#it's the simple movements. when they're sitting or walking or even crouching down. it's so robotic and rigid

[isekai-ed]

I'm willing to ignore the rigid and awkward animation for Annette

#the fight sequences are stellar but everything else suck #it's the simple movements. when they're sitting or walking or even crouching down. it's so robotic and rigid #like olroz was too close when he's crouching down to young Richter's eye level #annette is sitting there stiff with her arms to the side at the lunch table when she could be leaning forward over her arms to talk #anyway. annette is amazing. no notes #castlevania nocturne

[nothomegal]

“Sharks or dolphins?”

Jason Voorhees x GN Reader

Summary: it’s been a couple of days since the masked man kidnapped you. The atmosphere was a mixture of awkward and terrifying, but you knew that for the sake of your own sanity, and possible future survival or escape, you’ll have to interact with him and get on better term. So why don’t start with a simple question?

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: tipical mentions of murder and violence.

It’s a relatively nice and calm evening inside of an old cabin. The fire inside of the fireplace gently cracked and flickered at times as it shared warmth and light.

(Y/N) was sitting on the couch as they read some animal encyclopedia they found in one of the old shelves. Not too far away, on a large wooden chair, was sitting their captor, Jason Voorhees himself.

The man was casually patching up his jacket that got damaged by one of the victims that day. It was a pretty large cut on the shoulder part which could hint to a serious injury he may got in that area, key words could and may, because this beast of a man was moving his arms perfectly fine and with no hints of discomfort. Hell, he even lifted (Y/N) like they're nothing but a bag of grapes when he wanted them to sit closer to the fireplace. Of course Jason didn't like the idea of touching them and scaring them further, but sometimes it's just easier to take them wherever he needs and let them figure out the message themselves.

While reading, (Y/N) would glance at his large frame, but these weren't just casual or fearful glances. They've been having the idea that maybe they should start getting on better terms with their captor since escaping is not an option right now, they're in the middle of the forest, with traps distributed in the most efficient and unexpected places. Not only that, but having this behemoth of a man, who's stong enough to skin a person with his bare hands and even rip their head off with a single punch, chase them through the woods is not an appealing idea neither. Attempting to escape now is an equivalent of juggling with raving chainsaws, basically asking to have a limp cut off.

So that's the main reason of this little idea, now the issue is to find enough courage to execute it. Like... What do they even say? What if he get's annoyed? Jason seems to be very easy to aggravate... Or maybe he'll think they're an idiot or attempting something? What if he becomes even stricter? Ties a chain to their ankle again? Acts cruel? Use their corpse as decoration for his mother's shrine?!... God, were there always so many terrible outcomes?!

Jason at some point noticed the glances, he subtly observed (Y/N) for a while and easily noticed their hesitation. He may never interacted with anyone beside his mother, but he's rediculously good at reading people through their body and behavoir.

When yet another hint of hesitation appeared in them, Jason took it as enough and decided to give them a little push of encouragement... In his own way. He puts the nearly fixed jacket down and slowly walks towards (Y/N), his movements slow and careful to avoid scaring them.

The closer he got, the more they shrunk in their place, their expression a mixture of sheepish and afraid, unsure what to expect from him. When practically in front of (Y/N), the man crouches down so he doesn't loom over them and simply stares.

(Y/N) let's out an anxious sigh as they glance at their book for a moment, eventually they sigh again, now more collected, and finally ask.

—"Do you prefer sharks or dolphins?"—

The question took Jason completely off guard, so much that it took him some good ammount of seconds to process it and tilt his head, clearly wanting them to elaborate.

(Y/N) notices his reaction, but when there are no hints of aggression they continue.

—"It's just... I'm reading about sea animals right now and I've noticed how little people know about sharks and dolphins, and how misunderstood the first ones are..."— you say as you point at the page with the picture of a shark. —"I personally like sharks more, sure they're scary, can bite people and have protagonized many scary and bloody movies, but they aren't that bad. They actually very chill and some species, like the Lemon shark, can form bonds with their favorite diver, and even get jelous if they give attention to another shark!"—

While (Y/N) talked, Jason listened to them closely, sharing glances between the book and their face. The more they talked, the more on ease they seemed to be, for a moment it was like they were talking to a regular person, a friend. Seeing them so relaxed and even excited to share this random knowledge made him almost smile, since the moment he revealed himself to them all he saw in those eyes was fear, fear towards him... And now, now he can finally see something else in their pretty eyes, warmth.

—"The dolphins on the other hand... Well, I admit, they're cute and very intelligent and all, but also very disturbing. They are one of the animals who intentionally kill other creatures for fun, even other weaker dolphins just for the spite! So yeah... I very much prefer sharks and-... "—

(Y/N) suddenly stops talking, as if becoming self conscious of how much spoke and how annoying and nerdy they probably sounded.

—"S-Sorry...! I uh... I got a bit carried away."— you shrink in your place a bit. —"It's just... I like to share some random facts I've learned, but people rarely bother to listen or straight up shut me up, so when you did nothing to make me stop I... "—

They slightly flinched when the man put his palm on their knee. They hesitantly look up at him and relax just a bit when they saw his single visible eye, which expressed warmth and understanding. This is one of the reasons why he and mother took liking of (Y/N), their genuine desire to share something as innocent as an animal fact was both adorable and heartwarming to see, a great contrast with other campers, who always behaved like the filthiest scumms on earth.

He softly careses their knee with his thumb, the act holding nothing shady, just a genuine attempt to soothe them. With his other, hand Jason points at the picture of the shark and then at himself before nodding.

(Y/N) observes his action silently, a bit confused, but eventually puts the pieces together.

—"Oh, you like sharks too?"—

Another nod, which causes them to smile a bit.

—"Heh... Guess we have something in common now."— you say as your smile grows a bit wider.

Jason doesn't reply with any movement, but by his visible eye they could tell he smiled a bit. Somehow, he looks way less scary than before, fact that made (Y/N) feel at ease, even proud of themselves that they're making some progress.

—"Uh... Would you like to hear another fact? I can read outloud so you can listen as you finish your task."— you say as you gently point at his jacket.

The man simply nods, agreeing with their suggestion. He stands up back to his full height, which suddenly made (Y/N) remember who they are trapped with. As if sensing their dread, he moves his large palm to their head and gently pets them, ruffing and messing up with their hair a bit before returning to his previous sit.

(Y/N) blinks a couple of times and let's out a breath they've instinctively held, a bit impressed to still be alive. With a shake of their head they retrieve their composure, and as promised, they began to read the encyclopedia outloud, gazing subtly at Jason time to time to see any signs of annoyance. And suprisingly to them, there were none.

They weren't aware but Jason was genuinely enjoying such interaction, he liked the sound of their voice and how at times it would switch from shy and hesitant to a more confident and calm tone. It's a beautiful process to him, like witnessing a little kitten show more and more trust to their owner. And of course, Jason is not stupid and deep down he knows what (Y/N) is trying to do, but he won't do anything to stop them, not now at least.

Who knows, maybe at some point they'll realize that he's not that awful of a person, not towards them at least. This is actually the reason why he said he liked sharks too, because just like these sea creatures...

He is also quite misunderstood...

#nothomegal fic #nothomegal oneshot #jasonvoorhees #jason voorhees x reader #gn reader #slasher x reader

[ghostussy]

Hotel Rooms and Sleepy Papas

Terzo x Reader

. . .

um. it's terzo brainrot hours. also there was only one bed. <3

"Shit," grumbles Terzo, hand around the nape of his neck. "Sorry, sibling. I know it is not... ideal. Budget cuts, directly from Sister. I am sorry."

"That's okay, Papa," you tell him. "There's going to be two beds anyway. Right?"

"Si, I believe so."

For this tour, Sister Imperator had implemented a new rule; in order to pay for the bigger venues, the budget had to be adjusted in more ways than one. This meant that everyone had to share a hotel room. And she meant everyone, including Papa.

Now the two of you are walking down the hall to your shared hotel room. It was your first night on tour, the first show of many having been completed. Terzo looked beyond exhausted, face covered in smudged paint and still dressed in his suit. His movements were sluggish, voice low and quiet from overuse. You felt bad for him.

"Ah, here we are," he sounds relieved as he pulls out his keycard. He holds the door open for you, and you smile kindly at him as you pass.

You flick on the lights and immediately notice one thing.

There was only one bed.

"Ah, merda," swears Terzo. "Let me call the front desk."

So he does. After a brief conversation on the phone, he defeatedly looks to you. "They are out of rooms."

You shrug. "That's okay. I'm fine with sharing if you are."

"No, no, I can't do that to you," he says, somehow sounding even more exhausted. "I-I'll take the floor, and you-"

"No, Papa," you tell him firmly. "Respectfully, you look awful. You're sleeping in that bed one way or another, even if I have to strap you there myself." You wink at him. "I'll take the floor if you're that worried about it. Otherwise, we can share."

"N-no, we can share..." he yawns. "Augh, sorry. Your papa is... very tired." He smiles weakly.

"That's okay," you tell him. "Why don't you get ready for bed?"

"Si, si... I'll go hop in the shower."

He grabs his overnight bag and disappears into the bathroom. Shortly after you hear the shower start running, and you decide to change into your pajamas in the bedroom.

They're simple; a pair of light grey sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. While he's in the shower, you decide to get cozy in the bed and watch some TV.

After quite some time, you realize that the shower is still running. "I wonder what's taking him so long," you think. You decide to check on him.

You hop up out of the bed and knock on the bathroom door. No response.

"Papa?" you call, knocking more insistently. "Are you okay in there?" Still no response.

You wait a moment, in case he didn't hear you. Then you knock a third time and call his name, growing more concerned by his silence.

You jiggle the door handle; It's unlocked. "Papa, I'm going to come in if you don't answer me." Still no response.

You sigh and prepare yourself for whatever you're about to see. You open the door, half-expecting to see Terzo's naked ass dead on the floor. Instead, he's sitting on the closed toilet, fully dressed and asleep with the side of his face pressed against the wall. The shower is still running.

You sigh in relief and walk over, crouching in front of him. You reach out to touch his shoulder and he stirs, jerking awake when he sees you.

"Dolce, what-"

"Terzo, you fell asleep." His eyes soften at the use of his name.

"N-no, I was-" he notices the faceprint on the wall. "I was waiting for the water to warm up, is all."

"It's been forty minutes," you say gently. "I think you should just shower in the morning."

"Ah, it was still cold."

You giggle. "Sure."

You stand, noticing a black washcloth on the counter. "Is this yours? For the paint?"

He nods. "Si, I do not trust hotel cloths."

You pick up the cloth and hold it underneath the shower before turning the water off. Then you ring out the excess water before crouching in front of him again.

"Here, let me-" he starts, but you shush him.

"Allow me," you tell him, and he doesn't protest as you gently run the cloth over his cheek. Instead he closes his eyes, swaying slightly as you rub off the makeup with such tender care.

After a moment, his eyelids flutter open and he seems to come to his senses. "Where are my manners?" he mumbles. "I have cleanser in my bag."

You pass it to him, and he searches through the contents until he finds a large pink bottle. He reaches for the cloth, and you hold it out of his reach. "I'll do it."

He sighs, but hands you the bottle. Through a stifled yawn, he mumbles, "you are too kind to your Papa."

You look deeply into his eyes, glazed over and half-lidded. "You're tired."

"Si, maybe a little."

It isn't long before you have the rest of his makeup off, which is a good thing; he's dozing off as you wipe his face, and putting your pajamas at risk of being splotched with paint.

"Thank you, dolcezza," he murmurs, and you can see his eyes starting to close.

"Alright, time for pjs," you tell him, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He bats your hands away, insisting he can do it himself. His hands are shaking, and when he clumsily pops off a button you giggle.

"Are you making fun of me? In my time of need?" He smiles, pulling his hands away. "Maybe I had better let you do it..."

So you do. A few moments later he is dressed in a white nightshirt, paired with a pair of black sweatpants. "Jus' like my paint," he tells you, words slurring.

Once he's dressed, you take a clean hotel cloth and wash the face paint off of the wall. Hopefully housekeeping won't notice the black smudges.

"Bedtime," you tell him, helping him to stand. He hums as you lead him to the bed, and he sits down. He rubs his eyes as you go around to the other side, climbing in and laying down. He does the same, sleepily pulling the blanket up.

"I am sorry, tesoro," he starts. "I am normally not this way. I apologize if I have overstepped your boundaries."

"It's alright, Papa. You didn't overstep. You're fine."

"Terzo."

"Hm?"

"Call me Terzo... please."

"Of course, Terzo."

He smiles, but does not respond. You turn your attention back to the TV, but listen as his breathing slows, eventually turning into snores. You sit up and turn out the light, leaving the TV on and keeping the remote close by so you won't have to get up again.

Some time later, you hear him shifting in his sleep. You nearly jump out of your skin when he presses himself into your side, but then you relax as he wraps his arms around your middle. You chuckle and turn off the TV, curling up close to him. You run a hand up and down his back, lips curling into a smile as you hear a quiet purr escape him.

In the morning he will be mortified, but for now he is asleep in your arms and that's all that matters.

. . .

@lightbluuestars

#terzo x reader #drabbles #terzo comfort #*slams fist on table* THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED. #overused trope but still a good one!

[inkwell-and-dagger]

[Snap Out Of It]

A/N: playing around with some parallels. Also Rayan needs some comfort from his beloved carewhumper.

CW:!!!!!! implied dehumanisation, blood, wounds, mentions of past torture, visual hallucinations.

—> —> —> —> —> —> —>

Footsteps brushed against the ground and a door shrieked in protest as it opened; the telltale signs that someone had entered the basement. Rayan, however, didn't care who it was or what they wanted.

He felt paralysed, or as if he was in his body, he just couldn't control it. He yearned for movement, to scramble away from the pair of shoes paused at the doorway, to fight his way to freedom until something went wrong again and he woke up in the basement again. But, he couldn't bring himself to move. He was exhausted. He could only watch as the footsteps walked over.

Foster smirked as they took in the sight of Rayan's nearly unconscious body sprawling across the floor, the signs of recent torture evident on his flesh. Blood, bruises, welts and grazes and gashes.

They didn't even hesitate at the doorway, striding over and yanking Rayan up by his hair. "Get up."

Zayn let out a little sigh as he took in the sight of Rayan "playing dead" again, a flash of sympathy appearing in his opal eyes. He attempted to ignore the signs of recent torture on Rayan's skin, setting down the small platter of food in his hands onto a table before hesitantly walking over. He gently lifted Rayan's alarmingly light body into a comfortable sitting position, crouching down in front of him. "Get up, Rayan. You okay?"

Foster sighed when they got no response — though this was only to be expected. They didn't care, though. Slapping Rayan harshly across the face, letting the sound bounce of the basement walls, relishing in the small gasp and whimper coaxed from Rayan's throat, Foster only grinned wider. "Welcome back," — they pouted sarcastically — "you had me worried there."

Rayan's eyes looked through Zayn; as if he wasn't even there. Zayn sighed again, gently cupping Rayan's cheek with his hand, his concern only growing at the frightened gasp and flinch Rayan responded with to his touch. "Welcome back, Rayan." Zayn muttered with a fragile smile. "You had me worried for a second."

To Rayan, Zayn and Foster's faces seemed to be intertwined. Zayn's compassionate gaze mixed with Foster's scarred eyes; Zayn's small smile mixed with a smirk; the sensation of Zayn's soft touch lingering like a sting on his cheek. The sight only fueled Rayan's fear, building the energy to push the sight away, to scramble to his rarely used feet and stumble out the door, but everything hurt so bad-

"Woah, Rayan, hey," Zayn interrupted his thoughts, voice dropping to a reassuring whisper at Rayan's fear. "They're not here, Foster's not here right now. It's Zayn, I'm Zayn, okay?"

Rayan seemed to snap out of it, eyes finally focusing on Zayn's face. His expression went from fear, to recognition, to relief. He responded with the same fragile, forced smile, refusing to talk. Foster said animals don't usually talk.

Zayn smiled a little wider, then standing up and retrieving the platter of food, crouching down again and placing it on the floor. "I even remembered to bring you utensils this time." Zayn joked, and Rayan flashed him a little more wry smile.

"Make sure to sanitize your hands before you dig in, even if you're using a fork. I... I can't bring you outside the basement to properly wash your hands, so this'll have to do." Zayn dug into his pocket and, after a strained moment, fished out a small bottle of hand sanitizer and placed it on the floor as well.

Though Rayan was twenty-seven — in human years, at least — and Zayn had recently turned nineteen, in that moment Zayn really did feel like the bigger person. Seeing Rayan in his state, not talking and only responding with simple movements or expressions, blood already drying on his ghostly pale skin, it concerned Zayn to his core. At least Rayan had someone to take care of him, even if that said person was linked to the group causing him all this trauma.

Zayn stayed as Rayan hesitantly ate. He wanted this moment to last for as long as possible.

—> —> —> —> —> —> —>

#whump #oc whump #oc writing #immortal whumpee #whump writing #writing #tw blo0d #tw hallucinations #rayan hyacinth #zayn flynn

[catzula]

So, you chose the indigo tent?

Welcome to Shinsou's route on something wicked this way comes. I hope you enjoy.

a/n: so, here goes nothing. I'm really excited for this and I really hope you like it! Leave me a like, a reblog or a comment if you enjoyed it 😗

a big thank you to @qawaii for beta reading because you are the only person I can send this to beta and not die of embarrassment. Also thank you love for always motivating me and hyping me I love you muah.

Warnings: NSFW! Minors do not interact! Smut. 7.4k of pwp. Degrading, blow job, orgasm denial (once), hair pulling, slight choking, calling good girl, enemies to lovers kinda vibe, idk what else

Everyone has their low points of life. This night must be yours, you think.

You're tired- exhausted and on the brink of possibly passing out, even; hungry, frustrated, cold, and shivering, and everything seems to be going wrong.

Standing on the hill before the tents, you try to focus on why you're here. Never to feel like this again, of course, but it's hard to push yourself to take one more step at this point.

You have to find Aizawa; you repeat yourself. Find him, convince him to take you in so you won't ever feel this hopeless, so you won't ever think if you can survive sleeping in a night as cold as this. You can't go back, won't go back to that place you once called home. You're determined to find a new home or never belong anywhere again.

There is a dull pain on your fingers, feeling like they're frozen and burning. You know you gave to find somewhere warm to at least wear the exhaustion off of you, regain movement in your fingers and feel like you won't pass out any second.

You'd rather sleep, but you're more than aware how dangerous that could be, so you'd have to yield to a stop break, instead. As the thought seeps into your mind, your brain doesn't even give you the chance to rethink; quick to come up with more reasons for why you should rest first, then find Aizawa.

It's the sweet hope of finding warmth that pulls you closer to the tents. You know it's mad to even think of going in any of them, straight into the territory of people that are freaks, people with quirks that makes you an easy bait for them to kill.

But exhaustion has that kind of an effect on people, and even the worst ideas seem bright at the time, mind foggy, unable to give you a reasonable answer when you ask yourself what's the worst that could happen.

You won't be staying for long, anyway, if anyone finds you, you'll flee- you're smart, not so strong but quick, you can run, right?

Your eyes scan the tents to see which one you can go in and out of without being noticed, and you're quick to eliminate the red and black ones.

The red tent has torches all over, so there's no way you can try and sneak in. And the black tent- well, you don't have a good feeling about it.

The tent closest to you has heavy-looking, dark blue curtains, but when you look closer, you can see the light coming from there, too. Your body getting heavier and heavier by the second, and you're pouting as your eyes fall on the indigo, purple tent. A few careful steps taken closer, you confirm there isn't light coming from inside.

As you come even closer, so close that the heavy, velvet-like material of the tent brushes your naked arms, making goosebumps run down your body. You wait for a few seconds for a sound, anything that indicates there is someone there, but after a few minutes of waiting, you conclude there isn't.

You're reluctant but quick to slip through the curtains, staying close to the exit so you can flee without having to face anyone.

It doesn't take long for your eyes to adjust in the darker room, and you're careful as you scan the room step by step.

It's not massive, but the area still seems bigger than any tent you've seen. It's almost twice your room- your old room.

Head pounding with exhaustion creeping in, you find a hiding place behind a cupboard in the corner. Your body acts before you, slipping in the small opening with ease. It's an advantageous hiding place , giving you the chance to spy on the entrance without blatantly sticking out.

As you wait for someone to come in, for something to happen in this dead of the night, your body starts feeling the signs of exhaustion even worse than before, with finding a warm place and somewhere to sit, adrenaline slowly leaving your body.

And before you know it, you're asleep.

~

You only after realize that you hadn't thought this through.

You wake up by the dim, reflected light of a candle- you're lucky you're a light sleeper, or you wouldn't have woken up to someone entering the tent.

The silhouette of a man dances on the floor, crouching down as he holds the candle in one hand and busies the other with the pile of clothes. Not sure when he entered the tent, it seems he's not yet aware of your presence, and you know you have to get out before he does.

Noticing his back is turned to you, you finally gather the courage to peep your head from where you sit. A purple head of hair is what you first notice, his ltousled ocks sticking in every direction as if he faced a thunderstorm.

He's reaching towards the pile of clothes, eyes half open as a look of exhaustion challenging yours lingers on his face.

As you stretch your head a little more from the corner you're hiding in, you finally see something hiding between the pile of clothes. It's a cat, you realize. The man's hand runs over the black fur; it makes the cat close his eyes and lean to the touch as he continues to pat its head, scratching under its ears.

You're not aware how intensely you're watching him, wide eyes following his movements, how his odd hair color catches the dim candlelight on itself, soft shadows dancing on the sharp, handsome features of his face.

You know you have to run, get out of here before he notices you, but it's like you're in a faze, curiosity boiling in your body.

It's a scene to behold, the pair of a mad-looking man and a black cat relishing in each others' presence as you gasp and retract back when the cat suddenly opens its eyes, golden gaze looking directly at you.

Your heart drumming in your ears as you sink more into the corner you're in, you miss how the candle he's holding flickers and the way his head tilts your way so slightly.

For a few minutes, nothing happens. You're too afraid to breathe, let alone reach back out to see what the man's doing. It's silent other than your booming heart, and despite knowing you have to get out of there- now, you can't do anything but wait.

"Aren't you cold?" The voice breaks the silence in the tent, a deep grumble that turns your stomach upside down. You think you recognize it; you've heard it earlier today, quickly depicting who he is; the man with the black, beak-like mask who was doing the hypnosis tricks.

"Does anyone want to volunteer for this trick?" He had asked many times that night. "If yes, cheer for me so I can see who does."

It's an automatic response; to cheer with the whistling and clapping crowd, and you hadn't noticed the self-satisfied smile he hid behind the mask at getting a reply from everyone watching him.

"I'm talking to the cat, not to the person hiding behind the cupboard, by the way." The man speaks again, a sarcastic comment that comes out of his lips so indifferently, and it shows how unfazed he is even by having another presence hiding in his tent.

Even the thought of it is chilling, but you don't give yourself the time to ponder about it, now that your cover is blown, leaping towards the exit. You're fast and agile, and Shinsou thinks you would've escaped if you were in the presence of anyone else.

But you aren't, and you soon come to realize that as well.

As you push the velvet curtains and the cold air hits your face, you're sure you've escaped since the man hasn't moved from where he stood. Still, not taking a second more, you're about to disappear into the night.

But instead of running after you, you hear him speak.

"Stop," It's a simple command that would've made you scoff any other time. Does this man really think you would-

stop.

Just in the border of the night and the tent, you suddenly lose the ability to control your body.

You freeze, despite your mind screaming at you to get out of there; you're not able to move an inch as you watch the man as he walks towards you, painfully slow, too.

As he stops before you, you're forced to realize just how bigger he is than you. Crazy locks of hair defy gravity, looking deep blue instead of the purple you had seen in his show.

He looks mean as he stands before you, eyes locked on you. Dangerous, even.

Stuck in a body you can't charge, you have to wait as his eyes scan you with a frown on his lips, the only emotion available on his face being a silent surprise and tiredness. Even with the situation you're in, you can't help but notice he's even more handsome up close. Secretly admiring his dark indigo eyes looking at you with suspicion, the circles under his eyes giving him an even more stern look, lips pressed into a line, high cheekbones shadowing his cheeks.

"Speak." He commands once again, and you fear if you had control of your body, you might've shivered at his tone.

"Wh-what did you do to me?!" It's your first reaction to regaining control; it makes the purple-haired man scoff. He leans a little closer to you, the ends of his locks close to grazing your face, but not quite, inspecting you with a scorning look and a mean frown. He's the source of the tinge of lavender smell in the room, you realize. That and something a little more... musky.

Despite having the control to speak, you're silent as he judges you, and you swear the corner of his lips quirk at that, too. "You were at the show today, weren't you? I think you can guess what's happening."

"You- you hypnotized me!" You shout, terrified. When he hears the accusing tone of your voice, the man quirks a brow at you.

"You broke into my tent." He mocks you with a smile, looking you up and down. "Aren't you cold?" He repeats. "Come in."

Your body obeys the commend, following the man back into the tent you just escaped, your body once again meeting the lavender-tinted warm air. You stand in the middle of the room as you watch him plop himself on a seat, legs wide open, almost invitingly so, his lips curved into a smile as his gaze keeps wandering on you.

You're unable to help it when your gaze starts shifting on his form, too, especially with the way he's looking at you now; you're not sure if it's the harsh shadows on his face that makes him look so irresistible, with that knowing smirk when he catches your eyes flicking lower than they should. When he quirks a brow at you, with eyes that almost tell you; I know what you're thinking, it suddenly feels a little too warm.

A hum vibrates in the air before he speaks again. "Tell me, pretty girl," he says, "why were you in my tent?"

As soon as you hear the command, you brace yourself to blurt out the whole truth, but- you don't. Questioning eyes finding him; he shrugs. "I'm not going to force it out of you."

He looks so smug with the way he says it, too, making you scoff with narrowed eyes. "Oh, how generous of you."

He ignores the mocking tone of your voice, the only indication he even heard them being the slight tilt of his lips. "If I knew you wouldn't flee the moment I let you go, too, you wouldn't be in this situation, either."

"Is that so?" You mutter, seemingly disinterested. "I will, though."

Your words seem to amuse him, the way you resist him, despite being entirely under his mercy, acting like he has no power over you.

So he smiles; it's deceptive, dark, exciting. It makes the air shift into something new; something that feels thicker, hotter, lustful.

He seems indifferent, however, and you hope he's blind to how your body reacts, as well, to when he sighs, hands running through his tangled, odd-colored locks.

"Why are you still keeping me here, anyway?" You blurt out, wanting to get out of here before you do something... mad.

"I'm curious." He answers the question, a smile resting on his plush lips as he shrugs. "Why were you in my tent?"

Eye for an eye, you think as he counters you with his question. He had answered yours, and it was only fair if you did the same. "I was cold," you tell him, staying as vague as possible. "Your tent seemed warm."

"That's it?" His brows arch up. "The rest isn't any of your business."

"I'm curious."

"I don't even know your name!" You huff angrily. "All I know is you're a guy who works in a circus with powers that leave me a puppet in your hands. I'm not here to entertain you."

As you blurt the last sentence, you don't miss his dark chuckle at it. "We'll see about that," he mutters, but before giving you the chance to speak, he speaks again. "My name's Shinsou. Feeling better?"

"Much." You mock him with an exaggerated smile, voice hostile. "Now will you let me go?"

"Why would I?" He laughs. "You still haven't answered my questions, and haven't you heard it's only courtesy to tell your own name when someone tells you theirs?"

"And haven't you heard it's being a basic human fucking being not to keep people under your influence like this?"

A beat of silence passes as he ponders on an answer and fails, and both of you know he lost this round. "Kitty's got claws, I see." He swipes his tongue on his bottom lip, amusedly watching your reaction at the pet name. You sneer at him- but Shinsou's a little too interested in this to miss the way you shift in your place, your quickening breaths, the flutter of your eyes.

"Don't call me that."

"Why? Got you excited?" Shinsou quirks a brow when you squeak angrily. "You won't even tell me your name."

You would've rolled your eyes if you could, instead just sighing at the purple-haired man. "It's Y/N." You answer. "My Name's Y/N."

It's been a while since Shinsou had this much fun; he missed this game of cat and mouse.

"Very well then, Y/N," he repeats your name as suggestive as possible, "would you answer my question? I can force the answer out of you, you know." He looks amused as he leans forward in his chair, suddenly much more interested in what you say, how you move. Like a predator watching its prey. "All it takes is a command."

Each word makes its way out of his lips so smoothly- you shiver at the way he speaks them. And you're disappointed when you realize not with fear.

It was a lost game the moment you even felt a tinge of lust towards the man, but you doubt there is anyone who can resist his charm. Still, you refuse to play into his hand, choosing to fight submitting to him just like that.

"With your witchcraft or whatever it is, yes." You shoot back, "but you can never control me without it." You feel needles of excitement run over your skin.

"Hm?" He quirks a brow, a feline cat on his lips, making you shiver with the lust settling on his gaze. Your eyes follow the movement of his adam's apple when he gulps. "You think I can't make you do as I say without my powers?" His voice drops an octave, and it almost makes you gasp.

"I know you can't." You sneer. "I would never let you."

"Big words from a little girl. Are you challenging me?"

"And what if I am?"

"Well," Shinsou slides his tongue over his lip, your gaze follows the movement. "you'll have to prove it to me."

As he speaks the words, the heaviness that had consumed your body disappears, as well. Your eyes shoot up- only meeting his mocking indigo gaze. You don't need him to tell you what to do, as one glance is enough for you to see how his pants seem a little strained over his crotch, a print making itself visible.

"What?" He asks, a grin resting on his lips as you stay still. His voice is deep, a guttural, almost tired tone that has you shivering with each way he speaks his words. "All bark, no bite? I thought you were up for a challenge- oh." You effectively shut him up when you settle before the man in one quick motion, relishing in the way his eyes widen, a content, almost excited grin consuming his face.

"You were saying something?" You purr innocently, as if you're not kneeling between his legs, licking your lips and giving him a glance from beneath your lashes.

"Nothing," Shinsou huffs out a laugh, settling in his chair to give you better access. "Do go on."

His dick is even more prominent now, you notice, a wicked smile settling on your lips. You lift your hand to trace his cock, touch ghosting him from over the material of his pants. He's semi-hard beneath your fingers, but even then, you have to muffle a gasp at just how big he is. Unfortunately, he seems to notice the widening of your eyes and your gulp.

He leans forward to tease you, but you don't give him a chance. His eyes flutter close when your hand finally takes him in your hold. "Shit-" Shinsou curses, his tongue darts out to wet his lips as you palm him over the material of his pants, not fast nor hard enough to satisfy him but to keep him tittering on edge. "You fucking tease." He sounds out of breath, but somehow manages to open his eyes to give you a dark look.

"Can't wait to fuck it out of you."

Shinsou waits, endures your torture until you yourself can't, growing impatient to feel him in your mouth.

His chuckle sinister as he aids you while your fingers work his pants off, leaving you face to face with his now hard cock, a small patch of wetness painting his briefs a darker color.

"Look what you did to me," Shinsou heaves, forcing himself to keep his indigo eyes open and on you. "making me hard without even taking me in your mouth."

You bite your lip as your hands slip beneath his boxers, feeling him hot and pulsing under your touch for the first time. You both groan at the sensation.

As you finally push his briefs down, you first see a tuff of deep-purple hair, his cock red and angry. "Ah, fuck." He curses at the contact with the cold air, his head lolling and falling back slightly.

"If it's too much-" he breathes before you can move any further, "tap my thigh twice, or yell bandaid." He only lets you go on when you nod, making sure you understood what he said.

Without waiting any longer, you take him in your hand, and it only makes you realize he's even bigger than you originally had thought. You try to hide your doubts on if you're even going to be able to fit him in your mouth, but he realizes anyway. "What?" Shinsou mutters breathily, "scared?"

You don't answer him, leaning forward to take the sensitive tip between your mouth, instead. The bitter taste of precum has a tinge of sweetness to it, and you don't even realize you start suckling on it a bit harder to get more of the taste.

"Oh- fucking hell." He runs his hands through his hair with a loud groan, a borderline moan, when you suck particularly hard, twirling your tongue around his sensitive head. The sound makes its way straight down to your core.

Your other hand comes up to cup his balls as you let go of his angry red tip, tracing his cock to the base with kisses planted along his shaft. "Ah- fuck, fuck, fuck!" Shinsou groans when you massage his balls softly, leaving kisses on the base, your other hand pumping him slower than he wants it.

"Stop fucking teasing." He growls, voice breathy and shallow. "Or are you afraid -ah- you can't take it all?"

The smug grin he has, despite your best efforts to wipe it off has you fuming. You know he only says it to rile you up, but it works. "Shut up." You spit at the handsome man, not even missing a beat or trying to ease him in as you start pushing yourself on his length. It's pure spite, he knows it too, but it only makes it more fun for Shinsou.

You underestimated him.

You open your mouth as much as you can, jaw aching almost immediately with the pressure, but you try to discard the feeling, focused on having as much of him in your mouth.

"Ah fuck!" He groans out loudly, hips twitching, a thrust in your welcoming mouth before he can catch himself. "Good fuckin' girl," Shinsou breathes, his hand flying to your head as support, pushing you even further down. You almost miss the subtle whiny moan he lets out when you gag loudly around him. The head of his cock hitting the back of your throat as Shinsou keeps pushing you down on his cock mindlessly, your heart drums in your ears, jaw aching, breaths shallow and insufficient.

"Look at you- oh, look at you." Shinsou mutters between his ragged breaths. "Such an obedient little girl, so pretty, so eager-" his warm cock thrusts deeper in your mouth and makes you gag once again, tears that had welled in your eyes before now spilling down your cheeks. Shinsou's half-lidded gaze falls on you, face wet with drool, tears, and his precum, and you feel his cock twitch along with a groan, "-so eager to please me."

You wish- you wish you could protest, say he's wrong, that you don't care the slightest bit about how he feels, but you can't. And not because of his cock stuffing your mouth, either.

Instead, you feel the blood starting to rush downwards, straight to your pussy, making you soil your panties with how he spits out each syllable.

Shinsou's aware of this, too, how effective his words are. His head falls back, weak to the pleasure you're giving him, moaning and gagging around his length as he thrusts faster into you. The dull pain in your skull feels so good, the ache of your throat, his cock hot and heavy on your tongue-

"You're- you're getting off on this, huh?" Shinsou tightens his grip on your hair. "You like it when I call you a good girl? You like it when I use you as a fuck hole?"

You try to lie, shake your head no, but he doesn't give you a chance, no room to move your head with how tight his hold is. With one thrust exceptionally deep, Shinsou laughs almost cruelly as he speaks. "Of course, you do. You're sucking me so fucking well; it's impossible you don't."

"Good girl- good fucking girl, I bet you're soaking in your panties, too, huh? What a little slut. I thought you weren't going to give in? I thought you said I couldn't control you?"

"Fuck you." You spit out when you pull away from his cock, but he doesn't seem pleased by it. "Don't speak with your mouth full, darling." Shinsou growls, his hand cupping your jaw and forcing your eyes to meet his, fingers digging deep into the soft of your skin. "Didn't anyone teach my baby any manners? Or are you just too dumb to learn?"

You open your mouth to say something, but before you can even utter a word, his long fingers force their way through your lips; whatever you were going to say stays as a muffled moan.

"You know, from the moment I saw you all I thought about as you talked and talked and talked was how I wanted to put that big mouth of yours into good use."

In all honesty- it was all you thought about as well.

With seeing the glint in your eyes, Shinsou huffs out a laugh. "Oh, look at my pretty little slut." He forces his fingers even deeper, making you gag. "You think I don't know what you're thinking? You think I don't know how much you want my cock in your mouth? Such a whore, hiding in my tent. You did this on purpose, didn't you? Came here to get fucked like a bitch in heat by one of us freaks?"

The last words are but a haze to you since by then; he's already pushing himself back and forth past your abused lips, moaning at the feeling of your warm, wet mouth, without giving you the time to think, to breathe, to accustom. Shinsou holds a ruthless pace, gripping your head fest by the hair as he groans and moans, making you squirm under him. "Good girl- ah, fuck, such a good girl, suck my cock just like that- ah!"

"Fuck- I'm coming." You almost don't hear him, only raise your gaze to his half-lidded eyes and feel his cock twitch between your lips. "I'm coming- ah- shit, shit shit!"

Your moans get louder as his thrusts get sloppier, and you feel his whole body tremble at your voice. "I'm gonna- fuck!" Shinsou finally feels himself falling over the edge he's been dancing on, his hot cum shooting down your aching, abused throat, moaning when he notices how eagerly you swallow his cum.

His body falls limp back on the seat, chest heaving with deep, heavy breaths. There is a sheen layer of sweat covering Shinsou's body, making the muscles of his body shine under the dim candlelight.

All you hear in the quiet tent is his deep breaths, his head resting back, eyes closed, and he seems exhausted. A few minutes pass for him to pull himself together, opening his eyes to look at you, and- fuck he's hard again.

"Are you okay?" You shake your head, suppressing a smile at his now even messier-looking hair.

"Are you okay?" You ask smugly, coughing once because of the ache. "Thought you were gonna- hey!" You squeak as he jumps on his feet, and in a moment, you find yourself swept off the floor and in his arms. "I see you still have words to speak." Shinsou laughs, his face so close to yours, you feel his breath fanning against your ear, and he feels you tremble between his arms. He quirks a brow at your surprised reaction. You hadn't expected him to be able to continue, truth be told.

"What?" He continues, "I thought I made myself clear when I said I'd fuck it out of you."

You try to keep your last bit of resistance in you by speaking, "I'd like to see you try." But both of you seem aware you've already lost.

"Oh, I'm sure you do." Shinsou gives you a look before placing- throwing you on the unmade bed, eliciting a loud gasp from you. The dim candlelight hits his naked form in a way that has you rubbing your legs in anticipation. He isn't bulky but well-built and muscular, enough to toss you around with ease, enough to have your mouth watering at the thought of running your fingers over his well-defined muscles.

His gaze predatory, Shinsou looks dissatisfied eyeing you. "Strip." He orders, a knowing smile finding its way on his lips as you realize he won't use his powers but knows you'll obey his command like a good girl.

And you do, too. Maybe it's the anticipation or the uncanny glint in Shinsou's eyes that get to your head, but thoughts of defiance are thrown out of the window as you're shrugging off your clothes without giving it a second thought.

"That's it." He grins, his index finger just barely ghosting over your thigh, and he relishes how you squirm because of it. "Look how good you can be for me."

"Such a pretty girl," his hand continues circling your bare legs, getting dangerously close to where you need him the most, but never quite giving it. "My pretty girl." You feel him smile on your skin, littering it with kisses and bites as his fingers ghost over your pussy.. "A shame she has that bratty streak, though."

Shinsou clicks his tongue, suddenly pulling his hand back away, suppressing a smile at your needy whine. It's the kind of sound that's pushing him closer to ruining you by the second.

"No, no, baby, don't cry." You feel his hand cup your face, pads of his fingers tracing your face. His thumb grazes your lips, tracing the outline and pushing in, the sudden intrusion making you moan around it. "I'm here to help you with that."

Help you, he does. You feel his finger graze your clit, circling it just barely but even that slightest contact has you gasping for more after spending that long focused on him.

"Look at you," Shinsou tuts disappointedly, "just barely touched you, and you're soaking wet. Did you enjoy sucking me that much? Did you like how my dick tastes so much that it turned you on?"

"I-" you try to gather your thoughts, but he silences you by pushing one of his fingers in your pussy, his fingers long and slim, such pretty hands he has, his pale skin glistening with your wetness. "What was that?"

"P-please," you beg pathetically as all his motions still abruptly, eyes turning steal as he leans so close that you think your noses might touch. His other hand latches on your hair when your head lolls back down, his grip forcing you to keep your eyes on his indigo ones. The dull pain in your scalp goes straight to your core, and Shinsou can tell by how you clench around his finger.

"That isn't an answer to my question, Y/N." Your name rolls of his tongue so cold, so distant, you find yourself whining at it.

"Y-yes!" You exclaim, hips moving and grinding against his hand to find more friction with yet another cry, "I did- I did, so please!"

Shinsou has to admit.

Having you look at him with wide, watering eyes, face contorted in need of pleasure, your lips trembling as a form of begging- he doesn't think he can hold off much longer.

You feel so tight, even with just a finger, so warm and welcoming that he might be going crazy. Your mouth falls slack; eyes squeezed closed as you focus on the pleasure, silent other than shallow, desperate breathes.

"That's a good girl." Shinsou approves, adding a second finger and closing the gap between your faces to press a kiss on your lips as a reward.

So desperate for affection, you don't hear nor feel his amused laugh as you throw your arms around his neck when he starts to pull back after giving you but a peck, trying to hold him close, pull him into a kiss.

Shinsou shakes his head no, his fingers curling in you as he does so, your back arching off the bed. "Let's not get greedy, pretty girl. Don't worry; I'll take you there- as many times as you want. Okay?"

"Okay." You nod obediently and- fuck, Shinsou feels his dick ache with how hard he is.

"You take my fingers so well." He mutters, almost talking to himself, fascinated by how eager your pussy pulls him in. "Just listen how you gush around my fingers, how slutty your pussy is," Shinsou chuckles, the wet sound of your cunt making you cry out a whine. "Looks how wet you are, so messy, so pretty, wanna make you cum so many times-" He raises his brows when you shake your head 'no'

"Wanna-" you whine, "wanna cum on your cock."

"Please?" You add quickly, giving him the mastered doe-eyes. With the way his fingers sink into the flesh of your thighs, you know you're pushing him till he can't hold back anymore.

"Ah, fuck baby." You moan as his eyes roll back in his head. "How can I say no to you when you ask so nicely?"

You writhe under him as he rubs the swollen head on your pussy first, wetting the tip of his cock with your arousal as you nuzzle your face on his neck to get more of his scent, his skin muffling your moans when he lightly taps your clit.

"If it's too much," Shinsou holds you by the chin to make you look at him, your gaze half-lidded, mouth agape, you looked fucked dumb already. "what were you going to say?"

"Band-bandaids." You half-moan, half speak. Satisfied with the answer, Shinsou can't wait any longer as he's finally pushing himself in you, your cunt pulsing around him-

fuck- so warm, so wet, so soft-

"Holy fuck!" A guttural groan rips from his chest as he feels your strained walls pulse and flutter around him, trying to adjust to his size as he hears your needy cries right next to his ear. It has him losing his mind; Shinsou angles his hips just enough to have you screaming his name, and the feeling of his cock dragging against your pussy, heavy and hot in you, is enough to have you teetering on the edge already.

"'s big!" You whine into his neck, body convulsing with each drag of his cock in you. "So big- you're so big, makes me feel so full." You gasp, unaware of how you bring your hand to your stomach, pressing on the bulge that appears when he pushes in you.

You look so mindlessly fucked out; with your face twisted in pleasure, mouth fallen slack and drool pooling in the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back in your skull as he plunges in and out of you.

"Shinsou- Shinsou, ah, fuck!" You babble, nails digging in his arms to leave angry red crescents. So lost in the pleasure, you're not exactly aware of Shinsou's hands roaming around your face, cupping your jaw, caressing your cheeks, pushing back stray hairs. So cute, so vulnerable for him- he can't wait to make your face wet with tears.

"I'm gonna- I- I'm gonna cum!" You moan, but he knows this already, by the way your back arching off the bed with each deep thrust of his hips, by your pussy clenching even harder on his cock, your hands holding on to him like he's your lifeline.

In a heartbeat, just as you're sure the coil that's been growing in you is going to snap, just as you're about to fall into that bliss- he stops.

A broken sob follows his stillness, a cry ripping itself off your chest at the feeling that was just beyond reach. "Why?" You whine into his chest, hips wiggling to try and feel the same as you did a second ago.

"Shh, it's okay," he coos, voice breathy, more uncollected than he tries to look, purple locks of hair submitting to gravity and falling down, hovering around his face like an indigo halo. "I'll let you come as many times as you want- if you beg."

He raises a brow at you when you squirm under his touch, clamping down on his cock when he growls in your ear, hot breath fanning on your neck. "Beg for it, pretty girl, beg for me to make you cum on my cock- such a hungry slut- beg and I'll give you whatever you want."

You look up at him teary-eyed, your body shaking like a leaf in hungry need, for release, for him, but your lips refuse to atone, your head shaking side to side as a sob leaves your throat.

You can't, you can't beg, but the feeling is irresistible.

"No?" Shinsou voices your silent rebel, and you think the shadows on his face just got a few tones darker.

"You think you have a choice?" His voice low and grave as you feel a pair of hands snake up your body and wrap around your neck, squeezing just the right amount to have your eyes widen with shock, pussy tighten with need but not so much that you're gasping for air. "Nothing but a filthy whore- look at me when I fuck you."

Another squeeze has your eyes rolling back in your head, his filthy words traveling right down to your weeping core. "Now beg."

This time, you don't miss a beat before obeying, pleas falling from your lips along with whimpers of his name, but it's not enough; that you can tell by the dissatisfied click of his tongue. "P-please, sir," you whisper, it makes him move, a hard thrust in your to show praise.

"P-please fuck me-" you add, trying to speak between his occasional deep thrusts, messing with your head. "Show me my- mmh, fuck!- my place!"

As soon as the words are out of your lips, Shinsou goes out of his mind as well. His eyes widen with how your words affect him, an electrifying warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach. "Show you your place?" He growls, and you cry out a moan when he starts thrusting in a ruthless pace, his grip on your neck now suddenly a tad tighter, black spots dancing around in your vision.

"Show you what a slut you are, is that it?"

You're not even comprehending the words he's spewing, the feeling of his cock filling you up has warm tears running down your cheeks, sobs mixed with moans filling the silence other than the sound of skin slapping skin and his low growls.

"Crying? What a little baby, can't even take a cock in you, huh? Then what are you even good for?" Just as he finishes his sentence, the tip of his cock grazes that sweet spot in you, making you cry out a louder sob. "Sh-shinsou, please!"

Hearing you sob out his name like that has his cock twitching in you, your legs wrapped around his waist, legs digging into the small of his back, your nails biting in his shoulders as if he's the only thing holding you up and sane, newer ones filling his skin with each thrust he gifts you. His lidded gaze focuses on your fucked out face, drooling as your mouth falls slack, eyes rolling to the back of your head, face wet with tears you're still shedding. His hand travels from your neck to your jaw, forcing you to look at him so he can lean forward and plant a wet kiss on your lips.

"Fuck yeah- look at you, pretty girl, crying because how good I'm fucking you, huh?"

You nod pathetically, knowing he's waiting for an answer, but a nod is all you can muster with how hazy your mind feels. "More, more- please sir, ah!" Your hands travel from his arms to his back, leaving red, angry stripes on his back as well; one of your hands find a purple lock of hair, taking it between your fingers and hanging on it as hard as you can-

"Ah, shit!" Shinsou shouts as he throws his head up in the air at the dull pain you give him, his cock twitching in you and making you cry out a moan. You're not even aware you're pulling his hair, not aware you're getting him so close to cumming, not aware of anything but his fat cock drilling in you.

"Shit! Baby don't- ah, don't do that or I'm-" He groans, thrusts getting harder, faster-

"You're gonna cum?" He growls in your ear as he feels you clamping harder on his cock, the feeling of you fluttering around him bringing him to your high with you. "Huh? Are you? Answer me." Shinsou's hand grips your hair, pulling it and exposing the skin of your neck for him, open and vulnerable for him to leave marks.

The feeling of his hand in your hair, the kisses he leaves on every sensitive part of your neck, the way his teeth graze and sometimes bite your skin- it's all too much, your body shaking and back arching, you're close- so, so close that-

"I'm cumming- sir, please, I-"

"Cum for me then." Shinsou orders, voice breathy and shaking with the pleasure he's swimming in.

All it takes is for him to lean for another kiss, his tongue sliding in your mouth, and you're falling off the sweet edge, cries getting louder and body shaking with a ripping orgasm, you're clamping down on his cock like crazy, like you won't ever let him go, your dainty hands in his hair and hanging on his locks without care and fuck-

"Give me one more, baby, one more-" Shinsou grunts in your ear, lips grazing the shell as his fingers rub vigorous circles on your clit, "I know you have it in you, come on."

"I- I can't-" You try to speak, but it's all too much, your mind foggy, the tip of your tongue lolling out. "You can," Shinsou growls, orders. "You can and you will."

It's not much after your body convulses with yet another orgasm, hanging on Shinsou as he keeps fucking into you, and you know he's close.

"Come in me!" Your voice cries out to the man; you have your arms thrown around his neck, pulling him to yourself, want to be closer, closer, closer- "Please- come in me! I want to feel you- ah!"

You gasp as he gives you few last pumps, overstimulation making you flinch. Shinsou comes with a groan, teeth sinking into the conjunction of your neck and shoulders and causing you to cry out in pleasure mixes with a tint of pain.

Your eyes are falling as he pulls you to himself, closing his arms around you and holding you against his chest. You stay like that for a while, both too tired to even ask each other how you're doing. He finally slips out of your abused cunt, standing up to glance at you worriedly when you wince. "Sorry."

"How are you feeling?" You hear him grumble as he shuffles through the drawers, wetting the clean towel he pulled out from there. When he comes back, you also notice the bottle of medicine he has in his hands.

"Here, take this." He gives you the medicine and a cup of water, leaning towards you hesitantly. "Should I?" He brings the towel towards the between of your legs, but still keeps a distance.

When you nod, his soft touch ushers your legs to part. He grimaces when you wince at the contact with the towel, even when his touch is so light, but you endure it.

"I should help you out with those." You mutter, half-embarrassed as you inspect the angry red lines adorning his back and arms. His chest is littered with lovebites and marks you don't even remember leaving, and he chuckles when he drops his gaze to look for himself, as well.

"It's okay; you should rest." He laughs. "I'll take care of it later."

You nod, but you still feel his gaze on you as you push yourself deeper in the sheets, mind swimming in thoughts of-

"What are you going to do now?" Shinsou voices, and you notice he's back in his boxers and a shirt, hair in a little more shape. You blink a few times, not knowing how to answer, not knowing the answer, hands fisting the sheets in tight balls.

"I first wanted to go find Aizawa." You shrug, rubbing your eyes. "Before I came here, I mean."

He huffs out a surprised laugh, glancing at you with his brows raised. "That's a first." He mutters. "What's the occasion?"

A smile sneaks its way on your lips as you give him an unfazed shrug. "You think I'll tell you? Maybe I'll let you hear what it is when you take me to him."

Shinsou stays still for a second or so, the predatory glint he had a few minutes ago appearing once again in his indigo eyes. "My silly little baby," You feel two of his fingers graze the underside of your chin, tilting your gaze to meet his. "I thought we already agreed that I can make you do anything I say." You feel his breath on your lips, leaning to close the gape.

"Or should I teach you one more time?"

#bnha x reader #bnha smut #shinsou x y/n #shinsou smut #bnha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x gender neutral reader #mha x you #mha x y/n #mha x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou x you #shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinso imagine #mha smut #shinsou imagine #bnha shinsou #bnha shinso hitoshi #bnha scenarios #mha imagines

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 3

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello's masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 3497 (oops 🙈)

Additional note: what you’re going to read is not realistic.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

With his stomach in knots and a frown on his face, Ivar watches closely his godfather, who enters the living-room, wheeling a large trolley case behind him.

"Hello, Ivar." Floki looks around, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "Lagertha isn't here?", before flopping down on the corner sofa.

"No," Ivar shakes his head, wheeling up next to him, "She's out on a date with this English guy... Hammond, Halmund or whatever his name is."

Scratching his ear, Floki tilts his head, "but she knows you're going, right?" He pulls the trolley case closer and then snorts, mumbling under his breath, "don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes!"

"What do you think? Of course, she knows. She said, and I quote," Ivar raises his hands to make air quotes, his voice tinged with obvious annoyance, "'Of course you can go, sweetie, you know I don't want to be the one holding you back. Call me if anything goes wrong. And don't forget to take your meds.'"

"She cares, Ivar." Floki's tone is soft as he places a hand on his godson's shoulder.

Ivar lowers his gaze. "You should have taken me in." His words are barely audible and suddenly he feels like he's eleven again and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"You do know that back then I wasn't in a good place." Floki's sad sigh almost gets Ivar in tears as memories of his parents and Helga flood his mind. The pain in his heart becomes nearly unbearable but he fights it off with all his might. He never wants to feel broken and lost again.

Ivar lifts his head up and Floki can see the stubbornness in his eyes. "I could live with you now."

"No, you could not, and you know it!" Floki smiles and taps Ivar on the cheek. "Ivar, I live between two flights, today in Norway, yesterday in Iceland and after-tomorrow in Canada. What kind of life would this be for you, huh? And besides, living with Lagertha is not that bad."

But living with Sigurd is! Ivar wants to shout. He keeps quiet, though, shrugging before eventually mumbling. "Guess not..."

"So," Floki starts, eager to change the subject, "where are your brothers, by the way?"

"Where do you think they are, huh, you knock-kneed fool? They're already there." Ivar glances at his watch, furrowing his brow. "Harald's party started twenty minutes ago."

"We better hurry up, then!" Crouching down, Floki slowly opens the suitcase under Ivar's scrutinizing gaze.

"Quick!" Ivar commands, barely able to contain his impatience, his nervous fingers tapping his push rims. "What do you have for me, old man, huh?" He even contemplates climbing out of his chair to open it himself, but the fear of breaking a bone at the worst possible time is stronger than his eagerness.

"You're going to calm down, young Padawan." Floki quips, slowly moving his hand in front of Ivar with eyes full of mischief. Ivar immediately slaps his godfather's hand away, mumbling under his breath, "I'd rather be a Sith Lord." That earns him a loud, hysterical laugh from his godfather.

Ivar grunts, ready to protest, but all thoughts leave his mind as soon as he's able to see what is in the trolley case. The scowl on his face obvious, he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment as he utters, "you made me braces?"

He hates braces with a passion. Along with underarm crutches, he had some, as a child. They were bulky, stiff, painful and walking with them was tedious, agonizingly slow, and exhausting. Ragnar had been adamant that he wanted his youngest to walk, no matter the struggles, no matter the nearly unbearable pain. Ivar had settled his ass in a wheelchair the day of his father's funeral, getting rid of his braces shortly after, a decision he had never regretted. So no, such torture devices were not at all what he was hoping for.

"Have a little faith in me," Floki rolls his eyes. "These," he looks lovingly at the strange contraptions in his hands, "are not braces, Ivar. Have you and your crippled ass ever heard of exoskeleton?"

Ivar's eyes widen. "It's that thing used in rehab that allows paraplegics to walk, right?" As Floki nods, Ivar gives him a puzzled glance. "But, erm, you do know I don't have a spinal cord injury, don't you? Or are you suffering from memory loss? Maybe it's your age?"

Dismissing the remark with an exasperated wave of his hand, Floki hisses, "I'm well aware that you don't, godson dearest," before narrowing his eyes, his voice now serious, "you may have full sensation in both legs, yet they can't exactly support your weight and your lack of motor function can't be denied. Not really different from some paraplegic dudes, what do you think?"

Feeling a heavy lump in his throat, Ivar frowns, not pleased with the idea of him being like a paraplegic. Almost without thinking, he contracts his quads as best he can, as if he wants to make sure he's still able to do it.

Floki doesn't miss the barely-there movements in his thighs, though, and his voice softens. "Look Ivar, you're not a paraplegic, okay? But I used the exoskeleton technology. And since you're not paralyzed, I was able to make a smaller device that you can wear underneath your clothes, and you're going to walk. I mean, really walk, not just like those guys in rehab, between parallels bars and with a PT right behind them."

Ivar, his eyes bright, stares at his godfather, slack-jawed with amazement. "I'm..." He begins to sputter, voice filled with emotion, "I'm really going to walk?" Feeling like his heart is pounding out of his chest, he fails to contain his excitement, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his lap. He'd tap his feet if only he could.

"You are." Floki nods before taking out of the trolley case a pair of dress shoes. "I put dozens of sensors in the insole of these shoes, which will enable the exoskeleton to correct your stance practically every second. Therefore, you won't need crutches, although I would say it's safer for you to use this." Reaching down, he grabs a black derby-style cane, simple and sleek in design. "You know," he shrugs, "just for extra support. Better safe than sorry, hmh?"

Ivar, who doesn't even flinch when he sees the walking stick, just reaches out, his hand grazing the carbon fiber exoskeleton. "Is it really for me?" His eyes filled with wonder, his voice trembling, his lips stretch across his face as his godfather nods. "And you made this in what?... four, five days?"

Letting out his signature giggle, Floki waggles his fingers in front of his face. "Even I couldn't make this in such a short time. No, the truth is, I've been working on it for a while. Let's say your phone call just sped things up. Though I must say, this marvel of technology is not flawless... It has a really low battery life, like four hours of autonomy at best. If I had more time, I certainly could have done better, but for now, it is what it is and you'll have to make do with what you've got." Pursing his lips, he glances at his watch, "So, just so you know, if you put this on now, you'll have to come back around midnight if you don't want to have to crawl around. And if you hear a beep, you'd better hurry, okay?"

As Ivar just nods, his beaming smile never fading, Floki adds, tilting his head, "and now, go get ready, young Padawan, you have a party to attend!"

***

Sitting on a bench at the seaside, Ivar watches the party from afar, a feeling of uneasiness tightening his chest. It was a mistake. Attending to this party was a mistake. Despite the exoskeleton, despite the fact that he walks almost normally, it was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't be here. Anxiety surges like the swell of a wave, and he struggles to breathe. Sigurd was right: he doesn't belong here, doesn't belong to this life.

A part of him wants to leave. It would be better to run away, to go hide in his room. But he won't. He can't. Because just a moment ago he saw you. Because he's not ready to give up on you now that he is here, eventually close to you.

He recognized you the moment his eyes fell on you. Looking radiant in a polka dot dress, you're as pretty as he remembers. Pretty? Who's he kidding? The girl you were six years ago was pretty. You're a woman now, and one of the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Glowing, smiling at everyone, you didn't even see him. In his head, of course, he makes plans to approach you, even if deep down, he knows all too well he'll never muster enough courage to talk to you. You probably wouldn't want him to anyway. After all, he may be standing tall today, yet he's still a freak, a fucking cripple. He's still cursed with his bony, twisted, useless legs. He's still a burden.

Yet, there's this little voice inside of him, barely audible, whispering that you're not like this, that you never were in the first place; and that's partly why the ten-year-old boy he was when he first met you felt drawn to you almost instantly.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing and decides to take a little trip down memory lane, bringing him back to that sunny, summer day of his first – and only – encounter with you. His memory so vivid it's like it happened only yesterday.

He can't hear the chirping of birds as his brothers are loudly playing and bickering in the pool. His beloved mother is nowhere to be seen and he's willing to bet she's taking a nap, but not without first making sure he has everything he could possibly need. Lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, a glass of lemonade within reach and a thick book on his lap, he hardly notices his father coming into the backyard, Harald Hårfager following close behind.

Since Ivar knows Harald is here to talk business with his father, he pays no attention to the two men, who take their seats at the patio dining table.

He nearly falls off the sunbed when a tiny voice startles him. "Hello!"

Stunned, he turns his head towards the voice and comes face to face with a smiling girl he doesn't know. You. He'd say you're about his age.

"I'm Y/N," you tell him, waving your hand shyly. "I'm at my uncle's for the weekend," you keep going, pointing your finger at Harald, "and I was wondering... May I join you?" You finally ask, dragging a second sunbed closer to his.

His first instinct is to look around, because you can't possibly be talking to him. Why would you? Surely you can't have failed to spot his leg braces, nor his hideous orthopedic shoes. You can't have missed that he's a cripple.

Frowning as he sees that no one is around, he snorts, his nostrils flaring. He can tell you're wearing a swimsuit under your pink dress. What do you want, then? Are you here to mock and ridicule him or what?

"You better get in the pool with my brothers." He knows he sounds rude, not answering nor greeting you, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be made fun of and doesn't intend to give you the chance to do it.

Seemingly undeterred, you speak with a soft voice. "No, I'd rather not." Your smile is so genuine he can't help but think you mean no harm. "Actually," you shrug, sitting next to him, "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind. What are you reading?"

Gobsmacked, he just looks at you – and gods, how pretty you are! – for a long time, unable to utter a single word. Are you truly interested in what he's reading? Interested in him? He swallows hard, his heart racing. A small smile dancing on your lips, your kind eyes never leave his as you wait, full of hope, for him to finally talk to you.

And that's what he ends up doing, almost in spite of himself. For the next two hours, he shows you his astronomy book, a gift from his godfather for his tenth birthday, and tells you about the stars, the constellations and the nights he spends watching the sky, when his mother allows him to. And for two hours you listen to him, asking a question here or there and always smiling. He's pretty sure you're not faking being interested in what he's saying.

All too soon, your uncle tells you it's time to go and you stand up with a scowl, letting out a sigh of regret. The next moment, you flash Ivar a grin. "I had a really great time with you, thanks! I'm going back to my mom's tomorrow but I hope we can spend time together again sometime, maybe next summer. I'd love to stargaze with you, you know?" With that, you lean forward and as your lips touch his cheek, Ivar's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Ivar inhales deeply. That kiss... That's when he fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. If he concentrates enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips against his skin, still smell your sweet, flowery scent.

That day, he had watched you leave with a smile on your face, already dreaming of the day he would see you again. You had said "next summer" and even though it was a long time away, he was willing to wait. In the meantime, he would have plenty of memories to recall - your joyful voice, your sparkling eyes, your lovely smile... Sure, he could wait.

And he had waited, hopeful and happier than he had been in a long time.

Not long after, however, his life had been turned upside down, his father being murdered and his mother dying in a car crash. Lost, angry, broken, and infinitely sad, he had gone through the following months as if anesthetized - barely living, hardly functioning, sometimes feeling as if the memory of you was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Yet, and he doesn't know why – or perhaps simply because Ragnar being dead, Harald had no reason to visit anymore – he had never seen you again.

"Hello!"

His whole body freezes and he stops breathing. This voice... Your voice... He'd know it anywhere. Yet, it can't be, right? Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? Is one of his brothers tricking him? Why would you talk to the cripple?

"My name is Y/N." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I was wondering... May I join you?"

Summoning the courage he's not sure he has, Ivar looks tentatively toward you.

Gods! You're even more beautiful up close. Fuck. Now that you're here, right next to him, he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Panic seizes his hammering heart as a lump rises in his throat. He attempts to swallow around it to speak, to say something, anything, but the words won't come out and he finally just nods, his hand gesturing to the bench for you to sit on.

"Thanks," you give him a broad smile before taking your seat.

Ivar cannot believe his eyes. What are you doing? Did you recognize him? Why are you here, with him?

"Woul–", he sputters, struggling to find his voice, "Wouldn't you rather be there?" Pointing his index finger at the crowd gathered in front of the makeshift stage just a few meters away. He frowns, tilting his head, "the party is in full swing."

"No, I'd rather not." You shrug and as you turn your head toward him, he breathes in your sweet scent, suddenly feeling dizzy. "The guys are already drunk and really have one thing on their minds. And those who are not are boring." You lower your gaze, as if embarrassed, and it's so adorable Ivar feels like his heart is melting. "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind."

Oh, he doesn't. He doesn't mind at all. The truth is, there's a fucking firework inside of him, and he barely contains the screams of happiness that threaten to escape his lips. "That's okay, you can stay," he says instead, his fidgeting fingers dancing on his lap.

Over the next hour or so, the conversation flows easily as you speak about Karasjok, the small town where you live, telling him about your mother's people, the Sami, their culture and customs.

Ivar shares with you bits and pieces of his life too, speaking about his passion for the Viking culture and about his belief in the ancient gods. The night, his night, is full of your laughs, full of your smiles, full of you. He wants it to never end.

He's still trying to figure out if you know who he is, if you remember meeting him once when you rise to your feet, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "Walk with me, will you?"

He's about to break the truth about his inability to walk when he remembers that actually, thanks to Floki, he can. His eyes never leave yours as he grabs his cane with a little bit of self-consciousness, wincing as he stands up, but he can't see disgust, contempt, or disappointment on your face and your smile doesn't falter as you delicately slip your hand under his free arm, curling your fingers back over it. Shaken by your sudden proximity, Ivar feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

"It's such a lovely night and I'm so happy spending it with you."

Your words leave him speechless as you lead him close to the water. A bunch of guys can be seen in the distance and Ivar is pretty sure his brothers are among them. He can feel their heavy stares on him and doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying. "Who's this dude? Do we know him?" Standing tall, with his braided hair and a blue suit, he knows he doesn't look like himself. Yet, as he locks eyes with Hvitserk for a second, he'd sworn he sees a hint of recognition crossing his brother's face. And as the latter gives him a thumbs up, he knows his mind is not playing tricks with him.

"Oh, I love this song!" You clap your hands twice before shrugging shyly. "Let's dance, please!"

Ivar's heart breaks. Scared out of his wits, he swallows hard, his breathing uneven. "I... I can't." It's a painful admission, and he wishes the ground would just swallow him up.

He realizes you pay no mind to his defeated tone, though, as you grab his cane, leaning it against a nearby tree. "We'll go slow, I promise."

Almost in spite of himself, he places his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Gently – cautiously – swaying to the music, Ivar leans in close and, inhaling deeply your delightful scent, he feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Your head resting on his chest, he's sure you can hear his frantic, pounding heartbeat. But he can't bring himself to care, not when you're finally exactly where he wants you to be. In his arms.

That's why he doesn't hear the first beep, or if he does, he doesn't pay any attention, entranced by your beauty, your kindness and the mesmerizing color of your eyes.

But when you stop dancing, your eyebrows raised, "What's that beeping noise? It doesn't stop," he hears it too, cold sweats washing over him as panic courses through his body.

"I... I must... I must go," he stammers, and honestly he's about to throw up. He can't think, can't speak. All he knows is that he doesn't want you seeing him crawling around. He won't allow it. He can't.

Fuck.

That's why he leaves. He just strolls off. He doesn't see the appalled look you're giving him, doesn’t' realize he's leaving his black cane behind, doesn't hear the despair in your tone as you shout, "wait, please! I don't even know your name!"

He has only taken a few steps when crocodile tears run down his cheeks, blurring his sight. It hurts so much he could scream, and he can barely breathe as the realization starts to sink in. Who was he trying to fool? Sigurd had been right all along. No matter the exoskeleton, no matter the genius of his godfather, he's still a freak. A monster. An abnormality.

He doesn't belong. He's not worthy.

Fuck.

His heart shatters in a thousand pieces.

Fuck.

Y/N.

Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

#ivar #modern ivar #modern!ivar #modern-ivar #modern ivar x reader #modern!ivar x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar imagine #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar fanfiction #ivar vikings #vikings ivar #cherrypie’s500 #fairytale retelling #ivarello

[sybilius]

kiss prompt 18 + characters: dealer's choice

18. ....as encouragement

Lol, I’m sure you forgot about this Boots, but here is a kiss prompt for you, eons late. Karro/Sentenza. More follow ups from those last two things I wrote, I’ll stitch them together at some point. 

*

The light of the fire seems to get more distant, even as I approach Sentenza. The weight of the promise I made is heavy on my tongue. Hell, promise? When did I start making promises to anyone but Luis? 

Okay, easy answer. When he broke the only promise I thought he’d keep. Still doesn’t make this any easier. I finish up my mug of ale, deciding it’ll be the last for tonight, stowing it in my bag. Though the firelight is dim, I can still make out his hawkish profile, turning towards me from his sullen watch. 

"You want to get out of here?" I murmur, keeping an eye on the others around the fire. Not too many of them are watching. 

"Captain's captain," he mumbles, taking another sip from the glinting bottle

"So they need you tomorrow. Don't look like they're missing you now."

"They do," he glares, stormy in a moment. I crouch down to look him in the eye. The answer is one that slips from my lips like a dream. 

"I do."

He blinks, the usual glint of clever machinations in his eyes made dull and simple by liquor, "You're greedy."

"One of us usually is," it slips out more bitter than I mean it, the guilt lurching in my stomach a moment later. 

“All right.”

I stand up then, offer my hand. He doesn’t take it, even though he sways where he stands. Leaves the bottle on the log where he was sitting, though. We walk deep into the palm grove, till the fire is just a pinprick in the distance. He keeps looking back, checking if we’re being watched. His movements are too sharp, which set him bumping into the huge leaves of the bushes or into my shoulder.

I catch him on the third time, swallowing back my nervousness. He raises an eyebrow weakly, part of the confidence I know so well -- and something else. Something I’ve seen only in those first few sin-soaked hellish weeks we knew each other. 

I want to tell him it’ll be all right, they won’t miss him for the hour or so it’ll take for him to sober up. The words dry up in my mouth. So instead, I kiss the sear of the rum off his tongue. 

#alcohol cw #karrosen #my writing #kiss prompt asks #thank you for the ask. i am sorry i am Like this lmao #karro #sentenza #shiny-good-rock

[creacherkeeper]

Would you be able to write a fic with autistic Jemma and autistic Bobbi? They're my faves and I'd really love it if you could

anon: Hey if you’re still taking prompts can I get some autistic Jemma and mama May protecting her?

Well, No One Told Me 

a/n: someone a long time ago asked for jemma + bsl so this kind of fills that too! whew knocking these prompts out yall 

for aosficnet’s disability december 

~2300 words 

read on AO3 

Bobbi knows she shouldn’t be here. It’s breaking all sortsof protocols. And she can justify it later, of course she can, she can justifyanything to anyone, but there’s still a stirring of anxiety in her gut sayingthat this is wrong. That this is putting them both at risk.

She’s still dressed in her Hydra uniform. Hair pulled back,dark enough that she barely recognizes herself in a mirror. Not that sherecognizes herself all that well on a normal day. But it’s easier to put a faceto her own mind when she has the blonde hair she grew up with. She keeps hereye makeup the same while she’s undercover. That grounds her the little bit ithas to.

She clears her throat, puts her hands on her hips, andstares at the door handle. She really shouldn’t be here. But the woman—Jemma.Something is wrong, Bobbi can tell. She’d been off at work all day, and by the time she left, she was barelycognizant of the things around her. Bobbi had called her name as she left, andJemma had walked off like she couldn’t even hear her, eyes cloudy. Bobbi knewthat expression. She’d worn it herself enough times. Jemma was pushing herselftoo hard, and she was getting overloaded. Probably approaching meltdownterritory. Which made being here even more dangerous, because what was Bobbisupposed to do? Try to care for her when the woman still thought she was Hydra?Or blow her cover?

And really, Bobbi is being silly. Jemma is an adult, and sheprobably has a handle on things. But on the other hand, Bobbi has done enoughmissions in isolation. Being separated from all the people that usually helpyou cope … it gets rough. Impossible, sometimes. And Jemma hadn’t been trainedfor this at all, not like Bobbi had.

She knocks before she can talk herself out of it. Shealready has a few lies swimming in her head, reasons she could be stopping by.There’s a rumor of a mole at headquarters. She’ll say they’re doing homechecks, looking for suspicious activity. If Jemma seems fine, she’ll be on herway.

If not …

Well, she’s not sure about that just yet. She’ll think ofsomething.

“Jemma Simmons,” Bobbi calls, authoritative. “This is BobbiMorse. Open up.”

There’s still no response. But there’s a light shining outfrom under the front door, and Bobbi knows Jemma wouldn’t leave the light on ifshe wasn’t home.

The key is slipping into the lock before Bobbi can thinktwice. Hydra (creepily) had keys to every worker’s home, so Jemma wouldn’t questionthe means of the intrusion. Of course, Bobbi had gotten this key from Coulson.But Jemma didn’t need to know that.

She opens the door slowly. The light in the entryway is on,like she thought it was, as is the light in the kitchen. Bobbi pushes the dooropen more, and then steps in and closes it behind her. Immediately, she knewshe was right to come here. The sounds are soft, but they’re unmistakably onesof someone in distress. Shaking gasps, punctuated with whimpers.

Bobbi’s stomach clenches. She honestly feels morecomfortable scouring the halls of the Hydra office than here, faced with this.Emotional situations, despite her experience with her own meltdowns, are notsomething she’s comfortable dealing with. But the woman didn’t have anyoneelse. Bobbi was her only option.

As she pads quietly into the apartment, she looks around foranything that could’ve triggered this episode. And she doesn’t have to looklong. There’s a light in the kitchen that’s flickering, casting an ominousshade to the otherwise domestic scene. There’s a box of brownie mix on thecounter, along with a bowl, and a container of vegetable oil. On a napkin sitsan egg, and smashed on the floor is another. It looks like she tried to scoopthe mess up with her bare hands, and then gave up when she only succeeded inspreading the goop around. Bobbi knows even something as simple as that, whenyou’re already on the edge, can be enough to push you over.  

Though it’s with a sense of dread, Bobbi makes her waydeeper into the apartment, toward the source of the noise. She finds Jemmapressed between the couch and the wall, clutching her head and rocking—small,quick little movements—forward and back. There’s egg on her hands, and in herhair. It doesn’t seem like Jemma has noticed her.

Bobbi stands there for a moment, feeling like an intruder(which, you know, technically she is) on the scene. She clenches her jaw andher fists, fingers thrumming unpleasantly with energy.

“Jemma,” she says, not too loud. She doesn’t want to scareher.

There’s no response. No lapse in movement or pitiful noises.

She crouches down. “Jemma,” she says again, a little louder.

Again, nothing.

Bobbi stands, retreats back to the kitchen, and pulls outher cell phone. Her SHIELD phone, not her undercover one. She wonders if thisis worth a call in, but her gut is telling her it is. She scrolls through hercontacts, all coded of course, lest anyone ever find this phone and manage tobreak into it. Her thumb hovers over “Eagle Two”, and then she goes back. Shescrolls again, and clicks on “Mama Bear”.

May picks up on the second ring.

“Jemma’s apartment,” Bobbi says.

“I’m on my way.”

It won’t be long until May gets here, so Bobbi busiesherself cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. She grabs a dishtowel and twiststhe flickering bulb out of its socket, and replaces it with a new one she findsin the linen closet. She stands in appreciation for a moment, watching thesteady light of the new bulb, and then gets to work cleaning the mess on thefloor. It doesn’t take long before the floor is spotless, and then Bobbi isforced to wait for May and listen to Jemma’s pained sounds. She doesn’t knowwhat to do, but she doesn’t want to touch Jemma and possibly make things worse.

May shows up only a few minutes later, though it feels likeages. She’s in civvies. Or, as close as May gets, which means workout clothes. She’scarrying a duffel bag and a serious expression. Bobbi waves her in, and pointsher over to Jemma.

May only takes a moment to absorb the scene before springinginto action.

“I’ve brought your bag,” May says in a low, soothing voice,though Jemma doesn’t acknowledge her either. She crouches and unzips it, firstpulling out what seems to be a stuffed toy. On closer inspection, it’s ahedgehog, with some sort of corded material for the spines. May shoves thestuffed animal into the space between Jemma’s knees and her chin, and thenbounces it on her knees until Jemma grabs the toy and buries her face in it.

“She’s got egg on her—”

“We’ll wash it after,” May cuts her off.

Next, she pulls out a pair of over-the-ear headphones, andcarefully brushes Jemma’s hair back so there won’t be any caught between her earsand the ear pads. She plugs in an iPod before slipping the headphones overJemma’s head. Bobbi can barely hear what’s being played, but it soundsfamiliar. Some British Invasion band, she thinks.

The next thing to come out of the bag surprises Bobbi, who’sgenerally well-versed in meltdown coping techniques. It’s a pair of socks,black.

“What are those for?” Bobbi asks.

“Compression socks,” May explains. She takes off Jemma’sshoes (Jemma hadn’t stricken Bobbi as a ‘shoes in the house’ type of person.Bobbi doesn’t know why that throws her so much), then her socks, and slips thecompression socks over her feet.

Finally, she pulls a weighted lap pad from the duffel anddrapes it over Jemma’s knees.

“She doesn’t have a full blanket?” Bobbi asks.

“Makes her feel trapped.”

(The shoes thing clicks for Bobbi. It’s about control. It’sabout being prepared.)

May scoots against the wall and lets one of her legs slipunderneath Jemma’s own. Again, not trapping, Bobbi realizes. And then theywait. Eventually, Bobbi sits down in front of them both, a little ways away.She feels like she’s intruding on a private moment, but she doesn’t want toleave. She looks away, fiddling with the buttons on her jacket.

“May?” Jemma ekes out finally.

May rests a hand on the side of her leg, but doesn’t sayanything. Jemma couldn’t hear her, anyway, with the headphones.

Jemma shakily holds out her hands, palms up. “My hands aresticky,” she whines into the stuffed animal.

May shoots Bobbi a look, and Bobbi dashes up to get a wetwashcloth. When she returns with it, May makes careful work of cleaning Jemma’shands, rubbing gently over her palms and in between each finger. When Jemmadeems them clean enough, she pulls them back toward herself.

May taps on her knee to get her attention, and then makesthe “A-Okay” symbol with her hand and puts it against her head. It takes Bobbia minute to realize what she’s doing. Thesign for hair, Bobbi thinks. AskingJemma if she wants her hair cleaned.

Jemma, as if just noticing the other woman, shoots a nervouslook at Bobbi.

Friend, May signs.

Jemma swallows, and then nods. May makes the sign for ‘hair’again. After a moment of consideration, Jemma nods a second time.

May holds out the soiled washcloth, and Bobbi takes that oneand switches it out for a new, clean and damp one. May stops just before takingJemma’s headphones off, but Jemma leans forward until they’re brushing May’sfingers. She still whimpers a little when May takes them and places them on thefloor.

May crooks two fingers and turns them. Jemma obedientlyturns around so May has easier access to her hair, but is still hidden betweenthe couch and the wall. May gets to work rubbing the washcloth through Jemma’sbrown locks, working out clumps tangled with yolk.

Now that Jemma’s ears aren’t blocking the sound, Bobbi canmake out the tinny lyrics of the song through the headphones. It’s The Zombies.She’s Not There. A perhaps too apt achoice. Bobbi tries not to laugh. She has a hard time not laughing when she’snervous.

It’s quiet for a long time, besides the thin sound of theiPod. May works slowly, methodically. She’s not rushing anyone here.

Bobbi swallows down something acrid in the back of herthroat. Something like loneliness.

(Maybe that’s what drove her here in the first place.)

When May is done, Jemma leans backwards until she’s slumped againstMay’s chest, head leaning back on her shoulder. Jemma absentmindedly picksdried yolk out of the hedgehog’s fabric spines as May sets the washcloth asideand rests her hands on Jemma’s elbows.

Bobbi’s throat burns.

“I’ll wash him,” May says, very quietly.

Jemma nods.

“Do you want to go home?” May asks.

Jemma shakes her head.

May doesn’t ask if she’s sure, but Bobbi can tell it’s righton the tip of her tongue.

“I’ll stay the night, then.”

Jemma shakes her head again.

May pushes out an even breath that on anyone else would havebeen a sigh.

“Jemma,” May says.

“’S fine,” Jemma whispers. She hands the stuffed hedgehogback to May, stands, and carefully steps around her. She heads toward her room,stops, and turns around. She won’t look at either of them.

“Thank you for knowing something was wrong,” Jemma says,vaguely aimed in Bobbi’s direction. She tilts her head toward May, but is stilllooking at the floor. “Thank you for coming. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going tobed. I trust you can see yourselves out.” Then she turns, and leaves the room,closing the door behind her.

Bobbi falters in the silence.

“Is she going to be okay?” she asks, when May still hasn’tmoved.

May gazes at the hedgehog for a moment, rubbing a thumbalong the bridge of its nose.

“Thank you for calling me, Agent Morse,” is what she settleson.

She packs up the duffel bag and throws the soiled washclothsin the sink. She puts Jemma’s shoes neatly by the door. Bobbi can tell shedoesn’t want to leave. Neither does Bobbi.

“Should I stay?” Bobbi asks.

But May just holds the front door open for her.

It’s dark when they step out of the apartment building andonto the street. Darker than Bobbi was expecting. She’d check her phone to seehow much time had passed, but she doesn’t want to be rude.

May doesn’t immediately walk away, so Bobbi hovers as well.

“Your cover’s blown with her,” May says.

Bobbi nods, fingers of one hand twisting at her side. She wantsher batons. “Yeah.”

“I trust the mission will still proceed as planned?”

Bobbi doesn’t know why May is being so formal. Jemma haddone it too. Were they uncomfortable with her being there, or is she readingtoo much into this? “You trust correctly.”

May nods. And then, briefly, reaches out to rest her hand onBobbi’s arm.

“See you soon, Bobbi.”

Then May is gone. And Bobbi is left with a strange, heavyfeeling in her chest. She glances up to the only one of Jemma’s windows that’svisible from the street. The light is off. Bobbi swallows, and walks away.

#aosficnet #bobbi morse #jemma simmons #melinda may #maysimmons #does jemma know bobbi's real name in 2a??? #i honestly cant remember #its been so long since ive seen it #but YES here is this #idk why this one was so hard for me to write #i mean. its prob because i did not sleep at all #that could have something to do with it #i think i'm also still struggling to find autistic bobbi's narrative voice because i dont write from bobbi's pov often #but anyway! enjoy! #i need to shower and eat and pass the fuck out fam #Anonymous