango’s arm as he pushes the curtain of moss backwards, revealing the cave entrance behind it. “It looks like he’s somehow managed to catch the stars and shove them into the ink.”

“I know right!”

Jimmy cannot help it, even after the years of visiting Tango here, years of stepping foot into this very cave, of following Tango down the short path, he still can't help it; he hesitates. The yawning cave mouth in front of him makes something deep and primal within him recoil at the very thought of willingly stepping foot into it. The thought of stepping into that darkness and not emerging from it claws at the edges of his mind, threatening to overwhelm him entirely.

Tango waits just beyond the threshold. He doesn't do anything, simply standing there and waiting. Sometimes, he doesn't even have to pause for a minute, simply stepping into the cave in time with Tango’s step, following Tango through the darkness, watching the flame on his tail dance back and forth, not stuttering for lack of oxygen. On other days, he might stand here for upwards of an hour, unable to overcome the fear that grips him as he stares into the cave’s maw.

Today, it takes him just short of ten minutes to make that first step into the cave, a rock shifting beneath his foot and threatening to trip him and make him roll his ankle not even a step into the darkness. Tango grabs his arm as he begins to slip, pulling him back upright and preventing the waiting disaster.

He breathes out slowly, taking a moment to regain his balance, before taking another step forward. He easily falls into the rhythm after that, ignoring the lingering anxiety that threatens to seize his lungs again. Instead, he focuses on the warm presence of Tango at his side, listening as he tells Jimmy of the story he’s been trying to write recently.

He doesn't direct Jimmy over to his desk, like he sometimes does, asking for a second pair of eyes on his work. Instead, he nudges them both over to the pile of blankets and pillows tucked away in the corner, functioning as both a seating area and Tango’s bed. He follows along with Tango willingly, wings already beginning to itch from the twigs wedged beneath his feathers, and the feathers that have been twisted out of place from their small tumble in the forest.

“Tell me,” Tango says, breaking the silence as Jimmy pulls his boots off. “How’s Lizzie? You said she’s still talking to you.”

“She’s doing fine,” he tosses the second boot aside, taloned feet clicking against the floor as he shuffles over to Tango, flopping down into the blankets beside him. “Saw her walking her axolotls this morning, told me not to go into the woods, etcetera, etcetera, you know the rest.”

Tango hums, a clawed hand running over his wing, pausing to fix a misaligned feather, correcting its position. “She still think I'm dead?”

“Yeah,” he laughs, though it’s muffled slightly as he presses his face into the pillow he’s resting on. “She still can't bring herself to say your name…but. I don't know. I can't really tell her, can I? That’s for you to do, and she won't exactly see you unless she stumbles across you and Joel having your moonlit meetings.”

“Joel doesn't exactly remember those meetings either.” Tango reminds him, teasing a small twig from his wing, pulling it free carefully. The simple action is enough to make him sink into the pillows a little more, going boneless beneath Tango’s hands as he continues cleaning his wings. “Though he’s certainly fun to run around with.”

“I doubt Lizzie would be pleased to know that all of her friends are supernatural beings and none of them have told her.”

“She’s seen your wings.”

“And she thinks I was cursed,” he sighs, “not…whatever this is. I don't know. Can't tell her, because she’d probably kill me, and then she’d be sad, because I'm dead.” He frowns. “Anyway, she has Scar. Her and Scar are buddies.”

“Scar’s not human.”

“Huh?” He twists to look at Tango, wrenching his wings out of reach as he turns to look at him. Tango blinks back at him, red eyes almost comically wide, ears perked forward.

“You…didn’t know? Isn't your whole, like, shtick being able to sense all of that around us?” Tango wiggles his fingers as though that at all helps to demonstrate his whole shtick (it does, rather effectively too, but Jimmy isn't about to tell him that). “That guy is super not human, the charisma he lays on is imbued with far too much power for that, at least.”

“Him and Grian are rarely apart, how am I meant to tell whether there’s some other, mysterious source of power if Grian’s there?”

“I’ll give you that one,” Tango concedes, pushing at his shoulder until he lies back down again. “Grian’s freakishly powerful, everyone should just be grateful he hasn't gone on a murder rampage yet.”

“I have just as much power as him.”

“I know, dear,” he can feel Tango nodding, even though he can't see him. “But you're too nice to go on a murder rampage.”

“You're lucky that I am,” he grumbles, listening as Tango’s following laugh reverberates through the room.

“Certainly.” Tango presses a kiss to the back of his head- while he’s unable to even reciprocate it, the cheat! “Now, did you want to hear about the story I'm drafting at the moment?”

“Always.”

“Alright, so, the main plot of it is a main character and their partner, both of them leaving their home to travel the world beyond their small city, seeing the sights and setting up several businesses at a time. I even began considering the thought of there being a corrupt monarchy in there at some point…”

#juno.writes #asks #anon #jimmy solidarity #tango tek #cursed solidaritek au #trafficshipping #solidaritek #rancher duo #team rancher #ranch duo #solidaritygaming #solidarity gaming #tangotek

[aranciafiamma]

Boy in the Ice pt. 3

1:26 p.m.

"Hail, fair maidens!"

Ochako stops mid-stride, sharing a look with her friends. They turn in sync to take in the stranger approaching them. He has light brown hair and blue eyes, wearing a black blazer paired with jeans. Overall, he looks average save for the touch of foreign in his features. Except the definition of foreign gets more and more abstract these days, with all kinds of folk immigrating to Japan, and all the ways a quirk can mutate someone's looks. So maybe this guy is Japanese. Ochako can't say for sure. But he definitely feels out of place.

"Is he talking to us?" Ochako murmurs to Jiro. She gets a clueless shrug for an answer. Biting her lip, Ochako feels her stomach squeeze, as if she was attempting to levitate a heavy load.

School let out early today and with the long weekend starting tomorrow, they now have a chance to go shopping. Everyone is missing some kind of necessity - shampoo, soy sauce, socks, etc. And with all the craziness lately, they agreed that something normal and boring would be nice.

The plan was to head downtown, snag a few snacks, check out any new stores, maybe even play a couple rounds of dress up. Even if they never bought a single shirt, they always had a good laugh trying on new outfits. Ochako had been looking forward to that. But one look at this stranger and she knew that things are about to go sideways.

They're halfway across campus when this guy calls out to them. So he got past the gates somehow, and sure, he could have been invited in by someone. Except it's after school on the eve of a long weekend. There aren't even any makeup classes or club meetings because of the holiday coming up. The campus is deserted except for the handful of staff to supervise the dorm students (and their new guests). If Ochako was a gambling kinda girl, she would bet good money that their guests have something to do with this random dude walking around their campus.

"How goes the day?" The stranger asks, and wow. He sure sounds like an extra from those ancient samurai movies. Seriously, no one talks like that.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" Good ol' Yaomomo, always on top of things - they would be a wreck and likely dead without her.

"Pardon me, I have been far too forward. I am Basil, at your service."

"Basil who?" Mina pipes up, hands on her hips.

"I am a friend of Lord Sawada. He is currently enjoying your hospitality."

"Sawada?" Ochako echoes, frowning. "So you're friends with Tsuna-san?"

"Aye."

There it is. She totally called it.

"Pray, may I know if you reside on these grounds?"

"Why you asking?" Jiro lifts her chin and pins Basil with a needle-point glare. "And why are you here? Did Tsuna-san call you? Do the teachers know that you're here?"

"Peace. Peace. I mean not to offend." Basil smiles ruefully, holding up his hands. "I am a stranger in your lands, and I call upon your aid to find my way."

"Okay… That didn't really answer Jiro-chan's questions," Tsu-chan points out. "And do you have to talk like that? It's a little hard to take you seriously."

Basil chuckles, eyes pinching in the corners. "Doubt me not, good lady. I only seek to escort Lord Sawada back to his home."

"Boss isn't here."

Ochako flinches. She whips around and finds Chrome standing a few steps away. Her hands clench into fists as she forcefully calms her startled heart. Someone needs to put a bell on Chrome-san before she induces cardiac arrest. Honestly, Ochako is reluctantly impressed. As a hero-in-training, with considerable experience in combat, her senses are keener compared to most of the general public. But somehow, Chrome-san always manages to spook her. This time, Ochako didn't even hear her coming or see her coming - as if Chrome-san appeared out of thin air. Toru-chan could learn a lot from her.

"Lady Chrome! Good fortune blesses me with your presence."

Chrome-san blinks, slow and almost sleepy. She's hard to read as always, as if her mind is out to sea, as if her body is a wisp of smoke. And okay, Ochaka has an invisible girl for a classmate so the absence of facial cues is not new to her. But it's not about what she sees and more about what she believes. The truth is that Chrome-san stands right in front of her and Ochako can't believe that she's there. Something in her brain is telling her that Chrome-san does not exist even with visual and auditory proof. It's tripping her up.

"Boss left."

"Wait, you guys can do that?" Mina cuts in, scratching her head. "Weren't you guys stuck on campus or something?"

Chrome-san shrugs.

"Would you know where he went?" Basil asks, and he sounds earnest. He must have been looking forward to seeing Tsuna-san.

Huh. Well, it has been six months - that's half a year - since Tsuna-san crash landed in their school. If Ochako had disappeared for that long then miraculously returned, her parents would have been a wreck. Nothing would have kept them away from her.

And now that she's thinking about it… Where are Tsuna-san's parents?

A sigh from Basil drags Ochako out of her head. She must have missed Chrome-san's answer or maybe Chrome-san just didn't answer. Either way, Basil looks none too happy, with his head hanging low and his shoulders slumping. An air of absolute exhaustion seems to envelope him. And oof, maybe Ochako's been getting paranoid from all the stuff that happened recently. She had no good reason to be so weird about Basil. Yeah, sure the guy talks funny but apart from the possible trespassing (which okay, that's a pretty big deal actually), Basil seems pretty polite and soft-spoken. He hasn't made threats or demands or anything to show that he's some kind of danger to her or her friends. Ochako should have been more welcoming, especially since he seems to have missed Tsuna-san terribly.

"We can help you find him, if you'd like." Ochako offers a friendly smile. "You don't know the way around, right? And we were just about to go downtown anyway. Maybe you'll find Tsuna-san there."

Basil shakes his head. "I have depended on your patience for long enough. Please excuse me."

"Are you sure?" Tsu-chan chimes in. "Because we really wouldn't mind, kero."

Basil looks them over, pursing his lips. Then his eyes drift up, locking onto Chrome-san behind them. There's a split second of something, Ochako isn't sure what. It's over before she could really think about it, and then Basil is smiling nice and wide with a lot of teeth.

"You have my sincere gratitude, gentle ladies. I am in your care."

"Sheesh," Jiro snorts. "You talk worse than Fumikage. Let's hope you two never meet."

"Chrome-san, would you like to -" Yaomomo's gasp cuts off her question.

Ochako turns and flinches hard. Chrome-san is glaring at them. For once, emotion colors her face, transforming her delicate features into something sharper, more vicious.

"Chrome-san?" Tsu-chan murmurs softly. "Is something wrong?"

Chrome-san squeezes her eyes shut, breathing in deeply. All at once, her expression flattens out, returning to its usual neutral state. She shakes her head once.

"I am not feeling well. I will be heading back to my room." Chrome-san tells them, speaking more words than Ochako has ever heard from her. "Have a good time… Stay safe."

Then she walks away, never looking back. What just happened? Something happened. Ochako considers chasing after Chrome-san, just to make sure that she's really okay. But a hand drops on her shoulder before she could make a move.

"Let's give her some space," Yaomomo whispers, barely loud enough for Ochako to hear. "We can check on her later."

Ochako bites her lip, pinching her brow. Yaomomo is right - of course, she's right. Chrome-san didn't seem to want any company, the exact opposite actually. Ochako should leave her alone. But… The hero-in-training couldn't shake the dread curdling in her gut.

"Shall we hasten to the market?" Basil asks them. "Daylight is fading and I would not like to burden you for too long."

Ochako sucks in a deep, steadying breath. Then she nods at Yaomomo. Together, they face Basil with polite grins.

"You aren't a burden, Basil-san."

"Yep, yep. C'mon now, let's head on out!"

The group makes their way off campus, strolling down the side streets, making idle chatter. They learn that Basil taught himself Japanese, studying the language through classic Samurai films. He tells them that his boss helped somewhat, but only encouraged his archaic way of phrasing. At this point, Basil is fully aware that he sounds funny but in truth, he prefers old-fashioned speech. He feels more distinguished and sophisticated - completely unlike how he speaks in his native tongue.

Of course, this confession prompts all the girls to ask for a demonstration. A blushing Basil obliges them with several phrases in Italian. To their clueless ears, Basil sounds polite and soft-spoken, nothing unusual. But he assures them that if he had said this to a fellow Italian, they would be throwing punches before the last word left his lips.

Their chatter is cut short when they reach downtown. A thick layer of tension blankets the main street as agitated shoppers skirt around a massive crater embedded in the road. Police tape already surrounds the affected area with a few officers nearby, taking statements and offering assurances. Making note of all that, the girls tug Basil towards their favorite café where their familiar faces encourage the waitress to share all the shocking details.

A fireball fell from the sky. Everyone ran. But before a hero could arrive at the scene, the fire died out, revealing a boy without any clothes. Wisps of smoke rose from his bare skin as he kneeled in the crater. No one dared approach except for a loud, angry blond. Mean sparks danced between his fingers as he yelled at everyone to stay back and mind their own business. He had jumped down and crouched next to the boy, exchanging a few words, before he hauled him over his shoulder like a sack of rice. The two didn't wait for a hero or even police to help, simply walked away and out of sight. A few tried to stop them with well-intentioned queries, but the blond had a glare that could cut through metal. As for everyone else, well… they didn't want to buy trouble, not even in a shopping district. The boys were long gone by the time police showed up.

Ochako squeezes her eyes shut. At her side, Tsu-chan lets out a long, belabored sigh. Yaomomo requests for a table.

Once they were all seated, the girls share a look the way only intimate friends could. Jiro lets out a chuckle. Tsu-chan slips out a giggle. Mina barks out a laugh. When Yaomomo and Ochako join in, they're in full blown hysterics.

Of course! Why wouldn't Bakugou be involved? It just had to be someone from their class. Honestly, 1-B does not find half the bullshit that they seem to crash into on a weekly basis. They're all such problem children, ergo problems keep finding them. If Aizawa-sensei survives this year without losing his sanity, he would accomplish a miraculous feat.

"Um, I beg your pardon." Basil raises his hand, like a student asking a question. "I aim not to shorten your mirth. I simply wish to know about this Bakugou fellow."

"He's a crazy tough guy!" Mina tells him.

"His default volume is loud, and he only gets louder," Jiro adds.

"Bakugou Katsuki is one of our classmates," Yaomomo explains. "He is another hero-in-training and one of the best in our class. He does get angry often but he isn't the dangerous sort. Let's just say that he can be difficult at times."

"Well, he has enough goodwill to aid that other boy," Basil replies. "That is to his credit."

Ochako blinks. "Yeah… What's up with that? I mean, I'm not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid. But I'm also not not saying that he wouldn't help some random kid."

"So then… Bakugou musta known the guy." Jiro drums her fingers on the table. "Right? That's why he went through all that trouble."

"Does Bakugou-chan know anyone with a fireball quirk? I mean, not counting Todoroki-chan, of course," Tsu-chan asks with a tilt of her head.

"Who knows…" Ochako sighs.

"Where would this Bakugou fellow take his friend - if we are to presume that the unknown boy is a friend. It seems hasty of him to leave before peace officers could intervene."

"Yeah… But Bakugou does his own thing, yanno?" Mina replies. "Especially when he thinks that he's right. Which is most of the time, bee-tee-dubs. So… huh. Where would he take the guy?"

"If I was gonna guess," Ochako chimes in. "I'd say that Bakugou would take him back to school. But we didn't see him on the way here, unless he took a different route. Except that wouldn't make much sense, since any other route would just be longer and more inconvenient."

"That is strange…" Basil hums, pursing his lips. "And… I may have the explanation."

"Oh, please share your thoughts." Yaomomo nods at him.

"Kindly note that I only have theories and nothing that can be confirmed without additional evidence. With that said, I believe that your peer came to aid Lord Sawada."

"Tsuna-san?" Ochako frowns, folding her brow. "So, wait… You think that… The guy who fell from the sky - the guy on fire - that was Tsuna-san?"

"That dude's makin' a habit out of falling from the sky." Jiro shakes her head. "This would be what? The second time he's done this?"

"It would be imperative to know Sir Bakugou's location, so that we may confirm if Lord Sawada is in his care."

Ochako studies Basil's heavy frown, the hard-set fold of his brow. She pulls out her phone and starts texting Bakugou.

"Are you messaging him?" Mina asks. "Tell him the teachers are gonna freak when they hear about this."

"Like he'd care," Jiro scoffs.

Ochako doesn't get an immediate reply but that doesn't mean anything. Bakugou isn't very responsive usually, unless he's pissed off then he sends a text every second. If he's not in the mood, he could leave someone on "read" for days. Right now, Ochako can't even tell if Bakugou looked at her message yet. Maybe he's just not on his phone. She'll have to wait a little longer to find out for sure if he's with Tsuna-san.

She tells as much to everyone around her. Mina groans. Jiro rolls her eyes. Tsu-chan shakes her head. Yaomomo orders them a round of drinks.

Basil hums a flat note. "Mayhaps, he has simply gone home."

Ochako perks up. "Oh, you're right! He doesn't live too far from here, just a few train stations away. Back when we weren't living on campus, he and Deku-kun never had so much trouble getting to school."

"He lives up north, right?" Jiro asks, crossing her arms. "He and Midoriya live close to each other. That's how they met, I heard."

"Well, I don't know how close. But they both grew up in the Orudera district and went to the same schools. That's what Deku-kun told me, at least."

"Yanno, rumors say that Bakugou's pretty rich. He's got some fancy, modern-looking house. His dad's a designer or something, right?" Mina adds.

"How do you know that?" Jiro furrows her brow.

"Oh, just gossip. Honestly, you guys should keep your ears more open. We have the biggest busybodies in our class." Mina waves her hand.

"Tooru-chan isn't a busybody!" Tsu-chan protests.

"I was talking about Aoyama," Mina cackles.

"Nevermind that now," Yaomomo speaks up. "We should focus on helping Basil-san."

"But that gives me an idea…" Ochako quickly taps her phone, sending a second message. "Maybe Deku-kun can help."

Mina peers over her shoulder. "Hey, why did you star Midoriya's message thread? Hmm?"

Ochako immediately pulls away from Mina, heat flushing her face. "No, I didn't! Shut up!"

Jiro cackles. "You're so red! You look like a tomato, Ochako-cha~an!"

Ochako balls up her napkin and throws it at Jiro. Her so-called friend dodges, continuing to laugh.

"Do you really like-like Deku-kun?" Tsu-chan asks, tilting her head.

"We will stop if you wish," Yaomomo nods. "Admittedly, teasing you is quite enjoyable. You react so cutely. But we will stop at your request."

Ochako pouts. "No, it's fine. I'm not really bothered. As long as Deku-kun doesn't hear about this, then it's fine. And honestly, I'm not that sure about… you know… feelings. We're good friends, and all that."

"Well, I ship it," Mina says. "You would make a great couple. So when you get your stuff figured out, shoot your shot girl! We're in high school! We're at the height of our hormones! We gotta maximize that teenage experience!"

There's a round of giggling agreement as Yaomomo, Jiro, and Tsu-chan express their support. Basil politely keeps quiet, studying his drink as if cola held the universe's secrets.

Ochako groans, dropping her head on the table. "You guuuuys! Somehow, I'm both incredibly embarrassed and super happy? I can't tell if you're the best or the worst!"

"Why not both?" Ochako can't see Jiro's face but a smug smirk was somehow implied in her words.

"Then what about you, Mina-chan? Do you have any crushes, kero?" Tsu-chan, officially Ochako's best friend, turns everyone's attention on someone else.

Mina clicks her tongue. "I wish! Everyone's my bro. No one has swept me off my feet. But I guess that's too much to ask from a high school boy."

"What about a high school girl?" Jiro asks.

"Same difference."

Ochako lifts her head, just in time to see a devious smile curl Jiro's lips.

"Is that a challenge?"

Inherently incapable of backing down, Mina sits up straight and slams her hands on the table. "What? Are you gonna romance me, bro?"

Jiro leans forward. "What if I did, bro?"

"Just name the time and the place, bro!"

"Tomorrow, 4pm, at that new cafe, bro!"

"Oh it's on, bro!"

"Yeah, bro!"

"Good heavens," Yaomomo murmurs. "Once those two get started, there's no stopping them."

Ochako breathes out a laugh when she hears her phone buzz. She taps the screen and finds Deku-kun's response with Bakugou's address. At her side, she notices Basil shift closer. She turns to look at him but his gaze is firmly on his drink. Again, something twists in her gut.

"-ko-chan!"

Wincing, Ochako whips around to face Tsu-chan. "Whoops, sorry! Did you say my name?"

Tsu-chan nods. "Did you hear back from Deku-kun?"

"Oh, um, yeah! I got the address right here…" The knot in her guts tighten. "But, you know, maybe Bakugou will reply soon. We haven't ordered any food yet. So why don't we eat first and then make our way to his house? I mean, dropping by without letting them know - that's a little rude, right?"

The words rush out of her with all the urgency of a flood. She can't explain the goosebumps dotting her skin, or the way sparks seem to dance down her spine, like she's in combat or taking a practical exam. But she's not. She's sitting at a cafe, surrounded by her friends. They're all her friends, right? Her eyes shift to the left, where Basil sits next to her.

"That… seems like a fine idea," Yaomomo agrees. "It would be unseemly to…"

"Exactly!" Ochako barely restrains herself from yelling. Honestly, Yaomomo is an angel.

"Mmhmm, and that way, we can walk Basil-kun to Bakugou-kun's place," Tsu-chan adds. Bless her. "He's new in town, so he might get lost if we only give him the address."

"I offer gratitude for your generosity." Basil nods with a serene smile, getting to his feet. "Indeed, I wish not to impede our feasting. Please excuse me as I must visit the lavatory. Kindly request delicious fare on my behalf. This will take but a brief moment."

He slides by Ochako and in that second, she notices a hard shape behind his jacket. Nowadays, with quirks so common, hardly anyone carries weaponry of any sort. But as Basil leaves, she could swear on her great-grandmama's grave that he was hiding a gun in his jacket.

But surely not, right? That's ridiculous! Guns are highly regulated in Japan, even if most people don't use firearms anymore. There's no way a visiting foreigner could come into the country with a gun on hand… No legal way at least…

"Ochako?" Mina grabs her shoulder and shakes her gently. "Hey, you look like you've seen a ghost."

"No… No… I'm just - I was seeing - My eyes were playing tricks on me."

"Wait," Jiro holds up a hand. "Did you actually see a ghost?"

"What? No!" Ochako shakes her head, pasting on a smile. "I'm fine! It's fine! Let's just get our orders going, yeah?"

The girls exchange concerned looks. Ochako ignores them, focusing on the menu. It must have been something else - some other L-shaped thing. She's jumping to drastic conclusions. It could have been a square ruler or some kind of hardware tool or hell, it could have been a boomerang! She doesn't know! She's going crazy!

The waitress stops by. She orders on autopilot - fries or whatever. The girls continue to talk, hushed now, clearly concerned about her. She offers single syllable responses, nodding once in awhile. But everyone can tell that she's not really paying attention, and she should. They're her friends! She wants to have a good time with them! But her eyes spot a wall clock on the cafe wall. And she can't stop watching the minutes tick on by and tick on by.

The food comes. Basil doesn't. They begin to eat. Ochako can see everyone is now equally on edge. They take small bites. They chew slowly with great care. Basil's seat remains empty. Ochako feels the familiar sensation of nausea, as if she tried to lift something far too heavy, far too big, far too much. She stands up.

"I'm gonna ask someone to check on Basil-san. I'll be right back."

She doesn't wait for a response. She runs to the counter, nearly tripping over her feet. She finds someone on the staff and asks if they can check the men's restroom.

"You see - um - that is, I have a friend - he's… you know… new in the country. And I'm worried that he… doesn't know the way… toilets work?" Wow. That sounds beyond stupid but she can't think of anything else to say.

The poor, confused cashier wrinkles her forehead, tilting her head to the side. "Ma'am, our restroom has been out of order since yesterday."

In a single, brutal second, Ochako knows - maybe not fully, maybe not truly - but she knows the same way she knows that gravity pulls everything down and down and down. Something terrible has begun.

#khr #katekyo hitman reborn #bnha #mha #my hero academia

[skaruresonic]

I write HL fics sometimes so go check 'em out. links and excerpts under the read more. yeet

In the Eye of the Beholder - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own]

It wasn't a conscious decision.

It seldom is.

Risk factors. As if one's life can be reduced to a chemical deficit. ---

He can't say where it started, only where it's led him.

He saw the dwindling rations, the tight pinched miens of the men around him. The incessant chatter of a television broadcasting some new infathomable horror.

He ate less, started giving Kleiner his share. You need it more than I do.

Maybe the transference is why Kleiner started fighting battles on his behalf. Merely breathing is an incredible act of courage. I'll not have you speak ill to him when he's ailing.

"What about the rest of us, Kleiner? Do you really think this has just been peaches for us? Damned facility took everything! May God have mercy on our souls, because this coalition certainly won't spare us!"

In the days following the Seven Hours, he experienced no passions, no ambitions, no plans or desires. Consciousness a blank expanse. He became an unthinking creature, a vegetable at the ripe old age of twenty-three, confined to lying on a dirty couch, waiting for it to become a coffin.

A hand rustling the pillow beneath him, propping him up. A spoonful of flavorless chicken broth poised to his chapped lips, which parted out of reflex and allowed the liquid to slip inside.

Occasionally he felt fingers, dry and cold, knead his throat.

You must live. Kleiner, a tremulous wisp. Our hubris stole your future. Barney, I promise with whatever breath is granted me, I'll correct this grievous wrong. ---

I believe the Combine intend to show us every horror possible. They'll try to strip us of our rationality, our humanity, our sanity and our very souls. They'll parade us as animals to be gawked at and specimens to be dissected. You cannot do their work for them, Barney.

Life has no intrinsic meaning, it's true. We can neither rationalize nor justify our existence. We may not have a reason to continue. But there is such cohesion, such structure, to the universe that I find it impossible to believe we don't have a place in it at all. Let us be damned before we let our aggressors define it for us.

For a single sublime moment, Kleiner's hope made him beautiful.

Bless the wretched, who cling to scraps as they drift through this dark sea. --- Mycotoxin - benignmilitancy - Half-Life (Video Games) [Archive of Our Own] Hammer Two forges ahead and freezes at the threshold.

"Oh, sh... " And then it remembers. "Untagged biotics in Sector Nineteen."

Ghost Five staggers back in, twists and convulses beneath a pulsating mask of black mold. Spores spray on each exhale of the ventilator, latching onto the dust motes and burning. Asthmatic smoke.

Christ. Fall back. Bear back.

Daggers discharge. Raindrops in a puddle. The sterilizers have nowhere to go. They're simply eaten.

Hammer Two activates its wall and pulls up its hammer, sloughing sparks. There is something gladiatorial in the way it creeps toward Ghost Five. Near valiant. But the moment dies brutishly: the wall sputters and half of Hammer Two disintegrates. The other half slumps to the carpet. Carrion. Feasted upon. What it is now, the others don't know.

What's the designation? someone asks. Questions ripple through them.

What's the designation.

Spores.

The designation.

Mold?

Designation.

"You fucking morons, who cares what it is?"

They call for their mother, who responds with cold silence.

OVERWATCH WE ARE REQUESTING DESIGNATION

WE HAVE UNTAGGED

--- Derailed - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own]

Rain bombs the rooftops, a thousand simultaneous explosions silvering the streets. Water rattles the drainpipes loose from their bolts. Skies weep, unable to inhale. Endless baptisms rinse the city clean. He hasn't seen anything like it since the Seven Hours.

The man who stepped in front of the razor train, the whole and complete Kevlar-clad body he used to belong to, asked him in a thin whisper: You think it'll work?

Will what work?

Your Resistance. Go poking at the beast and it'll tear your head right off the stump. ---

Mask - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own] After a moment of silence, you roll up the hem of your armor.

They can't help but stare at the purple welt puckered over your right kidney. The flesh folded inward, the serrated ghosts of stitches puncturing brown skin.

Torso pads caught most of it. You appraise it with a nonchalant sniff. He cut it from a tin can, y'know, didn't know how to hold it the right way, and, uh. You trace the scar, almost fondling it under the pad of your index finger, before lowering your hem. He ran when he saw it broke off. They sent a couple shredders after him. Didn't make it past the front gate.

You sigh then and throw a stick into the oil drum. Golden cinders flare.

You know the real fucked part? As you were bleeding on the floor like a stuck pig? You got pissed at him. You. The mask. They were chasing him out the door and all you could think was, Just you wait, you raggedy little shit.

---

Path of the Borealis - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own]

Alone, he contemplated his failure.

One thread remained.

He crushed it.

Windows shattered outward, crashing tidal waves of glass into the darkness. Incandescent tubes scorched around him, belching sparks that caught on the upholstery. The tram's chassis screeched as the car folded in on itself, metal joints and steel bones scrunching with papery ease.

The last vortal cord sizzled protest in his fist.

Doctor Freeman. The darkness harbored lungs, and it prepared to scream. It… appears we've been quite… obdurate. ---

"You call me less than human. You, who are no more than an animal yourself, terrified of any glimmer of truth illuminating the shadows playing upon the cavern walls of your dim consciousness. What possible use could we have for you, an evolutionary dead end clinging wretchedly to its last vestiges? Only a fool would believe her short-lived passions serve us in the palace of the enlightened."

Breen dropped her. Let her crawl.

Long, jointed fingers grasped her ankles and dragged back its prey, letting the steel grate abrade her Hunter wounds. The floor's ridges scraped her flesh until her scabs cracked. A cold, seeping trickle smeared across her stomach, joining the sweat dampening her undershirt.

"I am the gentlest propagator of this process, believe you me. The native-born aren't quite as considerate for the concerns of the flesh, but I still remember what it means to be saddled down by human foible."

Clutching her throbbing shoulder, Alyx scrabbled in vain at the floor. Toward the launcher, toward anything that could offer salvation. Her heart slammed inside her ribcage, full to burst.

"I can improve you, perfect you in ways your simian cerebrum can hardly grasp. Have you seen the thorough work I've done with Dr. Mossman? How easily I've washed away her pesky flaws? One can't help but appreciate her now that she lacks her stubborn streak, her subtle arrogance driven by fears of inadequacy. Far better than the existing stock, wouldn't you agree?"

This couldn't be it. She couldn't die here, not to him, not with Mossman watching—

" …Now, there, you won't feel a thing, I promise. This baptism is the most invigorating thing you will ever do. Doesn't that sound far kinder a fate than any afterlife could purport to be? And who better to convert you than me?

"Not to worry: you're in much more capable hands than the ones that clutched your father. His death was an unrefined mess I wish not to repeat. No; for my next piece, I intend to chip away at you until what remains cannot even be called broken."

In the midst of horror, a place of calm. A clear voice.

Look, her father said. Look closer.

No; closer. Past the shock and pain and helplessness; past the blood pooling through limestone; peel back the layers, quiet the scrape of the scream writhing from your throat; stop feeling, stop grieving and see; what remains?

The Advisor in the barn. Bearing pockmarks from its damaged life support.

Alyx, her father said. Look in the inhuman eyes of the one who killed me. ---

Around her, darkness laughed. Stupid girl. Your father suffered many nightmares, but only one was born of choice.

[Lies.]

Whether hand or mind willed it, she didn't know. The former slipped into her boot and curled around a familiar curve.

[Vindicate me. Extinguish these lies.]

Alyx slaked off the HEV with a shove and brandished the pincer. Let the bastard's amused gaze absorb the glint of the weapon that had lured the terrified animal from Breen's host body, made the human inside taste hell.

"This is what you really want, right?" It turned, wry amusement etching Gordon's features. "What you arranged in Black Mesa." With a spirit as chillingly clear as ice, she poised the tip over her heart. "Let him go." Pushed in until the point sank through the parka's outermost skin, slitting tender down. "Or you lose everything."

Unperturbed in the slightest, it rose, and walked toward the fire. "Of the various species I have encountered, I have noted core characteristics." Emerald radiance blurred its edges. Gordon immolated. Gordon through a stained-glass window. Exalted. Untouchable. "They are born, cold, hungry, and screaming, into a world where their suffering engenders no meaning. Rather than endure such an existence, many seek relief. They embrace the end."

The pincer quaked.

"All except one. You do not know how to die."

The light was as holy as it was alien. Heatless like oblivion. Like transcendence.

"It is because you do not know how to die that your kind worships shadows. I knew your Resistance would never come to be without a sacrificial lamb or two. For that role, I could have chosen anyone. You, well. Provided the most convenient means, shall we say.

"To put it in the simplest terms I can: I don't like squandering my investments." Smooth metal nudged her breast. The heart, pumping worthless blood, accelerated at the intrusion. "At Black Mesa, I hoped to purge you of your afflictions. But I see my methods have failed. Instead, you passed your strain onto your neighbor."

Instinct checked her hand, prevented her from carrying out the threat.

The entity huffed a noiseless laugh as she relented her grip. "The flesh is a prison. It craves survival."

tery power is four p

Reduced to a crawl, she knelt beside Barney's prone form while the entity raised its arms, spreading veined wings of cables and cords. If she couldn't commit the crucial deed, she could at least... At least...

"There is nowhere to run, Miss Vance. You both belong to me," it said, "the organs of my body." ---

Something Secret Steers Us - benignmilitancy - Half-Life [Archive of Our Own] Maybe all their struggles amounted to futile effort, a fool's errand. An armored suit worn once and tucked away.

She wouldn't accept her death with any of the grace her mother and father had. She'd be dragged screaming into the dark, gnashing her teeth and biting the hand that supposedly fed.

Until now, she'd been measuring herself against this shadow in her head, this specter of Eli, weighing whether or not he'd have done the same in her circumstances. And she'd been so certain, so absolutely sure her father would have done the right thing, wouldn't have let anyone under his protection die.

"I can't take this," she whispered. "Between Dad and Barney and Gordon, it feels like I'm being crushed… And I know they need me to hold it together, I know… But making these decisions over who lives and who dies… How am I supposed to do that?"

But maybe he would have. The prospect that she didn't really know him at all, what he was capable of in a similar moment of blind, abject desperation, terrified her. That behind every self-effacing moment of his was calculation. That his insistence not to saint him but to look to Gordon instead—so certain this myth of a man held the answers they sought—had been in fact meticulously designed to get her to this point, with Gordon as the control. Solved like an equation, by proof and by axiom, whose life will pay the greater dividend? Whose life may we cast aside? Show your work, Dr. Vance.

#'tis the season for half-life. fa la la la la la la #half-life #half life #fanfic #half life fanfiction #I didn't list all of it but. w/e

[matau-the-228th]

Bionicle Mahiano AU Interlude: Teatime

Rahaga Vakama poured me a cup of tea without asking.

"So, Historian, what do you want to talk about today?"

I waited until the stream of hot water stops before I spoke. "Takua, I suppose."

The Rahaga paused for a brief moment before moving to pour his own cup. "He told me you yelled at him the other day."

Oh.

"I... I shouldn't have done that." I had look away from the Rahaga's eyes. I couldn't take seeing the pity in them. Not again. "I was... frustrated. And I lost control of my anger."

"...I know all too well about that, and certainly cannot blame you for losing control of it once or twice. But it can become a struggle to keep such a thing in check. No harm was done this time. In fact, I think Takua wants to be your assistant now more than ever."

Vakama waved a hand dismissively. "But let us not dwell on that. How is he doing? There is some room for improvement, of course, but I think he will get the hang of being the Chronicler. He's even gotten you to leave the Hall of Records."

I tensed up, feeling some sort of further implication behind his words. But I drank some of the tea and let the bitterness and fruity aroma cover the feeling. It was probably just my own self-doubt trying to claw its way into the front of my mind again.

"He's doing... fine, I guess." I clenched the cup in my hand. "Are you... sure it's wise for me to tell him the whole history? Not the abridged version you- we tell the rest of the Matoran?"

"Well, he is the Chronicler. How better for him to learn how to record and tell stories than by recounting our own?"

"Your own." I reflexively corrected out loud. No, that isn't right. Not really. "Sorry. It's just... how much of this is really... relevant to how we came to be on Mata Nui? Shouldn't we... cut out parts of the story?"

He frowned, an all-too familiar expression. I could even hear his words before he says them. "You were there too. Just because you are a Matoran does not mean you do not have a part to play in the history that has been and will be- no matter if it was in the past or will be the future, you are important!"

That's not what I meant. But I couldn't take the time to elaborate my thoughts before my feelings took over.

"Yeah, I got captured. Now I write down things that have already happened. End of story. Great big world-saving hero-quest."

"That's not the only thing you did."

"What, do you mean being a small nuisance to Dume's Vahki when you needed it most? Or do you mean when I caused some sort of crisis of faith in that Toa of Stone?"

The words came more freely now, uncorked after being bottled up for so long. "That somehow, just by existing, I made him 'see the light' and rebel against Tuyet? The very same thing that killed him? That part to play?"

Vakama's eyes widened, if only for a moment. Then he just... sighed.

"I see. So this is what you have been angry about."

"You and I are the only ones who saw what he did, what happened to him! Manas bones, Vakama! There's no body to entomb! Not even a mask to hang in the Mausoleum! Every single second of his last moments had to have been agony!"

"He would have stopped if he felt it was the right thing to do."

"And are you sure it was? That we couldn't have continued to fight?"

"...No. But there was nothing to be done! He put on the mask and used it, and ended the battle then and there. None of what he did is your fault. It was his decision. His sacrifice."

"But I spent so much time being dragged around the city by him! Spent so much time being protected by him! And not once did I stop to ask him why. How can you say that I couldn't have done-"

There was the sound of splintering as Vakama's hand crushed the bamboo cup he was holding, splattering the tea across the table.

"Because you could not have done anything!" His breath was ragged, trying to keep it tempered; Forcing himself to sound calm, even as small wisps of smoke puffed through is mouth. "I had the mask. I am the one who gave it to him. I am the only one who could have saved him. And even then...!"

Vakama grimaced, slowly speaking his thoughts like they burned his tongue. "Even then, I don't think he wanted to be saved."

His words hung in the air.

"I know it's... tempting. To try to be like him. To think that you have to sacrifice yourself in some way to honor him. I know that's why you've been hiding in the Hall of Records, or at least part of it. But don't. Don't be like him. Don't try to become a Toa. Because..."

He stopped, looking down at the crushed bamboo in his hand.

"...Because I'm not him." I said tentatively.

Vakama looked at me with an even more pained expression. He exhaled, doing his best to look me in the eyes, but his gaze seemed to keep slipping away.

"You are the only Matoran we truly saved, when we were Toa. Has... has that ever occurred to you? No one else is the same person they were before. Not really. They still live, but... all those connections to each other- to us- are just... gone. It was our duty... my duty, and..."

I didn't respond. Vakama looked so tired, so old. Old before his time.

That's right, I remember. I was built two cycles before he was. I'm older. Even if it's not by much.

The silence persisted, only the occasional sound of tea being sipped and poured breaking the oppressive noiselessness.

We sat in silence for a while, Vakama using the quiet to get another bamboo cup and pour himself more tea.

The Lhikan bell tolled, signaling that the sun has fully set, and that night had arrived in Ta-Koro.

"...Where did you leave off in your recounting of the past with Takua?"

"Rahaga... Toa Nuju had just finished his investigation of the Grand Temple of Tekoa, and he's learned a little out about Toa Nhidiki."

"So it would be Nokama's discovery of the artificial island in the Water Sector next, chronologically."

I shrug. "I think Takua wants to know how you six went from being Toa to Rahaga more, not this boring 'finding out the right way to be a Toa' stuff," I laughed a little, "No offense."

He smiled, giving own chuckle that sounded more like a ghekula toad croaking. "None taken. Though I would be willing to wager he's also wondering why you've been referring to yourself in the third person when telling the story!"

I leaned forward, smiling as well. "It's a bad habit I picked up from some story-telling Rahaga, I'm afraid."

And we both laughed and talked as we had not in ages long into the night.

#bionicle #mahiano #bionicle au #vakama #rahaga

[suspicious-whumping-egg]

Low Profile Part 17: No More Lies

Series masterlist here. Enjoy!

~~

Hale’s face was tearstained when he awoke, and he didn’t even remember why. Wisps of images taunted him, crumbling in his mind’s grasp the moment he tried to hold on to them. 

Why Silas?  He closed his eyes, and all he saw was the shining edge of a black knife, slicing through layers of skin in a practiced, cruel motion. His chest throbbed with the thought of it. Why him? He felt like he would be sick. He’d hurt him to save him, sure. To stay on the case, keep him alive. But why couldn't it be someone else? Someone he could dream about without the tender moments being drowned out by nightmares? 

There was something ironic about agonizing over Silas while wrapped in the blanket he’d given him, and he scoffed at himself. He shook his head as if to dislodge a memory, a good one, yet nothing came to fruition. It just worsened his headache. 

He slid from the cot, its springs squealing as he got up, and checked the door on instinct. The amount of times he’d rattled the locked handle was bound to be in the hundreds by now, yet he couldn’t risk not checking when an opportunity presented itself. But as always, the bolt was secure in its place. And despite having expected it, Hale still cursed that even Silas never forgot to lock his cell. He slumped against the door, his head resting against the wall with a soft thud, and buried his face in his knees. 

If Silas had loved him so much, why didn’t he just fucking let him out? Why didn’t he just take his hand and run off with him, memories be damned? 

As if Hale didn't already know the answer. He’s not really gonna love me ‘til I get them back, not really,  he forced himself to admit. I’m not worth that yet. 

He wasn’t worth it, not until the drive was unlocked, until Silas could show him that video and magically get the old Hale back— as if it was that easy. No amount of explanation or resurfaced memories would bring back who he’d been before. His family had been painstaking in killing that person, whoever he’d been, so if Silas was only doing this all to get the old one back, he’d be in for disappointment. He was stuck with the only Hale that was left. 

The thought settled as a cold, dark weight in his heart, but why else would he have refused to take the risk by now? Silas hated Viper almost as much as Hale did. 

And when the sharp, clipped echo of boots on stone edged closer and closer to the door, he was too exhausted to care. Too exhausted to shrink back, to flinch, to hide. 

Viper surveyed him with a cold glance, eyes lingering on the empty cartons of Chinese food, the blanket wrapped around Hale’s shoulders, the careful bandaging over his wounds. An impish grin toyed at his lips. 

“Looks like our little prince got a visitor,” he scoffed. “Any of those gifts jog your memory?” 

Hale shook his head, tugging the blanket tighter around himself. “I— I uh— I think he was just trying to be nice,” he offered weakly, clutching fistfuls of the warm, fuzzy material as if he could possibly keep Viper from snatching it away. 

“You’re too trusting, Ellison,” Viper said, his tone cool but almost sad. “He wants the same thing as I do, and you know it. A few little kisses and gifts won’t change that.” 

“And neither will fucking torturing me,” Hale snapped. Whether it was some fucked up good cop, bad cop shit, whether Viper was just messing with his head, he didn’t care anymore. He just wanted to get away from it all. 

“Hurting me isn’t working, whatever the hell Silas is doing isn’t working either, maybe just accept that whoever you’re waiting for to resurface in my head isn’t fucking coming back!” 

Viper’s face grew oddly stony, his lips flattening into a thin line of resolve. 

“I guess not, huh? So what do you propose, Ellison? Putting you down like a sick dog? You don’t know the first thing about Silas, what he’s done. We all want the same thing, just because he has different means of obtaining it doesn’t make him some virtuous little saint. He joined the family like everyone else.” 

Hale opened his mouth to shoot back a retort, but his mind was blank. He didn’t know a thing about Silas, but for the useless scraps of memory and what he’d been told by Silas himself.  

“Well maybe something useful will come to mind if you tell me the truth for once,” he snapped instead. “All of it.” 

Viper nodded, drummed his fingers together in thought. 

“How about I cut you a deal?” he murmured, eyes glimmering. “I’ll take you back to my place, show you the video, answer any questions you have, all that jazz. But once that’s said and done with, you tell me everything. And then regardless of how useful you are in that matter, I’ll have my way with you. Whatever I’m in the mood for. And you’re not going to cry for your little boyfriend, you’re not gonna fight, and you’re not gonna try anything stupid.” 

He stuck out his hand, rings glistening silver and black over his fingers.  

“How do I know I can trust you on this?” Hale said bitterly. “It’s not like I have any bargaining power, we all know it, you can already take whatever the fuck you want and no one gives a shit.” 

Viper shrugged. “Then I suppose you have nothing to lose, love. Take your pick. Ten, nine, eight…” 

Hale froze. 

“Nonono wait hold on—”

“Seven, six, five, four…”

Fuck it. 

He took Viper’s hand, his own trembling ever so slightly. 

“Now tell me the truth,” he said firmly. 

His captor shook his head, drawing his gun habitually and keeping it lazily trained on Hale as he unlocked the cell. 

“Just why would I do that when you can tell it to yourself?” 

He followed Viper down the labyrinth of halls, identical in their frigidity, the shadows lurking in every corner, the gloomy cement walls. No matter how many times he’d been dragged from one room to another, he’d never know his way around the place. Which, he supposed, was the point. 

When they reached Viper’s cramped apartment, Hale was abandoned at the threshold as his captor disappeared into his room, resurfacing moments later with an open laptop. 

“Dunno why the boss trusted me with this anyway, just count yourself lucky. And know that once you see this, you can’t go back. If you want any shot at a life of peace and oblivion, I’m giving you one last chance to change your mind. This is it.” 

Hale shook his head. “Maybe you could’ve thought about that before kidnapping me,” he muttered as he flopped onto the couch, wincing as the movement sent twinges of pain through his wounds. Yet the words were resigned, a brittle facade that only served to showcase the fear lying beneath. 

“If you say so,” Viper said nonchalantly. “I’ll leave you to it.” 

And with that, he hit play. 

Taglist: @morning-star-whump @whumpkitty @shameless-dumbass @hurtthemgently @gala1981 @avvail @d-cs @whumpedydump

#low profile #hale #hale ellison #viper #blue writes #don’t mind me it’s late at night and I haven’t edited or gone over it at all

[frozenwolftemplar]

Writer's Month Day 20: Different First Meeting

Fandom: Tangled: the Series

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,287

I had something longer planned, but quite honestly didn't feel up to editing something long. Then @twotangledsisters mentioned a favorite Eugene & Cassandra fic, which got me thinking about their dynamic. Somehow, that evolved into this, an AU where Eugene and Lance's orphanage was located in Corona and they meet Cass as kids.

Hope you enjoy!

+++

“Gotta say, Arnie:” Eugene Fitzherbert drew in a deep breath of air as he strode up Queen’s Avenue, sighing with satisfaction at the scents of baking bread, the thin wisps of smoke from morning fires, and various other aromatic hallmarks of a mildly-nice Corona city street. “The world just feels different when you’re ten.”

“Really?” Arnwaldo blinked over at him, eyes agog with nine-year-old wonder. “How?”

Eugene stopped to draw another breath, this time more thoughtful, chin high and arms akimbo. “Manlier.”

“Wow...” Arnwaldo gazed awestruck up at his friend, cutting an unprecedentedly mature figure against the backdrop of Walton’s Butchery. “And what’s *that* like?”

Eugene looked down at Arnwaldo with a patronizing grin, the kind he saw grown-ups directing at kids who were likable despite knowing nothing about the world. “Can’t really describe it, buddy, but you’ll understand when you’re older. Now come on.” He flipped a half-copper into the air, the consolation awarded to every orphanage kid when another year of their lives passed by at that dismal little building. “Hope the markets are ready for Eugene and Arnwaldo, the big spenders of the day!”

*************************

After much deliberation, the newly-minted ‘man’ and his year-younger buddy decided to spend their untold riches on the splendor that was a caramel apple (discounted, with a wink, down from the usual three coppers after Uncle Monty learned of then expressed his admiration for “Corona’s newest gentleman”). Sitting on a crate overlooking the square, the boys took turns savoring bites of the delicacy that was Eve’s temptation coated in sticky-sweet ambrosia until all that remained was the stick, which Eugene handed over to Arnwaldo without fuss (because men didn’t argue over who got to lick the stick. Plus Arnwaldo really liked doing that).

“Ah.” Eugene leaned back comfortably, sun-warmed brick against his back. “Manhood’s great.”

“I’ll say,” Arnwaldo concurred, licking the stick (because what could be better than having a generous ‘big spender’ man as you best buddy?).

Stomach comfortably filled with sugar, Eugene relaxed and let his gaze drift over the square, taking in the friendly bustle of before him.. Every inch of the square fluttered with activity, noise, and color, a thousand smaller stories playing out within that one larger one of Corona on Market Day. Housewives with baskets over their arms inspected turnips and pumpkins and other harvested goods, pressing their thumbs into them to check for the warning bell that was ‘give;’ men in country garb swapped stories and worked out barters as they sipped ale under a cafe awning (pity he didn’t have a second copper; he’d like to try that aspect of manhood); off to a side, Old Man Olson had set up his usual queek stand and was jovially taking bets from the crowd of onlookers that always assembled there; off to another, a fat woman with a basket over her arm (probably someone’s cook, judging by her garb and mien) inspected a pen full of milling, honking geese, trying to discern the unlucky plumpest of their lot. Sounds of industry and snippets of conversation flew like flushed birds from every which way, crashing into one another and forming an amalgam of voices and discourses that swelled to fill the space with a wonderful din. It wasn’t loud enough to be deafening, by far; just loud enough to make you feel not so alone in the world, and Eugene sighed.

Being an orphan sucked, but being an orphan in Corona, he was sure, sucked less than it would in other places, because life in Corona, he could admit was pretty sweet.

“Cut it out!”

...At least, he thought it was.

Eyes he hadn’t realized were drifting shut flew open, and Eugene searched for the source of the indignant voice. Off to a side, not terribly far from his crate, a girl with short black hair (short? Weird. Girls could have short hair?) and a brown dress peeled away from a knot of kids laughing uproariously and pelted down the alley the girl had disappeared down.

He frowned. He knew that kind of laughter.

“Where you going, Eugene?” Arnwaldo asked as Eugene leapt, deft and catlike, from the crate. He clambered down after him, tossing the licked-clean stick over his shoulder to make the leatherworker’s dog’s day.

Eugene didn’t answer, simply striding over to the knot of kids. “Hey!” He waited until he had the group’s attention, then tilted his head towards the girl’s alley in an indicating way. “What was that all about?”

One boy, tall with too-short sleeves and trouser legs, the obvious ringleader, stepped to the front with a vulpine grin. “Aw, nothing much. Just having a little fun.”

“That girl didn’t look like she was having fun,” Eugene tossed back with set expression.

“Pfft, Cassandra?” The boy waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout her. She’s always that way about things. Can’t take a joke. Besides,” he leaned in closer, as if they were the only two kids in the world who were in on a mature-boys-only secret, and said with a waggish wink: “Cast-offs like her don’t really count for anything, you know?”

Oh, Eugene knew.

And he also knew that certain duties came with manhood.

The boy was taller than him and wiry to boot, the kind who would win fights if he chose to pick them, but Eugene didn’t think about that; you *didn’t* think when the world turned red before your eyes. Without a word, he stepped forward and shoved the boy, hard

A gasp, peppered with squeals, ripped through the assembled kids as their leader stumbled backwards, caught his heel on a rebelliously eleven cobblestone, failed to recapture his balance and- “OOF!” -landed hard on his rear in a murky, questionable-looking puddle.

Eugene smirked as a silence fell over the group. Judging by the stench of that puddle, a horse had as much a hand in it as as last night’s rain. Good. Served the turd right. Cast-offs had it hard enough without morons like whatever-his-name-was teasing them for no good reason. Satisfied at the comeuppance he’d dealt, he turned on his heel and marched, head high and self-assured, down the alley the girl- Cassandra- had disappeared down.

“Hey!” The boy shouted after dealing out his own shove at a boy who’d dared to snigger at his state. “Where do you think you’re going?” (No one made a fool of him and got away with it).

“What’s it to you?” Eugene spat over his shoulder. “Cast-offs don’t count, remember?”

There was a silent beat as Eugene’s words sunk in, then a scoff. “Suit yourself, bonehead!” The boy shouted back, unrepentant. “It’s your funeral!”

“Eugene?” Arnwaldo, conquering his awe at Eugene’s boldness in the face of kids with parents who could complain to the Sisters and earn you a whipping (gosh, he couldn’t wait until he was ten and a Man), whispered as he fell in step beside Eugene. “Are you sure ‘bout this? Going to see that girl? I mean, what if there’s a reason those kids don’t like her?” He didn’t mention ‘funeral’ lingering in the air after them.

Eugene’s eyes darkened int he dim light of the alley. Arnwaldo’s ma died after having him, and his pa got kicked in the head by a mad cow not long after. He didn’t know what it was to be burdened with that especial sort of pain, deep and aching, that being abandoned by your own parents left behind; could never understand the scar it left across your soul, so cold it burned, and that continued to pulse raw and angry *years* after it first bled. But Eugene...did.

And he wasn’t about to let this girl, this Cassandra, suffer through it alone like he did.

+++

Author's Note: Part two coming soon! 😊

#writersmonth2023 #writersmonth #tangled the series #in which i write #my writing #tts fanfic #cassandra #tts cassandra #eugene fitzherbert #lance strongbow

[smalls-words]

The Demon’s Treasure - Chapter Three

Chapter Summary: DATE NIGHT!!!!

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Mafia!Fem!Reader

Genre: Fluff 

Warnings: Date night stuff (getting ready quickly, etc), creeps in the club, Wanda’s insecure about her body, Reader doesn’t care (because Wanda is the most amazing and beautiful person in the whole wide world). 

Words: 4,497

A/N - I am sooooooo sorry that my dumb ass completely forgot to upload this chapter!! I had so much fun writing it and then I got side-tracked and you probably don’t wanna listen to my rant so GO READ 😁 Also, I tried to make the text message nice and on the right for my phone, so if you’re on a computer or a bigger/smaller phone than mine, it might look a bit weird 😢😭😭😭

Series Masterlist

*not my gif*

Wanda was discharged in the morning, walking around with a happy smile on her face until she couldn’t find you. She checked with Jake and Shaun, who were still guarding her room, and they said that you had gone out. You hadn’t specified when and you hadn’t specified where, but The Queen knew where you were so there was no need to worry. 

Of course, that’s all she did. 

She paced around her room when she got back to the compound, nervously chewing on her nail as she walked the length of her bed. Where were you? Why did you up and leave so quickly? She didn’t even have your number, but with yours locked in her phone, she hoped that you would send her a message. 

Days passed, she went back to the compound and still no text. What was keeping you from texting her? It really wasn’t that hard, even if you were doing some John Wicky stuff, which she didn’t really want to think about. A text was a text.

But she didn’t expect her phone to ring. 

“Hello?” She picked it up, hearing heavy breathing from the other side.

“Who is this?”

“Tesora?” 

Her face drained of colour. “Y/N?”

“Where are you?” 

“A-At the compound. Where are you?” 

She heard heavy grunts come through the phone before your voice came back. “As long as you’re safe, that’s all that matters.” 

“Y/N, where are you? Please tell me.” She whimpered.

“I’m in Italy, tesora. You cannot come here.” You replied.

“Why haven’t you texted or called? I put my number in your phone for a reason!” She scolded as she sat down on the edge of her bed.

You chuckled softly. “I know, bambina. I’m sorry, but the family has needed me to tie up some loose ends. I promised myself that I would keep you as far away from this as possible, for as long as possible.” 

Wanda shuddered at the sound of a gunshot in the background. “Don’t die, please.”

“I never plan on it.” You answered before hanging up.

Wanda’s phone dropped onto her sheets before she called a hoodie to her hands, feeling colder than ever without your warmth. She pulled on some fluffy socks as she made her way to the kitchen of the compound, seeing Yelena and Kate both looking at the heiress’ phone. 

“What are you doing?” She asked cautiously, watching as their faces dropped.

“Uh… just… tracking Y/N’s phone.” Yelena blurted out before running away from her reaching girlfriend. 

“Hey! Yelena Belova, you get your ass back here!” Kate growled.

“No way!” Her voice echoed from the hall and Kate sighed, turning to Wanda.

“My tracking app is used by her family. There’s nowhere on earth that she can hide if she has her phone.” 

Wanda nodded and stepped closer. “Can I see?” 

Kate nodded and showed her screen, the beeping tracker labelling your GPS in Venice, Italy. 

Wanda exhaled slowly and moved to the kitchen where she began to make herself a snack. No matter how hard she tried, her hands were shaking the entire time, memories and fears creeping into the back of her mind. 

“She’s on the move.” Kate muttered, with Wanda’s head jolting up to see the noirette and her girlfriend sitting together.

“She’s on a plane?” Yelena asked and Kate nodded.

Wanda put together her small bowl of yoghurt and berries before she began to trek back to her room, only to hear her phone vibrating on the end of her bed. A wisp brought it to her and she answered it, closing her door behind her.

“Y/N?” 

“Hi, bambina.” You cooed through the line, making a chill fall down Wanda’s spine. 

 “Are… Are you okay?” She stammered, sitting down.

“Would you like the truth or would you like your anxiety eased?” 

“The truth, always.” She answered quickly.

“I have one gunshot wound to the shoulder and a few slashes across my arm. But my mother is here patching me up.” 

“Hi, Wanda.” 

“H-Hi, Mrs Zatara.” She stuttered through.

“Please, dear, you are a part of this family now. Just call me Zatanna.” 

“Okay.” Wanda murmured, longing to hear your voice.

Maybe you heard her prayers, she would never know for sure, but your voice came back to her. “I’m alright, tesora. I’ll come see you in… 45 minutes. Unless you have something planned-” 

“No! No, no, I have nothing planned.” She quickly interrupted you, hearing your soothing chuckle on the other side.

“Well then, would you like to go on the date I have finished planning?” You offered, waiting patiently. 

“Really? Tonight?” 

“I can think of no better time than the present.”

Wanda’s bottom lip got caught in her teeth and she hummed an affirming response, making you chuckle once more. “I’ll see you tonight then, bambina. And wear anything you’d like.” 

The call ended and Wanda immediately saved your number, putting in a few star emojis before adding one devil emoji on the end. She looked at the time in the top corner and her eyes bulged - she only had 44 minutes left. 

“FRIDAY, can you get the girls up here please?!” She fretted, waiting until they came to her door in a rush.

“Who’s in here?!”

“I have a bottle of sriracha and I’m not afraid to use it!” 

Yelena and Kate made Wanda jump before she sighed, throwing the sauce bottle to the side with her magic. “I have a date tonight and I need help getting ready!”

“How long do you have?” 

“FRIDAY, time?” 

“42 minutes and 48 seconds.” The AI responded. 

Yelena and Kate looked at each other before they smirked, a whoosh sound coming from the blonde’s phone. They looked up at the distressed Wanda and helped her calm down, a shadow forming at the door.

“My services were needed?” Natasha smirked, holding up a bag.

“Oh yeah. And you’re on the clock, sis - 40 minutes and counting.” Yelena high-fived her before the trio of helpers kicked into gear. 

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

You fussed against your mother’s touch as her hands glowed, healing your gunshot wound slowly. “Mama, I don’t need this, I’m fine!”

“Y/N, sit still or I’ll make you sit still.” She scolded, pressing her palm to your shoulder before she muttered the final words of the spell. 

She pulled it away and watched your skin stitch back together, sighing in relief as your blood seeped back into your vessels and closed. Your suit was ruined, sure, but you wouldn’t have a torn tendon or ligament which would be a much longer spell. 

“Where’s Dad?” You asked, looking down the private jet to see him also being stitched up.

“At least I know where I got my altruism from.” You snickered, watching your mother roll her eyes.

“Now get some food in you so the spell can solidify.” She kissed your temple.

You watched as your parents shared a kiss before Zatanna held his hand like she was arm-wrestling him, which you knew to be a transfer of power between them. Your father sighed in relief and his wounds slowly closed, making you mother smile.

“Always such a hero.” She murmured, staring at him lovingly.

“You know me, Zee - gotta look out for my girls.” He looked up at you and you shared a wink. 

“Speaking of, you gonna go on that date with her?”

“Tonight.” You grinned, watching him smirk.

“That’s my girl. You need us to drop you off?” 

You shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind it, but I have a Plan B if you can’t.” 

“Nonsense.” Zatanna scoffed lightly. 

“Jacob, set us down outside of the Avengers compound, please.” 

You thanked the pilot as he changed courses, and you pulled out your phone to start a new message chain.

Wanda🌹💓

        -Gonna be a bit early,

but take your time x-

Her phone immediately began to ring and you took it immediately. “Yes, tesora?”

“Oh, don’t you ‘tesora’ me, idiot. You’re coming early and you already gave her a tiny amount of time!” Kate yelled through. 

“Don’t answer my date’s phone if you don’t want to be called that.” You grumbled.

“You can come inside and wait for her to be done getting beautified.” 

“But she’s already beautiful. She doesn’t need makeup or anything. I just want to spend some time with her.” 

You heard a chorus of aw’s and you closed your eyes, annoyed. “I was on speaker, wasn’t I?”

“Did I forget to say that? I'm pretty sure I said it…” 

“Kate… give the phone to the owner of it.” You growled playfully, waiting patiently for that sweet Sokovian voice.

“Hi.” 

You smiled widely and flipped off your father as he teased you silently. “Hi, amate (darling). Would you like for me to wait a minute or would you rather get going?”

“Hm… can you wait a bit?” 

“I can wait for aeons if you ask me to.” You replied softly, almost feeling her intense blush through the phone.

“I’ll be ten minutes max.” 

“We will take however long we need!” Kate yelled in the background. 

“Take all the time you want, amore (love). I’ll see you soon.” You assured her.

“Bye.” She giggled, hanging up.

You pocketed your phone and went to the back of the jet, getting changed as Jacob landed the plane. 

——————————🜃🜂🜁🜄 —————————

Wanda looked in the mirror at the stunning work the girls had done in their short time frame, with sleek eyeliner painted over the dark red eyeshadow and mascara accentuating her already-bold eyelashes. Her eyes seemed brighter than she’d ever seen before, whilst a little bit of blush tainted her cheeks. 

“Damn, Nat.” She gasped.

“I still got it.” The Widow low-fived the witch before she stood in front of her friends.

“So? Do I look good?” 

The trio rolled their eyes - the jeans, the formal black blazer and the white shirt underneath looked beautiful on her, not to mention the neat black boots.

“Wanda, do we really have to answer that?” Kate huffed.

“You look amazing! Now go and bag that hot, single mobster.” Natasha smirked. 

The quartet walked down to where you were conversing with the boys, telling them of your mission in Italy before a cough came from Kate. Wanda was hidden behind the trio at the top of the stairs, and you raised an eyebrow at them.

“I present to you, Miss Wanda Maximoff!” The noirette cheered, stepping out of the way to reveal the shy woman.

You gasped softly and smiled at her, immediately easing her nerves as she came down the stairs with everyone’s eyes on her. However, yours stayed on her until the point that she stood in front of you, admiring your suit of black and white with red lining the jacket.

“You look…” You trailed off, making her and the girls chuckle.

“Who would’ve thought Y/N could be speechless?” Kate grinned, high-fiving her teammates. 

“Y/N, it’s just jeans and a blazer.” Wanda murmured, hugging you tightly.

“You look stunning in anything.” You replied, hugging her back.

“Now, Y/N…” Tony coughed, making you and Wanda separate as he and Steve pulled out a hologram of rules.

“Bring her back before midnight.” Steve started.

“Treat her well.” Tony added.

“And no shenanigans!” Sam interjected, looking at you with a playfully stern expression. 

You chuckled softly and shook your head. “Captain Rogers, she will definitely be home before midnight. Mr Stark, there is no other way to treat a woman and Mr Wilson, I am asexual.” 

Wanda looked up at you and smiled before Steve nodded to you. “Very well. Go and have fun.” 

You looked down at Wanda before you took her hand, kissed it, and led her outside. She grinned at your antics as she slid into the passenger’s seat of a blue Maserati MC20, something that she evidently admired given that her fingers ran along the leather lining of her seat.

“If you like it, you may have it.” You commented, turning the key into the ignition. 

“I don’t know how to drive.” She murmured, looking out the window at the starry sky. 

“Would you like for me to teach you?” You asked, seeing her nod in your peripheral vision.

“Do you want a crash course now?”

She nodded again and you came to a red light. “Okay. So, I can drive both manual and automatic, but I’m going to teach you how to drive automatic first since this car is mainly automatic. So, you have your gears here - Park, Reverse, Neutral, Drive and Low.” You pointed at them.

“PRNDL.” Wanda giggled.

“Yes, yes, the PRNDL, all hail London Tipton.” You smirked.

“By pressing lightly on the gas, I can go… and then pressing lightly on the brake, I stop. But this car is sensitive, so you don’t have to start in this car, I’ll get you something with a less sensitive brake.” 

“Y/N, you don’t have to buy me things like cars.” She remarked, watching you squirm slightly in your chair. 

“I know. I just like spoiling you.”

“What, like when you gave me that $100 bill at work?” 

She grinned as she watched you blush, turning the corner easily. “You had good service.”

Wanda snickered at your mumbled excuse and took your free hand in hers, even if hers was tiny. She watched you relax at her touch and stroked her thumb across your skin, a small smile painting across your lips but they never broke open. 

Soon enough, the car stopped outside a beautiful restaurant that Wanda would never be able to pronounce, coming to the entrance where a waiter stood.

“Ah, Y/N! Just the woman I wanted to see.” 

“Hello, Thomas.” You smiled at him.

“Right this way.” He led you through the restaurant before you entered an elevator, noting Wanda’s confusion as she stood next to you. 

The pounding music of the club passed as you climbed higher, but it stopped momentarily and a few men stepped into the elevator. You watched as two of them looked at Wanda hungrily.

“Boys…” You warned them, swapping places with Wanda so she stood between you and the corner. 

“Come on, Y/N! You used to be so much fun.” One of them grumbled, a man you recognised as William who was an associate of your father’s.

“Will, I’m being polite here. We’re on a date.” You bartered.

“Just a little taste-”

You gripped him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him easily, shielding Wanda’s view of them even then. 

“Touch her and you die. Got it?” You asked him calmly, putting him back down as the elevator opened. 

“Come, amore (love).” You took Wanda’s hand and walked out onto the rooftop, leaving the men in the elevator to go back to wherever they came from.

“Wow. That was… wild.” Wanda laughed, trying to ease the tension between you too.

“Indeed.” You swiped the wrinkles out of your suit and smiled at the easy-going area.

Thomas led you both towards a few tables, your name planted on the reservation table by the corner of the balcony. You pulled Wanda’s chair out for her and slid her against the table when she was seated, letting Thomas go serve someone else on the level.

“Pick anything you’d like.” You winked at her, making her grin.

She scanned down the menu before her eyes landed on some fettuccine pasta, only to look back up at you and pick a salad. You raised an eyebrow at her and she shrugged, stating that she wasn’t that hungry even though she definitely was.

You nodded and called Thomas over, ordering your meals whilst you both admired the view.

“How did you get a seat here?” She asked, watching your eyes scan all over her.

“Dad and Mama have connections. I just simply booked.” You replied, opening the bottle of champagne next to you.

“Would you like a glass, amate (darling)?” 

Wanda nodded and watched you pour her a glass before your own, sipping on it before she put it back down. “That’s good.” She hummed.

“Indeed.” You smirked.

“Ms Y/N, your dinner.” Thomas appeared at your table, placing your meals in front of you both. 

“Thank you, Thomas.” You nodded to him and he left.

“Now, I have a proposition for you.” 

Wanda’s eyes perked up at you whilst she picked at her salad. “Yes?” 

“Would you like to have some normalcy and talk about normal things humans talk about or would you like to talk about other things?” 

She smiled at your offer and thought about it for a split second. “Normal things, please.”

“Alright then, my dear - what is your top favourite movie, book and TV show?” You smirked, biting off a mouthful of food from your fork.

“Favourite movie would probably be one of the Harry Potter movies, but I quite liked the Goblet of Fire even though Cedric died. Book… I’d say Lord of the Rings, and the TV show would either be Bewitched or Dick Van Dyke. What about you?” 

“Movie would be How to Train Your Dragon but I can never pick between 2 and 3. Book would be The Great Gatsby and TV show is The Big Bang Theory.” You smiled, watching a grin fall over her lips. 

“You sound like a nerd.” She teased.

“Says the woman who likes Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings!” You playfully shot back, watching her giggle.

“Okay, okay, my turn - what hobbies do you have? That don’t involve your ‘family’.” She clarified as you opened your mouth, making you both snicker.

“Um… Wow, I haven’t been asked this question in a while.” You blushed and Wanda instantly saved that image as a screenshot in her brain. 

“I like reading. It helps calm me down sometimes. Mama used to read to me a lot, so I usually fall asleep when someone reads to me.”

“I’ll read to you.” Wanda teased and you rolled your eyes with a smirk.

“I like cooking, even though whenever I’m home, I don’t actually cook for myself. I like soccer, ice hockey, obviously, and… music.” You sighed happily.

“I take it you listen to a lot of it?” The Sokovian eyed you and you nodded.

“Spotify counted over 104,000 minutes of listening for me last year. That’s almost 72 and a half days, which is 19.8% of the year spent listening to music.” 

Her eyes widened at your sudden calculation and you blushed once more. “I was very good at maths in high school.” 

She nodded before you gestured to her. “Oh, of course! I also like reading and cooking but I don’t think I’ve ever listened to that much music. I actually prefer making it.” She smiled.

“Really? What instruments do you play?” You asked, intrigued. 

“I have a guitar in my room and there was a piano at my old school in Sokovia before…” 

You watched the playful glint in her eyes dim and your smile saddened, taking her hand from across the table before you kissed it softly. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“It’s okay, I’ve come to terms with it. I lost both of my parents when I was ten and then I lost my twin brother in 2015. That part…” She spoke, pushing her plate to the middle of the table as she lost her appetite. 

You stopped eating too and folded your cutlery together, calling Thomas to your table for the bill. Wanda looked at you and you smiled softly, taking her hand as you stood. 

“Why don’t we get out of here? I have an idea.” 

She nodded and followed you after you paid, thanking Thomas for the service before you left the restaurant. Her mind, as per usual, wondered where you were taking her until you reached your destination.

“Ben and Jerry’s? Y/N, we already had dinner-”

“I had half a dinner and you pushed around your salad.” You corrected her, kissing her forehead before you led her inside.

You ordered your favourite ice cream and paid for both yours and Wanda’s, walking beside her until you came to your favourite spot.

“I forgot to tell you - one of my other hobbies is the beach.” You commented.

“The beach isn’t a hobby, Y/N.” Wanda giggled.

You nudged her lightly with a smirk. “I think so. I come here when my mind won’t be quiet and I listen to the thundering waves as they roll past. It’s like hooves drumming against the ground, and it soothes my inner demons.” 

You took a scoop of your ice cream, which gave Wanda an opening to look at you in the calm moonlight. It danced upon your skin, showing nothing but natural radiance, and she couldn’t help but admire it - admire you. 

“I like the beach too.” She murmured, leaning on your shoulder. 

“I like seeing the smiling children play in the waves. I like seeing the families come together and build sandcastles. I like the long walks as the waves lap at my feet.” 

You hummed in agreement before you noticed how Wanda shivered, even with her blazer on. “Come here.” You murmured, opening your legs for her to sit in-between them as wind breakers. 

She looked at you and saw you wouldn’t back down, moving into position before she sighed at your comfortingly warm body. You leaned your chin on her shoulder and smiled, kissing her cheek softly. 

“What else do you like, tesora?” You asked, your finished ice cream sitting beside you whilst Wanda continued to eat hers. 

“I like movie nights, where there’s a whole bunch of blankets and pillows to snuggle against. I like eating chocolate and candy when I’m on my period, and when I’m not. I like cooking Sokovian dishes my mom used to make. I like…” She trailed off, looking up at you.

“I like you.” 

You smiled softly and watched as she turned around, smiling as she looked slightly down at you. “I like you, Y/N. I really like spending time with you. You’re funny, witty, and you tick pretty much all the boxes. Can I… Can I kiss you?” 

“Always.” You nodded, watching her lean in slowly before you felt her cup your cheeks.

And then it felt like fireworks were going off against your lips. You could taste Wanda’s ice cream on the edge of them, but that wasn’t why you found them delicious. They were soft, plump, and oh so gentle, leaving yours just as you got used to them. 

“Wow.” You murmured, slightly drunk off of her and the slight lack of air in your lungs.

“Yeah.” She sighed happily until an alarm went off on your phone. 

You fished it out of your pocket and sighed, showing her the time. 11:15. 

“Come on, amore. Let’s get you home.” 

You helped her towards your car before you drove back to the compound, seeing her yawn a few times as you drove. You held her hand as she fell asleep, taking care around corners not to shift her too much. As you stopped the car outside of the compound, you could see Steve and Tony standing at the door. You pulled Wanda out of her seatbelt and cradled her closely in a bridal hold, following the men to her room where you laid her down.

You slowly began untying her shoes and slipping them off before you felt a pressure by your jaw, a light red glow coming from it as you were forced to look higher up the bed. There, you saw a sleepy and giddy Wanda, smiling at you whilst you took off her socks. 

“Is somebody tired?” You asked with a soft and teasing tone, crawling up the bed to smile at her.

“Nooo.” She grumbled, making you grin.

Her lips curved downwards into a small pout. “Please stay. I don’t want you to go.” 

You sighed, pushing back a few loose strands of hair before you cupped her cheek. “I’m afraid that all good witches need to get their rest.” 

She narrowed her eyes at you before she yawned loudly, smacking her lips only to try and hide from your smirk. Her magic peeled her blazer off whilst it took off your suit jacket, only for a long-sleeve shirt to cover up your skin. 

“I just want…” She made grabby hands at you and you sighed, giving her a warm and meaningful hug as she tried to hold on tightly to you.

“Amarte…”

“FRIDAY, please ask Steve and Tony if she can stay.” Wanda asked the AI, making you both wait.

“Mr Stark says yes, but Captain Rogers agrees if the door stays open.” 

She looked at you and you nodded, kissing her temple. “I’m fine with that.”

She jumped up out of the bed and made her way over to the cupboard, giving you some clothes FRIDAY had brought that fitted you loosely, smirking as you saw how Wanda had turned around. You didn’t comment on it, but you walked up to her after changing and laced your arms around her waist to make her jump.

“Ready for bed?” You asked and she nodded, her magic flowing from her fingers to make the bed slightly larger.

You admired the soft fairy lights that dangled from her bed frame, along with the folded lamps that hung off-centred from the ceiling. You felt her fall into your arms before her head rested against your chest, her ear placed over your heart. 

“Bambina, is there anything you wish to discuss about tonight? Maybe why you hesitated on ordering the delicious fettuccine pasta?” You asked mindlessly, feeling her stiffen slightly.

She looked up at you with the most doe-like eyes you’d ever seen before they shifted to play with the hem of your shirt. “My ex told me I was fat. He wasn’t nice.” 

You felt your blood boil at the subject before you took a deep breath and reopened your eyes, seeing a confused and slightly scared Wanda staring up at you. 

“If anybody, and I mean anybody, tells you that again, you tell me straight away, okay?” You asked her sternly, earning a silent nod.

“You are as beautiful as they come, Wanda. I hate liars - it is a part of why I never lie - and I will never tell you a lie. I will give you an option to have the truth hidden from you, but I will never lie to you.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” She questioned.

You shook your head. “If you want the truth hidden from you, I will not answer your question. False pretences and lying are foundations of a breaking relationship, and I will not have that with the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, both inside and out.” 

You pressed a kiss to her forehead before you pulled her closer to you, feeling a slight tightness in your chest until you shooed it away in your mind and fell asleep with Wanda.

#smalls-words #WandaMaximoff #wandamaximoffimagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff fluff #thedemonstreasure

[abyssalremia]

Gifts of Gratitude

“This really isn’t necessary.”

The hrothgar knelt before her paid her words no mind as he continued to carefully fit the eyepatch to her tiny features. “But it is,” came his murmured reply. “You not only rescued me, but protected all of my comrades until reinforcements were able to make it to our camp. If it wasn’t for you, none of my unit would have made it back alive. We owe you far more than a simple piece of clothing.” He sighed. “Alas, you refuse our gifts of gratitude so at the very least, allow me to give you this, Lady Remia.”

While he continued to adjust the tightness of her new eyepatch, Remia’s uncovered eye flicked off to the side, taking in the altered perspective. With her so-called "good eye" now covered, the world had lost much of its color only to be replaced by a subtle shifting of faded hues. As though she were seeing through the rainbow light reflected in fractured glass. Translucent veils of aether flowed all around like wisps on the wind. She could follow them with ease now that her sight wasn’t clouded by her normal eye that lacked Gremory’s magick touch. Everything was so clear and blinding to the point she was half tempted to ask Yaromir to switch the eyepatch to her right eye. But, in the long run she knows being able to see the world through Gremory’s magick will inevitably give her an edge in battle. It’s best to learn to use it now so when Hien next calls upon her to fight, she’ll be ready to catch everyone off-guard with her new tricks.

Yaromir pulled back slowly after double checking the tie under her hair wouldn’t come loose. “Is that alright?” He asked, his deep voice nearly a purr rumbling from within his chest.

Remia reached up to feel the heated leather now covering her normal eye. Her nail tapped the golden metal design inlaid in its center, tracing its outline. “What is this symbol?”

“It’s for protection previously used by shamans long before the Fourth Umbral Calamity.” Yaromir explained. “I know when you and your sister are done here, you will return to Doma and I doubt you’ll visit. So, I pray for your safety in the years to come. Know that you will always have allies in Bozja should you have need of us.”

Her hand fell away from the eyepatch as he stood. Remia could do little more than slowly nod, perplexed by such a sincere, heartfelt gift. The first she had ever received from someone. This display of unwarranted kindness rendered her speechless. Entirely at a loss on how to respond…

Knowing this was as far as their interaction would go, Yaromir politely excused himself to return to his work. Remia waited until he was out of sight before once again reaching to lightly brush her fingers over her eyepatch. And if someone were to look at her in that quiet moment, they’d find the smallest of smiles ghosting across her feline features.

is yaromir going to end up being another future fully fleshed-out oc because i'm a sucker for hrothgars? yes, yes he is. do i regret this? only a smidge but i'm committing to him :3 i just, yeah, hrothgars. need i say more? Thank you for reading ya cuties and I hope you have a lovely day/night!

#remia #ffxiv oc #post stormblood #yaromir #ffxiv #ffxiv writing #idle musings