#soon to be departed from the web

[lilyginnyblackv2]

Social Issues that Help with Understanding Buddy Daddies

Here are some political, social, and cultural aspects of Japanese culture that I think is important to keep in mind when watching Buddy Daddies. Please note: this is a super long post, with lots of pictures. 

1. Human Trafficking - Slave Labor

In Episode One, we learn that Miri’s birth father was involved in labor based human trafficking involving Southeast Asian individuals. This is currently a very big issue in Japan, since Southeast Asian immigrants (among others) are viewed as a cheap labor option and usually experience slave labor like conditions.

From The United States Department of State website:

Men, women, and children from Northeast Asia, Southeast Asia, South Asia, Latin America, and Africa travel to Japan for employment or fraudulent marriage and are subjected to sex trafficking. Traffickers use fraudulent marriages between foreign women and Japanese men to facilitate the entry of women into Japan for sex trafficking in bars, clubs, brothels, and massage parlors. Traffickers keep victims in forced labor or commercial sex using debt-based coercion, threats of violence or deportation, blackmail, confiscation of passports and other documents, and other psychologically coercive methods.

2. Drugs in Japan

When I was living and working as an ALT in Japan, two ALTs (in a different district, but within the same company of my own), got caught with drugs. It was a big deal and ended up in the newspapers. The company I worked for had to do a lot of PR work with the elementary and junior high schools that they had contracts with, to ensure that the contracts would remain. As for me and the other ALTs? We had to sit through like five separate meetings within like two months about drugs and drug laws in Japan. 

The barebones takeaway is that, in Japan, weed is viewed as being on the same level as hardcore drugs. Charges can be steep and strict. Even just knowing that someone has drugs, and you don’t say anything to law enforcement about it, can get you in trouble. There is a grey area with drugs, which is stuff like bath salts and the like. Since the selling of things like that cannot be prohibited, so they are easily accessible to the public. 

Japan still has a very “90′s D.A.R.E.” approach to drugs. It’s catchphrase is 「ダメ。ゼッタイ。」or “No! Never.”

(Image from a Web Magazine called Nagasaki Press.)

When celebrities are caught with (what’s usually) weed, it can basically be the end of their careers, since recreational drug use of any kind (excluding alcohol, of course), is still negatively looked down upon in Japanese society. This is why it is still heavily left in the hands of the yakuza and drug kingpins, etc. Though there has been a recent increase in protests and ideology surrounding the idea of legalizing weed. Still, not much acceptance for recreational use is likely to come yet. However...

There may soon be some revision to the laws, which will allow for medical use:

Legislation changes scheduled for 2023

In 2021, the MHLW established an expert committee to review the Cannabis Control Act, and it is expected revisions will be proposed in a bill to be submitted in 2023. This will most likely allow for the use of medical cannabis. 2022/12/02

From: Euromonitor

So, something to keep in mind when Kazuki talks about a drug kingpin here is that this drug kingpin is likely not just dealing with super, hardcore drugs, but also softer ones too, like weed.

3. Child Protection Squad

There is this misconception in Japan that really young kids, like Miri’s age, can just roam free all around Japan and no one will find it odd. In Episode 1, we do see Miri roaming around the city without anyone really taking notice, but she also wasn’t in an area where there would be people that are trained to take notice.

In the above image she is at a park, which is likely close to a school somewhere. The man that approaches her here has a band around his jacket sleeve that says こども見守り隊 (kodomo mimamori-tai), which gets translated to “Child Protection Squad.” Basically, these are like crossing guards, in a way, because they do play a similar role to that, but they also do more than that as well:

(Image from the Japanese website: Nice Senior).

This people basically ensure that kids stay on the right paths on their way to school. Most of the time, when elementary school children head off to school, they will go in groups (with the 5th or 6th graders being the leaders) and there will often be older people outside their houses on their way in, keeping an eye on the children to make sure they get to school okay. 

And that’s talking about elementary school aged kids. For ones that are around Miri’s age, usually the parents (mostly mothers) will bring them by bike:

Or they will get picked up by a bus:

This one looks pretty boring in comparison to some others you might see though, like these:

(Image from the Hiyoshidai School Website)

Sometimes the daycare workers will also take them on little excursions outside using big strollers for the kids to travel around in:

(The image is obviously from a stock photo site called fotostock, but yeah, I’ve seen these before when I lived in Japan).

But a little toddler just sitting on her own at a mostly empty park with just a guy sitting at a park bench nearby watching her? That would raise attention and an eyebrow from someone who is essentially a crossing guard and whose job is to ensure the safety of kids as they travel to and from school. 

The rest is under a Read More.

4. Police in Japan

I saw a comment somewhere (maybe it was over on Youtube) about how the cops are portrayed here in Buddy Daddies. The comment was basically that Japanese cops wouldn’t be that aggressive with a child. But, well, cops in Japan have issues like everywhere. Though, the main issue with cops recently has more so been with racial profiling:

(Excerpt is from a Japan Times article entitled:  60% of people with foreign roots questioned by Japanese police, survey finds).

Of course, this situation is different from the one we see happening with Miri, but the Japanese police have issues with corruption too. So this happening wouldn’t seem too out of the realm of possibilities to me. The anime Tiger & Bunny 2 Part 2 also recently had some moments in the season where there was some anti-cop (ACAB-type) sentiments expressed by a character (though that series is also meant to take place in a city based on NYC).

5. Issues Surrounding Reproductive Rights, Contraception, and Abortion

“Took advantage of me” is fairly vague wording, but considering the type of guy he was, and the fact that Miri’s mother is caught in another abusive relationship, it wouldn’t surprise me if Miri’s conception wasn’t fully consensual one. People like to talk about how safe Japan is, but Japan has a lot of sexual violence that goes unreported: 

(From an article entitled:  Many sexual violence victims in Japan do not report assaults to police, support groups: survey - The article was posted on November 24, 2020 over on The Mainichi news website).

There is a lot of societal pressure in Japan, that can cause a lot of judgement as well. Especially around issues of reproductive rights. From a Japan Times articles entitled:  Pandemic provides an opportunity to improve access to contraception, posted on January 30th, 2022, we can get a little insight into the issues surrounding contraceptives:

The article also talked about the judgement that can come with contraceptives. The last line also talks about abortion, which comes with its own set of issues in Japan:

(From The Japan Times article: Abortion legal and apolitical in Japan, but cost and consent present barriers)

So abortion was likely an option that Miri’s mother didn’t think was really viable, especially in her situation.

7. Being a Single Mother in Japan, Adoption

In Ep.3 we hear Kazuki parroting a lot of the stuff you usually hear when it comes to women in children, like it is meant to be a natural and innate thing. There is a societal pressure for a woman to give birth and care for the child, even when they aren’t in the best situations to do so. Miri’s mother was, for all intents and purposes, a single mother. Since I doubt the abusive man she is currently with had any hand in helping Miri.

Being a single mother anywhere can be a big challenge, but especially so in Japan. Some issues that single mother’s face in Japan, according to the article “Why Most Families with Single Mothers in Japan are Living in Poverty” from a site called The Borgen Project: 

From that same article, we learn that joint-custody and child support doesn’t exist in Japan. So Miri’s mother was likely under a lot of societal and financial stress, along with possible Post-Partum Depression, and (also probable) burnout. This doesn’t mean that her behavior or attitudes are okay, but that they are likely a result of a failed system. 

I’ve seen some people bring up adoption, but adoption doesn’t automatically mean that a child will have a better life either. My grandfather’s mother was force to give her children up to the state, so my grandfather spent a good chunk of his life in an orphanage. It wasn’t a pleasant experience. And the probability that Miri would have been adopted had her mother gone through the actual system is, sadly, extremely low. From an article entitled: “The state of orphans in Japan and how to help” found on the site Zenbird.Media is this bit of information:

And even if Miri had been in an orphanage, Misaki (Miri’s mother) would still be her legal guardian. 

So an option like that would be unappealing for Misaki, because she doesn’t want anything to do with Miri. 

7. LGBT+ Individuals Being Viewed as “Not Productive”

Finally, we have the last thing I briefly want to talk about. The main backbone of Buddy Daddies, which is these two hitmen taking care of a child. Last year, a Japanese politician was in the news because she retracted some previous statements she made in 2016 and 2018. We are going to focus on her 2018 statements, which were:

Her comment received a lot of backlash and was big news. Her retracting her statements also brought a lot of news and talk too. The above information comes from The Japan Times article: “ Japanese lawmaker retracts past remarks on LGBTQ and other minorities.” Her other comments are awful too, but it should be noted that her one about sexual-minority couples stems from the issue of Japan’s declining birthrate. Even though many people in Japan are supportive of LGBT+ rights, there are people that hold a similar viewpoint as this. 

Buddy Daddies is pretty directly challenging this ideology, especially with how they have been handling things. So that’s pretty cool and revolutionary in its own way. It makes me interested in seeing how this continued topic as well as any future social issue topics will be handled or touched upon in Buddy Daddies.

If you read this all until the end: thank you so much! I put a lot of work into this write up and I hope it can help (I learned some things too while researching!).

#Buddy Daddies #Kazuki Kusuru #Rei Suwa #Miri Unasaka #Misaki Unasaka #social issues in Japan #long post #meta post #image heavy post

[throwaway-yandere]

"I Got Reincarnated..." (Yandere SAGAU Otome Isekai!Diluc/Reader) Common Route now available!!!

No need to download! It's a web-based game that should work on mobile too.

The art and overall story are made by yours truly while the OST is created by our beloved @naraven. There are currently 2 CGs and 2 OSTs available, and depending on the reception I might continue beyond the common route since I already have most sprites done <3

This is something I had been pondering about making for a while since my blog has reached it's 2nd year mark so I made this under 3 days. I love you all. Thank you for sticking around. Here's the link to the game. I hope you enjoy it <3.

For context, please read this fic first!

Characters currently present in this short chapter:

Captain Dainsleif, Diluc Ragnvindr, Waitress Alice & Rosaria, Chief Albedo, Prince ???????, Lord Kamisato, and Justice Ajax.

Description:

Greetings, I am Diluc Ragnvindr.  Welcome to Southern Gaciea. Unlike the North, East, and the West, the South is a tourist spot for outsiders. It's a closed off country, so outlanders will need to submit their documents to the department of domestic affairs.  Perhaps you do not remember, but you've encountered many interesting individuals upon your arrival such as…   Captain Dainsleif, the famous Western knight turned retainer for both Prince Lumine and her missing brother, Prince Aether;   Lord Kamisato, the Eastern noble who controls Gaciean trade with just a flick of a wrist;   Chief Albedo, the Head of Domestic Affairs and Chief Alchemist from unknown origins;   Justice Ajax, the unreasonable Northern politician whom I often argue with;  …And, of course, Duke Ragnvindr, the Southern Head of Military Affairs. That would be me.   It's a shame you no longer remember much of our time together, (Y/n). I assure you, I can make you feel at home in this universe. But— you're not planning to leave South Gaciea soon, are you? ♥

Dev note: pssst, you might get some extra dialogue if you put these as your name (more will be added soon cuz that aint all my moots >:((( i need to code more efficiently smh.)

Shiro, Ven, Navina, Mei, Mochi, Ana

#yandere diluc #yes comrades i have made The Diluc Game #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere diluc ragnvindr #yandere diluc x reader #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr #genshin fangame #genshin fanart #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x reader #tag: otome game au

[miinatozakiii]

can we get even closer?

detective!jihyo x spiderwoman!reader (pt. 3, finale!) ; smut, fluff

synopsis: spiderwoman becomes 10x more alluring AND convincing, detective park is completely disregarding the chief at this point.

wc: 11.7k

warnings: blood ; mentions of wounds, cuts, bruises ; smut!!!

pls read for context: pt.1, pt.2

the crime scene was a messy tapestry of deception and disorder.

jihyo scanned the mess of a venue. there were flipped-over tables, pieces of chairs, and debris scattered all over the venue—even a light had fallen from the ceiling—it was a sight.

the cluttered, frenzied scene wasn't even the worst part; to tell the truth, what made it worse was seeing her colleagues all stuck together tangled up in spiderwebs against the wall.

the chief included in the mess.

the chief was tangled up alone, arms and legs restrained with only his head free. he seemed infuriated; this does not help your case. the chief will hate your guts even more, and if he catches you, he might rip them out.

jihyo has her final conclusion made up in her head after fully processing the mess in front of her: you have one functioning brain cell.

the officers and chief aren't the only ones captured, there's an apparent culprit tied together in a large, thicker layer of cobweb: the lizard.

it's green, it's ugly, and it's huge—jihyo furrows her brows at the sight—but her face lights up when she sees the familiar silhouette of the special spider-like "hero."

you stand there in front of the grotesque reptile, gazing at it with slumped shoulders and heavy breaths. you're exhausted and aching from the very physically demanding task. on the bright side: there are no broken bones or any limbs missing—that's a plus—though there are a few scratches that rip the new suit you had just gotten. you sigh at the thought of having to face your suit designer nayeon. you really don't want to hear her complaints again.

the thought of nayeon yelling in your ear distracts you from the blood that seeps out the cuts on your body and the pain from the sore areas that will surely be dark, annoying bruises—though the thought of that nayeon pulling at your ear and bickering with you doesn't distract you forever, the discomfort in your abdomen returns and you almost fall over.

screw that ugly ass lizard.

jihyo runs over to your side, looking at your weary state.

"y/n-" jihyo catches herself, immediately quieting down when uttering the last part of your name. she watches her words even if she's not in the field of vision of the officers, they still have ears afterall. "spiderwoman, are you okay?" jihyo asks, looking at the cuts in your suit.

"yeah." you respond, and you're lying your ass off because you think you might fall over soon. "just a bit beat up, could've been worse."

“you think a stab to the stomach is comparable to a paper cut. " the detective sighs, “that doesn’t make this any better.”

it’s evident in her tone that she’s worried. your heart feels heavy knowing that she feels like that for you, but you don't want to overwhelm her anymore. you put your hand on her shoulder and her eyes soften. her look almost hurts more than that stupid pain in your stomach.

"park," you say softly, "i'm fine."

“you’re not.”

"i need to change back and leave, keep an eye on the lizard?"

"y/n-"

"it's spiderwoman." you say sternly. your voice had lost any hint of playfulness, now it’s more of a croaked-out, low tone.

"sorry, i just-"

"let's talk later, yeah?" you urge. jihyo nods with disappointment. 

you smile as you shoot a web up, looking at her with the same softness before pulling yourself and swinging away.

jihyo's jaw tightens up.

you don’t break into jihyo’s house or even show up at the department for four days and counting. that’s 96+ hours of jihyo not seeing you, of her having all these questions swarming in her brain with no answers and 96+ hours of missing you. detective park is running out of patience.

jihyo spins the pen in her hand while examining the papers related to the “lizard” case, i mean, there’s not much to do since the lizard-man had been captured after turning back to normal, but jihyo had to do a brief check before going back to the prison to interrogate the human form of that nightmare.

the identity of the lizard was found after it had transformed back into a slender, fragile man: dr. watanabe, lead scientist at minatozaki industries and former friend of the chief.

the chief seemed to be slowly losing it after the whole event—who wouldn’t be after having to ask your detective to cut you and the rest of your coworkers out of the spiderweb that was shot from the wrists of the person you went on a whole tangent about not trusting—exactly.

it’s been hectic.

the detective shoves the papers back into the folder before heading into the room that holds the visitation booths, which is empty and only has one guard present. she runs a hand through her hair before nodding at the guard and sitting at booth three.

her foot taps at the ground as she waits—not because she’s anxious—it’s just a habit she’s had since college.

there’s the sound of the door opening and not even five seconds later the scientist sits in front of her. he looked terrible: bags under his eyes, brows creased, and hair disordered—that’s not like him at all. jihyo takes out a paper from the folder and holds the black telephone handle close to her ear.

“you’ve finally agreed to talk.”

“against my will, where’s the chief.” watanabe spits back through the line. jihyo shoots a look that has the scientist shrinking in his seat.

“not here.” she says sternly, “now i would really appreciate if you could be competent since you’ve caused so much trouble.”

“bring me that damn chief and i’ll talk, they said he’d be here.”

“he’s not here, so quit whining. i have some questions that you need to answer, i’d advise that you respond well and with a compliant attitude.” the detective warns threateningly.

the scientist makes eye contact once with jihyo then looks back down, ready to answer with his hand clutching the telephone handle tightly.

jihyo ends up leaving the visitation booth with sluggish shoulders and a paper with rushed, messy jotted-down notes of the criminals’ answers and puts it in her bag. once she steps outside into the afternoon light, she’s quick to stretch out her arms, groaning at the relieving sensation.

“hi.”

that voice is very familiar.

the detective turns and her eyes widen at the sight of you. you’re standing there with a smile, warm and friendly.

a dark, navy sweater sits loosely on your figure, and your hair is tied up. you look beautiful, and not as beat up as jihyo figures you should look (i mean, you literally had a whole wwe match with a lizard a couple days ago, so it’s surprising to say the least). you seem content, you seem perfectly fine and jihyo hates that you haven’t bothered her. where have you been?

jihyo stares at you in awe, well, maybe with some confusion and a hint of anger too. she wants to ask where you’ve been, i mean, it’s been days and you haven’t knocked on her window, she had even waited by that stupid window of hers with the hope that you’d barge in. she wants to ask how you’ve been doing, if your injuries been bothering you maybe and if your cuts healed. jihyo wants to know everything, from how you’re doing physically to what’s going on in that smoothed-out brain of yours. (jihyo has many questions, too many, and it has her silent in her place while she gapes at you.)

you play with the neckline of your sweater. “it’s getting pretty cold, huh.”

jihyo thinks you’re unbelievable.

“where have you been?” jihyo asks, walking up to you and pushing you playfully (fighting the urge to hold your and look at you with desire like in those cliché romance movies where the leads love interest shows up after being missing—or something like that at least. [park jihyo watches too many dramas]) she furrows her brows a little, looking at you with a tad of shock in her expression.

you tilt your head and ask, “why are you looking at me like that.”

“you’ve been gone for what, four days?” jihyo says, raising her brows. a couple people passing by glance in your direction when jihyo raises her voice, but she doesn’t care, that’s the last thing she cares about. “you haven’t called, texted, or even showed up to your own uncles workplace! you haven’t even-“ and jihyo cannot believe she’s about to say this: “you haven’t broken into my apartment or anything!”

a short silence fills the air before your eyes soften the same way they did before leaving jihyo at that venue—right after finishing up your business.

you let out a brief, soft sigh. “i’m sorry, it’s a lot.”

“yeah, it is.” jihyo huffs, losing the worry in her tone as relief fills in.

a grin plays at your lips, “i did say i would explain everything,” you start, “and i did say i’d take you out, and on me too…”

jihyo crosses her arms and mumbles, “you did.”

“that’s only if the detective would let me…?”

the weight on jihyo’s shoulders is completely knocked off and she chuckles at your response, quickly losing the serious façade.

 “i have to drop this off at work, maybe i’ll let you once i do.”

you grin. “great.”

you end up as passenger princess in jihyo’s white, glossy bmw.

saying the car is nice would be a huge understatement. the interior is even more fascinating compared to the exterior, and that says a lot. the seats are clean, comfy, and from the texture, you can tell it’s authentic and expensive leather. the car is pretty spotless other than the water bottle in the cup holder and that reusable tote bag that seemed to have been thrown at the backseats blindly. the car smells fresh—something woody, minty, and there’s also a hint of apple—it’s welcoming and really fits the detective.

“comfy?” jihyo asks, turning on the engine.

“yeah.” you reply, feeling a little intimidated for no reason.

jihyo chuckles at you and shifts the stick, lightly steps on the gas, then looks at the screen in the car as she backs up. there should be no reason for this to be so attractive, i mean, you’ve seen many people back up a car, nothing special, but when jihyo does it you find yourself wanting her a little more.

the two of you end up at the department less than ten minutes later. despite how unbelievably close and flirty you’ve gotten with the detective; the whole car ride was way too intimate for your liking, and your nerves were a mess.

the car was so nice it had you feeling tense, jihyo was driving with such ease and looked so damn good with those sunglasses she had on. you felt small in the passenger seat. thankfully, you’re a few turns away from the department.

“i need to tell you something.” you say, making jihyo hum.

“what is it?”

“i can’t go into the department, i’m, well… i’ll tell you later but long story short my uncle cannot see me and i’m technically kind of on house arrest.”

“you’re what?”

“long story.”

the light turns red, the detective breaks smoothly then turns to look at you, curiosity and disbelief making her brows furrow.

“why am i not surprised that the chief would do something like that.” jihyo sighs, looking back at the stoplight—it’s green now. “he’s been on edge lately ever since the incident, he’s probably just anxious.”

you chuckle and shake your head, “he’s something…”

not too long later, the two of you find your way over at a café nearby and situate yourselves in the balcony area on the second floor.

jihyo holds a mint-colored latte cup in her hand that’s filled with a simple, hot mocha. she takes a sip and a bit of the steamed milk coats the top of her lips, she licks it off subtly. you smile before taking a sip of your own drink, some type of seasonal latte that has hints of apple and cinnamon.

“i missed you.” you say, looking down at the slightly distorted latte art in your cup. jihyo looks at you then smiles, a tint of pink dusting her cheeks as she turns her head to take in the view of the farmers markets nearby.

“me too.” she sighs, “i was… i haven’t been as tired lately, so i waited near my window for some spider to knock on it—she never came.”

you frown. “i wanted to. i’m always one to help people and try to not break the law, but i can’t help it when it’s you.” you respond jokingly.

jihyo smiles at your playfulness, happy to be spending time with one of the people she’s grown close with, as well as the hero she’s been secretly crushing and interacting with.

“can i ask how long you’ve been, you know…”

“couple months.” you reply, “remember how i told you about getting bit by the spider?” you ask, jihyo nods and you begin again, “i got bit a week after i moved here, and then i started sticking to things, accidentally broke my doorknob—oh! i was also watching this scary movie one time and got scared, after that i couldn’t see myself in the mirror.”

“that’s a lot.”

“yes, too much.”

“so… what happened with you and your uncle?” jihyo questions, wondering why she’s been spiderwoman-deficient for the past four days.

“oh yeah,” you respond, “well, he found out that i got hurt—not because i was y’know, doing my little hero thing—but he saw the blood and some of the injuries. he went on this tangent about me staying safe, he’s just been on edge and very protective. he doesn’t want me leaving the house. i’ve been working from home.”

“you couldn’t sneak out?”

“he had detectors, it took me a bit to mess with it. i took some engineering classes in high school and had some mischievous friends, so i ended up cheating the system.” you explain. jihyo nods, raising her brows at how capable you are; you’re quite impressive even if someone were to snatch your spider abilities away. “so, what’s been going on with you detective? fill me in.”

jihyo sighs, shaking her head softly.

“your uncle has been on edge, it’s strange.” she says, “usually these types of cases don’t phase him, but he’s shaken up.”

“maybe it was me trapping him in cobwebs—too much?”

the detective shakes her head again. “no, i don’t think so, but that was stupid on your end. he’s just been terribly paranoid; i’ve never seen him so tense.”

you furrow your brows and take another sip of your beverage before raising your brows as if you had an idea, “maybe it has something to do with the scientist?” you suggest, and you ponder before speaking again, “i remember my uncle having lunch with the scientist a couple months ago, he came back from the lunch all tense and a bit angry—even snapped at me for something. it was strange.”

jihyo’s expression lights up, “you’re on to something… that scientist did ask me to see the chief multiple times… and watanabe is clearly hiding something.”

“you think we should reunite them? maybe find out more of what’s between them?”

“it might be a good idea.” the detective mumbles, swirling remnants of her drink in the cup. you bite the inside of your lip and hum again,

“let’s try it, i can talk to the chief.”

“you’re on house arrest.”

“spiderwoman can do it then. she’s not on house arrest.”

jihyo’s eyes widen at the suggestion, and she looks at you like you’re crazy. “you’re insane.”

“maybe chief l/n will listen to me if i’m sweet with him.”

“he could body slam you to the ground.”

“maybe he could do that to y/n, but not spiderwoman.” you beam.

“no, maybe spiderwoman too.” jihyo shakes her head and simply sighs, “you’re actually the dumbest person i know.”

“you into that?”

the mask on your face is new, so is the suit (you were able to contact your suit designer via email and after seeing jihyo you got your much more durable suit—that is, after getting scolded by the fashion designer.)

you spot chief l/n in the office alone, it’s quite late anyway, a little past when you’d usually have dinner. your uncle examines a paper with furrowed brows and a pen in his large, aging hands. he looks pretty focused—you take it as your cue to invite yourself into his large office.

when the chief hears a small thud, he’s immediately on guard. he puts his hand over the gun strapped under his desk and scans the room: there’s no one, nothing, but he’s not convinced.

“i’m not fucking stupid.” he says coldly, “show yourself or you’re going to regret a lot.”

his voice is low, deep, and threatening. it’s worse than when he scolds you, much worse and you think you might be lucky that his most angry tone with you is less frightening than how he’s talking to you now.

you’re invisible, he can’t see you at all. the chief pulls out his gun from under the table and holds it with precision, aiming and scanning the room once more for any sign of someone. the gun in his hand is knocked out with a spiderweb and the chief halts, stiffening in his place.

you unveil yourself and the chief spots the familiar vigilante stuck to the ceiling, though that same vigilante who had terrorized him a couple days prior is wearing a new suit.

“hello chief.” you greet, making sure you alter your voice.

the tall, bulky man grimaces when you release yourself off of the wall and land on the floor of the room.

“spiderwoman.”

“nice to see you too.” you say, “i’m not going to hurt you or anything, i’m just uneasy around guns.”

“yeah, sure.” he scoffs, “you’re up to something.”

“god- no!” you groan, losing patience. the chief drops his stern demeanor for a second when you pinch the bridge of your nose, it almost convinces him that you’re just a simple human under that suit. “i’m trying to get more details on the lizard, and i need your help.”

“that lizard… he’s behind bars.”

“but that’s not it and you know it.”

“get out my damn office. i’m not afraid to fight you, i don’t care how many webs you trap me in.”

you sigh again, growing even more impatient. the chief glares at you when you do so.

“look—the people, the citizens, families and friends—they’re all in danger if you’re not competent,” you explain. your uncle drops his serious expression and his shoulders relax just barely.

“and i should just tell you why, huh? so you can do who knows what with this information? i’m not stupid.”

“you’re getting on my fucking nerves though and you’re being a prick that’s what you are.” you respond with irritation, and the tone of your retort reminds the chief of a certain someone he knows very well. “you think i saved that whole venue for shits and giggles? i left there with a broken rib and more bruises and cuts than i can count on one hand. i don’t know how many people i have to save or buildings i have to stop from collapsing to get you to understand that i’m not the fucking villain. look, watanabe is eery, there’s something i’m missing on this whole case because that damn scientist has been reluctant to give answers due to some tall ass man-baby of a chief that not only refuses to see the what, barely average height scientist, but the same chief who won’t fucking comply to this ‘vigilante’ because of his foggy little brain.”

the chief looks at you with surprise now, mouth slightly agape.

“i’m—i’m sorry?” he says with uncertainty. your uncle decides to swallow up his pride and prejudice, you sound like his niece and he starts to soften up. “fine. only if it helps.”

so rambling was the only thing that you needed to get him to comply? you’ve been wasting your time, too much time.

“why does watanabe want to see you.” you ask, observing the way your uncles eyes hesitantly avoid your gaze.

it’s quite strange seeing your uncle so sheepish looking, so submissive and not in the way he looks when your aunt scolds him for not eating, but he looks almost vulnerable.

“we-” he pauses and his shoulders drop just barely, “we used to work together. now that he’s behind bars i can’t compromise my position.”

“how does it compromise your position?”

“i’m a big guy, a big, bulky guy. watanabe and i used to be friends and… he asked for my dna samples and whatnot. look, i might’ve…” the chief sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “i gave him some and i don’t know what he did with it, but now that he’s behind bars i think it’s something bad. i don’t know, i’ve never been a science freak.”

“okay so he has your dna, what are you looking so scared for?” you ask,

“i’m just wary… i don’t know what he can do with it—what he has done with it.”

you ponder for a bit and look at the anxious chief in front of you, who looks less intimidating than ever in front of you. why would watanabe need his dna?

“well, he’s behind bars, so no need to worry about anything for now yeah? i’ll investigate this myself.” you assure. you expect an inquiry, a response or something—but the chief simply nods and huffs.

“yeah alright.” he sighs. you shoot a thumbs up and hide yourself in transparency, that’s when you hear small—but noticeable in the silent ambience—words of gratitude. “thanks for taking a weight off my shoulders.”

you really have to stop breaking into jihyo’s home—well, it’s more of you jump scaring her and then her letting you in—so is it really a crime if there’s implied consent to enter?

jihyo opens the window for you and sighs, “i have a door you know.”

“too much work.”

“and swinging to the tenth floor of my apartment building is less work?”

“more exciting!” you beam, “and i like your little reaction, it’s cute.”

jihyo rolls her eye at your little remark and you climb in. she watches you pull off your mask and tuck some of your messy hair away, her eyes linger a little before she turns and walks back to her stove.

“whatcha cookin’?” you ask, sitting on the counter of the little kitchen island.

“avocado toast with eggs.” jihyo responds, not turning around.

“how healthy.”

“did you need something?” she asks, sliding the spatula under the eggs before flipping it over and cutting the heat.

“do you wanna break the law?” you ask. jihyo turns around and the expression plastered on her face screams:“are you dumb or stupid?”

“you’re seriously asking me this?”

“okay technically it’s not fully breaking the law,” you start, “just… doing something that might be an invasion of privacy.”

“that might be breaking the law, stupid.” jihyo snickers, smiling at the idiot in front of her.

you’re wearing something comfy yet professional looking: a pullover with a dress shirt under and some simple dress pants. the detective wonders if people saw you swinging around like that—the only thing masking your identity being the mask you had taken off, and without the mask jihyo can see you with the nerdy-looking glasses you put on earlier, and the smile plastered on your face. you’ve got a cute grin.

“you never said no.” you shrug.

“i’ll lose my job.”

“no you wont. just let me explain?” you plead. jihyo sighs, crossing her arms while leaning against the counter next to the stove; all of the detectives’ attention is on you now.

“thanks lovely.” you say, and the little remark makes jihyo’s cheeks flush just barely. “okay so i had a little talk with the chief last night, turns out watanabe has his dna and my uncle’s on edge because of that.”

“okay…”

“i work for the same company, meaning i have a keycard. that also means we can investigate a little more and find out what the hell he wanted to do with the chiefs dna.” you explain, “it’s technically your job to do all this investigating and if you think about it: i’m just a loyal citizen helping out the hottest detective in the force.”

jihyo uncrosses her arms and puts her hands on the counter gripping the edge. you watch the way her arm tenses and wow she’s toned. the detective looks down and shakes her head, smiling.

the shorter woman turns back around and pulls out a piece of bread from the toaster, then uses the spatula that rested on the plate to put an egg on the toast. she hands you the plate and you turn your head, but take it nonetheless.

“eat up, gotta have energy to ‘kinda’ break the law.”

your eyes light up and you almost gasp, “you’re going to do it?”

“you get me to do the craziest things.”

you smirk and respond, “and if i were a crazy thing?”

jihyo looks you in the eye and smiles. “i could put you on my to-do list then.”

you had offered to swing out her window with her, but jihyo denied, and you teased her the whole way down to the parking lot.

now you’re playing passenger princess (pt. 2) and watch jihyo shift out her parking space, which is a sight. there’s something enticing with her movements, the way she carries herself, and her confidence.

when you reach the building—the large, modern-looking building with a café that keeps your coffee addiction thriving—jihyo gazes for a bit, clearly impressed.

“never been here?”

“no, i have, just never had time to fully take in everything.” she says, “it’s very nice.”

you smile and open the door for her, she rolls her eyes and walks in—you follow behind.

there are a few familiar faces in the building, some people rushing around and others conversing—it could be mistaken as a lobby at some college, jihyo looks around and is taken aback by the lively atmosphere.

“there you are, where have you been?” a recognizable voice scoffs. you turn to your left and see nayeon, smiling cheekily as she walks towards you and jihyo. you roll your eyes playfully and scoff playfully,

“been avoiding you.” you respond jokingly, and nayeon just laughs.

“who’s this? your girlfriend? been skipping work to be with her or what?” nayeon asks. her inquiry takes both you and jihyo by surprise, making both of you blush.

words stick to the tip of your tongue for a moment and jihyo puts out her hand for nayeon while you compose yourself. “detective park.” she introduces.

nayeon raises her brows and shakes her hand, then looks at you with a quirked brow and the look in her eyes seem to convey an “ooh~” before she responds to jihyo. “im nayeon.”

you clear your throat after they shake hands, “it’s nice to see you again i guess.” you say to nayeon, “but i have to go up and grab something, i’ll see you.”

“yeah yeah, see you. i was on my way out anyway—don’t blow up anything.” she sighs, and you scoff playfully. the two of you smile at each other mischievously before nayeon heads out the doors.

jihyo laughs and you raise a brow, watching her as she shakes her head.

“got all flustered from her asking if i was your girlfriend? what happened to the confidence from before?”

“shut up.” you respond, “let’s just go.”

jihyo laughs as you walk towards the elevators—she can’t see you, but she knows you’re blushing like an idiot.

the two of you reach the 7th floor and jihyo follows you out the elevator.

as you and jihyo make your way down the dimly lit corridor, a sense of anticipation fills the air. the tension is palpable as you approach the lab room. fumbling in your pocket, you retrieve a keycard, silently emphasizing the need for caution as you unlock the door. "stay by my side and stay quiet. we're not supposed to be here," you mumble, voice low and careful.

entering the room, you both are immediately struck by its sheer size. you’ve been here once with another scientist from the company, though only for a brief moment to retrieve information for your article. it's not just a regular room; it's an enormous space dedicated to housing the scientists' most precious possessions—their files, research, and invaluable data.

as your gaze scans the shelves, your heart skips a beat before settling on the section that holds the coveted information you seek. the lights are dim, making it difficult to distinguish one folder from another, but thankfully you’re spiderwoman; your senses are already much more advanced than any person.

with each folder you come across, you murmur the words written on their labels. jihyo watches you intently, captivated by your unwavering focus. there's a certain charm in the way you immerse yourself in the task at hand, it's adorable and there's an undeniable allure to your commitment that draws her in.

“they’re all in alphabetical order… t… u… v… hmmm—ah! w!” you beam. you snatch the folder that reads “watanabe.” a contagious smile dances across your lips, your elation mirrored by jihyo.

“is that what we need?” jihyo asks, turning her head.

“yeah, this is one of the more important files, it has a lot of his research and experiments. i’m also going to look for-“

before you can finish your sentence, an unwelcome intrusion slices through the air, mingling with the palpable fear creeping into your senses when you hear the low tap of footsteps outside the room.

 the threat of being caught floods your mind, driving you into spontaneous action. quickly, you take jihyo’s wrist, urgency pulsating through your grip, and scan the room frantically. from the corner of your eye, a small closet appears. you bolt toward it and drag jihyo with you, then close yourselves inside.

you’re in your head trying to listen to the sound coming from the corridor that you don’t realize the compromising position you’re in.

silent seconds stretch while you two stay cautious and awareness dawns upon you, and your breath halts. one hand is unintendedly situated on the curve of jihyo’s slender waist and the other still grips her wrist. her back is pressed against the closet door, and your senses collide with her proximity, faces and bodies inches apart.

(with how quiet it is in the room, you wonder if whoever was lurking would catch you just from the pounding of your heart.)

you loosen your grip on her wrist and whisper, “sorry.”

“you’ve got a good grip.” jihyo mumbles, “and it’s okay.”

the air hangs heavy, thick with tension. you glance downwards and you’re captivated by the intensity in jihyo's eyes—intimidating and enticing even in the darkened room—and an irrepressible impulse surges within you.

jihyo lets out a shallow breath and peeks at your lips, you take a quick glance at hers before you two gape into each other’s eyes again.

now it’s jihyo’s turn to hold your wrist, and without conscious thought, your heart pounding an adrenaline-fueled rhythm, you lean forward, closing the remaining distance until your lips press against hers.

it’s soft and tender at first, then warm and thrilling. you pull away for a brief moment to utter and apology, which is muffled after jihyo crashes her lips back to you with a doubled intensity. you hum in response and she pulls you closer, making you lean down to match her height.

in the muffled silence of the closet, time becomes a mere afterthought, eclipsed by the pulsating intensity that engulfs you both. the world outside fades into oblivion as your lips meet again and again after parting to tilt your heads in the other direction after a few kisses, and after a couple more you’re changing kissing angles again.

jihyo’s hands trace over your chest, then to your shoulders and at last: your neck. she grips at your hair, tugs and pulls while simultaneously leading the kiss—she’s naturally one to take control. she swipes her tongue against your lip and you let her tongue explore your mouth, earning various hums and small groans.

you pull away to catch your breath and jihyo stops you before you can kiss her again, placing her hand on your chest and adding pressure to it to restrain your eagerness.

“sorry,” you say, cheeks flushed and breath heavy. “too much?”

jihyo laughs softly and shakes her head before responding, “not at all, y/n. it’s just, we should be careful… don’t want you to be too loud—yet. let’s continue later.” your cheeks flush from her remark and jihyo laughs lowly after hearing your breath quiver. “do you think whoever was walking is gone?”

“i- um, i’ll have to listen closer.” you mutter.

jihyo’s hand still rests on your chest, right above your heart—which is beating at an unhealthy pace—and jihyo doesn’t comment on the noticeable pounding against her palm. you pause for a moment and really concentrate your sense of hearing, listening on anything going on outside. jihyo lets you work your magic and smiles when you hum.

“no one outside, it’s clear. i’ll turn invisible and you know, check it out. i’ll let you know if you can come out; when i knock three times then that’s your cue to leave the closet, yeah?” you explain.

jihyo nods and says, “sounds good spiderwoman.” which earns a small chuckle from you. some light seeps in when you open the door, letting jihyo have a glimpse of your face: cheeks tinted pink, your ears are a darker shade, and the smirk on your face is smug.

you plant a kiss on her incredibly soft lips before disappearing from her sight, and jihyo hears a small “cute,” before the door closes. she’s left in the dark closet alone with a warm feeling in her chest—though it’s soon replaced with the realization:

oh my god… i just made out with my boss’s niece.

when you and jihyo reach the floor of the lobby, you two act like you haven’t just violated the privacy of a (now criminal) scientist.

there are two folders, a binder, and some samples from who knows what that were hastily placed inside your bag when you first got into the elevator. the two of you head towards jihyo's car, acting as if nothing has happened, despite having committed something slightly very illegal.

the detective closes her doors and you mirror her action once you sit down, and as you both put on your seatbelts jihyo scoffs, “i can’t believe you got me to do this.”

“it’s for my uncle, and you know, just in case.” you assure, looking at her as she grips the steering wheel a little tight. “in the end i think he’ll be grateful, and it’ll help with the case.”

“i know.” jihyo says, “he can be scary.”

“i’ll take care of him, okay?”

“okay.” she responds before shooting you a small smile, which makes you smile back in return.

when you reach jihyo’s apartment, you take off your jacket and hang it on the hooks on the wall. jihyo does the same with her own jacket and you meet at her kitchen island.

you take out the stolen goods from your back and drop them on the marble counter, jihyo turns on the lamp above to make it easier to read and see. jihyo stands across from you as you take out each file and skim through them, watching your eyebrows crinkle from concentration.

four pieces of paper are taken out of one of the binders—three of them being stapled together—and you quickly read through them. then, you place them on the counter, and your eyes scan the title of a sample before laying it next to the papers.

“this is it.” you sigh, looking down at the messy tapestry of notes and diagrams.

jihyo tilts her head and questions, “what?”

“my uncle’s dna. there’s notes on it and everything, it’s all scribbled here—look.” you respond, flipping the paper over and pushing it towards the detective. jihyo’s eyebrows reflect yours and furrow as she reads the text. her shoulders relax and she turns the paper over to read more, eye’s widening a little as she reads.

you pick up the sample and examine it a bit more as jihyo reads through. she looks back at you and says in disbelief, “watanabe tried to make human lizards?”

“pretty much.” you reply, “my uncle’s a big, bulky guy… watanabe probably tried to fuck with the lizard dna and his genes to make something relatively close—but thankfully, it didn’t work. here, this paper shows the trials and whatnot.” you add, handing jihyo the non-stapled paper.

jihyo sets the small packet down and reads through the one handed to her, examining the various angrily crossed-out sentences, numbers, and notes. she hums at the sight.

“so there’s nothing to worry about?” the detective asks. you nod and respond,

“no, thankfully. i’ll probably show up as spiderwoman and leave a little note to the chief, i should probably get to that soon—tonight.” you admit, leaning against the counter. “i’ll leave you alone for now, sorry for making you do all of this.”

you don’t want to leave, that’s the last thing you want to do. the small silence after you utter your last sentence urges you to pack up and leave, even if the thought of continuing whatever happened in your closet flooded your mind.

“wait,” jihyo says as you start to trudge away towards the window, and you pause in your place as soon as you take a step on the carpet on the floor.

you raise a brow in confusion (hoping jihyo read your mind). “yes?”

“just stay, the sun is already setting.” she says boldly.

 “my uncle would kill me, i’m on house arrest.” you sigh, “getting these to him as spiderwoman would get me off house arrest.”

jihyo frowns and you mirror her expression. “you really can’t stay?” she asks, brows creasing just barely.

“i would if i could.”

“well,” jihyo starts, walking over to you. “before you jump out the window,” she mumbles, now one step away from you. she places her hand on your chest and looks at you with a warm softness in her eyes. she tilts her head, then leans up to press her lips against yours, less aggressive than in the closet, but just as nerve-racking—making your heart beat quicken just from the simple contact.

you practically melt when she kisses you, and your hands instinctively reach for her cheek, cupping it gently. time seems to hesitate when she puts her arms around your neck, and you make sure to savor the taste and feel of her lips on yours.

jihyo pulls away first, but only a little so your lips still brush against each other.

“jihyo…” you mutter, and you can feel her smiling against you—her grin spreads to your own lips.

“if you’re off house arrest tomorrow… we should—”

“yes, please.” you say, “anything you want.”

“didn’t know a kiss was enough to have you so eager.” jihyo snickers gently.

you smirk and press a quick peck. “oh i can be eager—if that’s what you want?”

jihyo rolls her eyes at your stupid (yet tempting) response and pulls away so she can see your face clearly. she gazes at you for a bit, simple appreciating your presence and the faint dimple that appears on your cheek as you smile at her. jihyo fixes your hair, pushing away strands that fall over your face.

“you’re an idiot.”

“you love that though.”

“a lot.” jihyo responds, then presses a kiss to your cheek and smiles. “now go get yourself off house arrest.”

you grin. “yes detective.”

the chief stands at his desk and puts on his coat, then gathers all the papers he had already gone through in his bag. on his desk, a folder suddenly drops down with a smack and the chief jumps, letting out a small yelp.

“hi chief.” a voice says. the chief looks up and he watches the familiar vigilante become translucent, then fully visible after unveiling herself. spiderwoman releases herself from the ceiling and lands on the ground with ease. “gotcha’ some things you’d probably love to look through.”

“what the hell spidergirl—”

“please, i know i’m supposed to mask my identity, but spiderwoman is better. c’mon man, i’m in my twenties.” you groan. the chief looks at you and shakes his head, then picks up the folder that had scared him half to death earlier.

your uncle furrows his brows slightly as he reads the papers (same as jihyo did, you note. at this point everything is reminding you of her—even the bulky man in front of you).

“where— where did you get this? how—”

“told you i’d check it out. nothing to worry about chief, just wanted to ease your worries.” you shrug, “i told you i’m not the bad guy.”

the chief examines you for a moment, looking you up and down before his shoulders drop. he puts the papers back in the folder and stares at it for a couple seconds, exhaling in relief.

“thank you.” he says, “i was… really on edge.”

“anytime.” you say, smiling from under the mask. the chief walks up to you, looking down and narrowing his eyes before softening his gaze. he puts his hand out and you look at it in surprise—as well as confusion.

“let’s keep contact, spiderwoman.” the chief says, “maybe you’re not so bad.” he adds. you hesitate for a moment and stare at his hand for a moment longer before shaking it. the chief doesn’t break your hand, doesn’t pull you in and throw you to the ground—he shakes it professionally and nods. “you’ve earned my trust.”

you want to lift your mask up and show him your proud smile, and a part of you wants to reveal yourself.

“i’m glad. i’m just your friendly neighborhood spiderwoman after all, harmless!” you beam.

“that’s debatable. i saw what you did to that monster.” he responds. you catch the faint twitch of his lips: an almost smile.

“how else could i save everyone?”

“i guess you’re right, get going kid, sun is setting.”

“i told you i’m in my twenties!”

“you really remind me of someone i know spiderwoman.” he says with a breath of amusement, “have a good night, thank you again.” he finally adds before grabbing his bag. the chief walks past spiderwoman without body-slamming her or anything like that; the tall, hefty man simply walks out and leaves spiderwoman speechless.

that’s all it took to get on his good side?

jihyo walks into the building and the routine is the same as always: she greets the front desk lady—rachel was her name, she’s sweet and always has a smile on for anyone talking to her. after her usual friendly greeting, jihyo walks over to her desk and greets the rest of the team.

as jihyo sets her bag down, a familiar face appears and greets the detective.

“hello park, morning.” francis beams, smiling softly at jihyo. francis was one of the newer cops, he was pretty young for one—but great at his job. jihyo was quite fond of him, he was nice and competent.

“morning, how are you?”

“good, good.” he says before yawning, “glad it’s friday.”

“me too.” jihyo responds with a laugh, taking out a few reports from her bag and turning on the computer in front of her.

the detective turns back to the monitor in front of her and gets to typing, looking down at the paper and back up to the screen as she types various letters, numbers, and who knows what at this point.

her mind is completely foggy, she tries to get some work done, tries to copy down the reports and examine them. the only thing she can really focus on is the memory of your lips on hers, and whether you’re off house arrest because she really needs a continuation of what happened in that damn closet.

jihyo flinches at the sudden sound of the voice she’s been missing most and looks down at her desk to see a 16oz paper coffee cup on her desk.

“morning detective.”

“jesus!” jihyo yelps, “don’t do that!”

“i thought you’d get used to it by now.” you snicker. jihyo smiles as you pull a chair up next to her and sit down, sipping on your own beverage. “i’m off house arrest.”

“i can see that.” jihyo sighs, though the tone of her voice doesn’t match the way her heart warms upon your arrival. “shouldn’t you be at work?”

“technically it’s an internship,” you respond, “but i guess it’s my job now, seeing they pay me more than some of the actual employees.”

“well whatever it is you should probably be at the building, no?”

“i have work in less than forty minutes. do you hate my presence that much?” you question, a pout forming. “didn’t hate it that much yesterday—"

the detective punches your shoulder and you wince playfully before jihyo rolls her eyes and takes a sip of the coffee you brought her. “you’re loud, too loud for someone who’s my boss’s blood relative.” she scolds you lowly and sets down the beverage before redirecting her attention back to the screen. “and no, i don’t hate your presence, just don’t want you slacking or getting scolded.” she admits, a smile threatening to form on her lips.

you laugh and gaze at her for a moment, taking in the slope of her nose and catching a glimpse of the small mole on the tip of it. your eyes trace the sharp curve of her jaw, and then your look sets on her lips—the taste and feel lingers in your mind. jihyo pretends to ignore your blatant stare.

“i’ll stop bothering you for a bit, should probably get going anyway and let my favorite detective get to work.” you mumble. jihyo turns as you begin to stand up and furrows her brows. she looks to around quickly and grabs your wrist, making you turn and hum in confusion.

“wait,” she starts, trying to keep you close to her for just a while more, “i just printed something, you should come with me before you go.” you smile at her suggestion and set your coffee down on her desk, then nod.

the walk to the printing room is quite silent, nothing is said or heard other than the click of jihyo’s boots reverberating. when you get to the small room, a man walks out and smiles at jihyo before holding the door for the two of you. the detective smiles back before going in, with you trailing behind.

jihyo goes to the screen of the printer and taps at a few buttons, then sighs, “out of paper, come with me to get some.”

“yes ma’am.”

the paper and supplies room are two rooms down from the printing area, and so the two of you walk down the hall then into the room.

jihyo opens the door and you enter first—what catches you completely off guard is the way your senses are quickly overwhelmed.

without warning, your back is pushed against the closed door and you’re immobilized by jihyo’s body pressing against you. before you can comprehend what’s happening, her warm, soft lips press against yours with a slight aggression and it makes you groan immediately.

your hands find their way to her waist, the other on her upper rib to push her closer into you—craving the warmth and feeling it gives you.

something about making out in a dimmed, small room feels right to the two of you; you’ve made out twice so far and both times have been in relatively similar spaces. this won’t be the last time you make out in a small space.

jihyo pulls away and your brain is hazy, you immediately move yourself closer to capture her lips again.

“fuck,” you sigh in between kisses, “what’s with the sudden—” you get cut off with another harsh kiss, making you groan louder into her mouth. jihyo’s tongue finds its way into your mouth and your hands find their way to her skin, and it makes her shiver from the contact.

every nerve in jihyo’s body wakes as soon as your lips come into contact with her neck, and she stifles a groan when you start to nip at it.

“no marks, not now.” she says dissapointingly.

“later?”

“maybe.” she says, and immediately, a sharp breath leaves her lips when you add a bit of pressure on her waist, squeezing it gently.

a sudden shift in the atmosphere tingles your senses, making your lips detach and actions halt. you shiver at the feeling, instantly pulling away from jihyo and trying to compose yourself.

“someone’s coming, act busy.” you mutter quickly before turning on the light and pretending to busy yourself by reaching for papers on the shelf.

the door opens and you almost flinch at the familiar voice that greets the two of you.

“y/n? jihyo? what are you two doing here?” the chief asks. both you and jihyo stiffen at the sound of who had almost walked in on you. jihyo clears her throat abruptly.

“ah, l/n. i was printing something out and y/n decided to help me out.”

the chief chuckles, “y/n, when do you have to clock in?”

“thirty minutes, figured i’d waste a bit of time with park.” you shrug, “i always make it on time.”

the chief laughs and jihyo tenses her jaw slightly as she smiles at him, fixing her hair and jacket she has on. “well,” the chief starts, “grab me some sticky notes while you’re over there, i’ll let you two converse.” he adds. you nod and grab a stack of pink sticky notes—his favorite color—and toss them at him.

“there you go old man.” you tease.

“watch it,” he says playfully, “and are you sick? your cheeks are so pink.”

again, you and jihyo tense up—you clear your throat before responding, “there’s dust here, i sneezed and rubbed my face too hard.” you lie, almost stumbling over your words when you glance at jihyo.

the chief nods and sighs, “well, don’t get my detective sick.” and with that he exits the room, shutting the door harshly (he’s oblivious to his strength at times), which lets you and jihyo sigh out in relief.

“we need to get a room.” you groan,

“yeah.” jihyo laughs, “are you free tonight?” she asks, and it makes you look at her in surprise, cheeks warming up once again.

“only if you are—and if no one tries to rob a bank.”

jihyo laughs and responds, “i am, and i might just have a room.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” jihyo says, smirking. “if it means anything, my window will be unlocked if someone wants to swing by.”

“hmmm, i’ll keep that in mind.”

jihyo’s jaw tenses and she looks at you in a way that fills your nerves with temptation. “good. now let’s print these out, i need to hand them to the forensics.”

jihyo hums along to a tune playing from her phone as she wipes down the counter next to the stove—it’s a slow melody, something fitting for the dimmed room and quiet night.

she hasn’t seen you in a few hours—though it seems like decades—so she’s cleaning up and wandering around to pass the time.

when she finishes cleaning her countertops she walks over to the sink to wash her hands, still humming along to the melody that fills the room with a soft ambiance. jihyo turns off the sink and the unexpected feeling of two large hands on her waist makes her shriek and turn around quickly.

she calms down when she’s met with your grin, but her irritation quickly replaces the relief and she punches your rib lightly; you wince at the feeling dramatically, clutching your side and pouting.

“hey! what was that for?” you groan, and it makes detective park smile.

jihyo crosses her arms and leans against the counter. “you’re going to kill me one day y/n.”

“aw, am i making your heart beat that fast?”

she punches your shoulder again and says, “oh shut up.” you grin at her cheekily.

jihyo takes a moment to examine you and somehow you’re cuter everytime she sees you. you’re wearing some comfy looking navy sweatshirt paired with black sweatpants, how adorable.

the mood in the air shifts when you run your eyes up and down jihyo, and she seems to have gained some of her own powers from the way she reads your mind. you lick your lips swiftly and smirk—it’s not a big one, but the slight curve of one side of your lips is noticeable.

“i told my uncle i’d be staying with a friend for the night,” you explain, and the tempting look in your eyes is replaced by curiosity with a hint of wonder. “i brought some drinks, got a sweet tooth?”

“i can’t pass down drinks from you.”

“you like strawberry soda?” you ask—jihyo hums. “good. i um— thought… maybe we could watch a movie—or just talk? i don’t know honestly, i’ve just been wanting to see you.” you admit, “i realized we haven’t really had time to you know, go on a date and just hang out without any of it being work or crime related… i wanted to be with you.”

jihyo laughs and she feels her heart thud against her chest. “you’re cute.”

“thanks, but you’re cuter,” you reply, which makes jihyo blush and she tries to hide it by walking over to her living room area. you follow behind and she sits down on her couch, patting down a space for you.

“didn’t know spiderwoman was so romantic.”

“hey hey… spiderwoman is a lot of things.” you huff.

you and detective park—no, just jihyo, sweet, genuine, and crazily pretty jihyo—talk for an hour. it starts off with you explaining that you earned the chiefs trust, then it goes on to complaining about said chief, nothing too new though laughs are shared. jihyo complains about her job and the paperwork that’s been piling on her desk and you complain about your side hustle; jihyo is attentive, listening to you ramble about your spiderwoman story of the recent (and very pretentious) group of high school boys who tried to rob a gas station.

talking with jihyo feels easy, it’s not like you have to force yourself or exaggerate anything; conversing with jihyo feels right.

the whole hour of you two simply sharing sodas and drinks leads to scooting closer, shoulders touching and heads leaned back against the top of the touch.

when silence floods for a bit after you share another anecdote, jihyo takes this time to blatantly admire your face—keeping her look on your lips for a couple seconds longer than the other features.

it’s you who closes the distance this time, no words need to be exchanged when you finally do what the both of you have wanted to do: simply lock lips.

“fuck i missed this,”

jihyo smiles when she pulls away. “it’s been a couple hours, y/n.”

“one minute is already too long.” you mumble before kissing her again.

this time your kiss is slow and soft, not the same crashing of hungry lips against each other, it’s soft, sweet, and you two take your time since there’s no risk of being caught. no rush at all.

in contrast to your previous (rushed, aggressive, and heated) kisses, you both take your time to really appreciate each other’s intimacy.

the new comfort and absent feeling of cautiousness lets you savor the feeling of jihyo’s lips on yours: warm, soothing, and everything you didn’t know you needed. you taste the faint hint of strawberry off her while she cups your face, sliding her fingers to the back of your neck and rubbing her thumb against your skin.

a few minutes (you guess it’s been a few minutes, cant be that long, no? it’s been thirty minutes) pass and the two of you have your hands roaming around, the kisses get needier by the second.

hunger hurriedly takes over and you’re practically eating other’s mouths in no time. despite the change in pace and intimacy, you’re perfectly fine with it; if anything, it’s perfect how it escalated from a simple sweet kiss to whatever is making your cunt throb.

you blindly shift yourselves and jihyo backs up to lay down comfortably on the cushions of the couch. one thing you that made your breath uneasy was the way jihyo tangled her fingers in your hair, especially the way she tugged at it occasionally. her hand rested on your neck at first, then she moved it down to your waist and slid her nimble fingers under your sweatshirt, making contact with your skin. you whimpered unintentionally at the sudden contact, which was not only amusing—but also incredibly alluring to jihyo.

“you’ve been waiting for this haven’t you?” she mumbles, pushing a strand of your hair out of your face. “i think it’s cute how you’re on top of me, but you seem much more shaken up.”

you try to respond to jihyo, but a lump forms in your throat when she pulls back a little more and looks at you like you’re the cutest thing in the world. jihyo slides her hands further up near the middle of your ribs, making your breath hitch.

“didn’t know you’d be this easy to rile up spiderwoman.”

before you can try to respond, she closes the gap you groan into her mouth. with a swift press of her fingers against your skin, you part your lips for her to explore your mouth, then push yourself closer to her. her touch sends a shiver down your spine and the way her tongue takes over in your mouth drives you fucking crazy.

she makes her way down to your neck with soft kisses serving as a trail, then nips at your skin softly, eliciting a soft, breathy “fuck” from you.

jihyo pulls away and you whine. she tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and looks into your eyes before mumbling, “you’re cute.”

you smile and your lips meet again, you pull away to murmur against her lips softly, “bedroom?” and jihyo hums in agreement.

the two of you get up from the couch, but your lips are almost unable to part from one another for more than five seconds. you bump into the walls clumsily, which makes you two laugh even as you groan into each other’s mouths—it’s all so heartwarming and cute—and soon you manage to make it to jihyo’s room.

now it’s jihyo’s turn to press you against the door again. you curse lowly as she marks up your neck again and try to feel for the light switch against the wall; you manage to light up the room despite your eyes closing from the overwhelming feeling of jihyo’s skilled lips.

she pulls away for a second and asks, “are you sure you want to-“

“fuck yes, please.” you answer immediately, then cut her off with a hungry kiss that leaves her stumbling back. you kiss her needily and fumble with the edge of her shirt before slipping it off, and when you pull away to gaze at her body you let out a breath of amazement.

jihyo laughs. “you kept teasing me about how i could undress you, but look who’s so eager to have me naked.” she asks, catching you staring at her in awe. you part your lips at the sight of her tremendously toned core and she snickers. “you like what you see?”

“love what i see,” you sigh, “shit, you’re beautiful.”

“let me help you out, i wanna see what’s under there again.”

with a swift movement, she slips off your sweatshirt and you’re both standing close to each other topless.

you were confident enough with your words and jihyo seeing your skin when you had that mask on, but now that it’s just you; you feel a little shy now that you’re a bit revealed in front of jihyo—despite still having a bra on—and you avoid eye contact.

her eyes soften. “you’re so pretty.” she sighs, then kisses you swiftly and sweetly.

the detective is a natural leader, and it’s showing now. she guides you to the bed while exploring the curves and grooves of your body, then she’s straddling you on her queen sized bed.

you pull away and jihyo looks at your dilated pupils—completely taking over your eyes.

“can i— can i take your bra off?”

“of course.” jihyo responds.

your fingers work to unclasp jihyo’s bra and holy shit you’re stunned. your eyes widen and you exhale in amazement.

as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve fantasized at the ungodly hours of the night and also during those boring moments at work about seeing jihyo like this. you thought you’d be fine in a situation like this seeing you’ve daydreamed about it—but fuck it’s better than anything you can imagine now that it’s really happening. you pause in your place, halting any action.

“cat got your tongue?”

“i— fuck you’re so pretty jihyo.” you sigh, “can i touch you?”

“of course,” and right after her approval your hand slides up from her waist to her chest.

the way she gasps as you brush your fingers over her nipple is music to your ears, and it does not help the way your cunt throbs. something about the way she groans roughly when you pinch her bud slightly makes you groan in response, muttering a small “holy shit” in response.

you press a chaste kiss on her breast and trail down with your tongue to swirl around the peak of her breast, taking note of what kind of action makes her breath shake the most. the only thing you want to do right now is make her feel good, make her feel the same as you.

“your tits are so fucking nice,” you say, and jihyo lets out a sound that’s a mix of a laugh and a moan.

a couple minutes pass of you shamelessly indulging in jihyo’s tits (something that you could get used to—something that you need to do often) and your lips find their way back to each other. then, jihyo pulls away and she look at you with lidded eyes.

“can i—”

“please,” you interject, “please.”

“whatever you’d like,” jihyo says amusingly, “let me take care of you. i’m gonna make you feel good, okay?”

you nod eagerly and she unclasps your own bra, biting her lip at the new territory revealed. she mutters a compliment and you simply whimper at her words. needless to say, your reactions have jihyo surprised and invested.

she works at your tits for a while, leaving a couple marks in between, under, and on them. you grip at her bedsheets and arch your back at the way she swirls her tongue skillfully around your sensitive areas, you’re practically drowning in bliss and she hasn’t even touched you where you need it most yet.

her lips leave a trail of pecks on your body as she lowers down, and when she reaches your soft tummy her hands tug your pants down.

“hyo, p—please…” you groan, “please touch me.”

jihyo hums and she presses a finger against your underwear, it makes your hips twitch.

she kisses your inner thighs and leaves you breathless, your eyes shut as you press against the mattress. she pulls away and slides your underwear off, tossing it aside carelessly and biting her lip when she meets your core.

a soft peck is pressed on your clit and you let out a stifled moan. gently, she slides her fingers along your walls. she smiles at how aroused you are, feeling the slick that dampens her fingers.

“god, you’re so wet y/n.”

“shut—shut up.”

“excited aren’t you?” she teases, “i like this side of you more than spiderwoman to be honest.”

before you can respond, she latches her mouth onto your pussy and the surge of pleasure makes you groan so loud that it even takes you by surprise. you bite your lip the more she lashes at your dripping center, sucking, slicking, and savoring the sweet slick that seeps out.

your hand immediately reaches for her hair the more she indulges in your pussy, and she groans against you.

you’re not sure how long it’s been since she went down on you, but you’re feeling that knot forming in your stomach the more she tongue fucks you and the more you whine. you’re completely lost in pleasure; a few points of contact from her nose to your clit and tongue to your walls and you’re sent over the edge.

a hoarse, strangled sound between a cry and a moan is heard from you, jihyo continues to savor your sweetness. you push your head back into the mattress and jihyo trails back up to you with kisses.

“holy shit,” you say breathless, jihyo grins while you recover.

“how was it?”

“i— think you know the answer.” you sigh as you prop yourself on your elbows. “i’ve um, i’ve thought about you like this before and— this is better than anything i’ve ever imagined.”

jihyo chuckles and you cup her cheek, then kiss her fervently. she hums into the kiss and you pull away, stroking her cheek with your thumb.

seeing as you’re spiderwoman, you’re naturally quick to recover. your hand moves back to her breast and you brush your finger over her nipple, earning a sharp breath from her.

“my turn to make you feel good.”

with a swift motion, you flip jihyo over and pin her down on the bed. she gasps at the sudden change, and before she has time to process much—you’re already occupied with her boobs.

blindly, you slider her pants and panties off with a quick motion and slide your hands up and down her legs. jihyo’s moans are on the louder side, and they’re strangled too.

you’re so eager to hear her come undone, so eager to leave her a mess. with thumb her clit once, then twice, and then stick your fingers inside—which has jihyo’s nails grasping at your shoulder and her breath shaking.

the more you pump in and out, the closer she is to breaking. you savor each and every moan that reverberates against the walls in her room, making sure the target the spots that make her curse louder than ever. her hands uncontrollably grip at your tricep, then your shoulder, and soon she’s gripping your hair, which has you groaning against her chest shamelessly while you mark it up.

“y-y/n, oh— i’m close, i-i’m— keep going,"

with the overwhelming sensation of your tongue swirling around her nipple and the way your thumb presses against her clit—she’s breathing heavily, shaking, and soon enough she’s trembling after a loud yelp. she mutters a string of curses and does what you had done before, sinking into the mattress and once you pull away from her chest to gaze at her; she pulls you in for a messy, sensual kiss.

the two of you stay like that for a while, kissing tiredly and sloppily before you fall over beside her on the bed.

“god, y/n…”

“did you like it?” you ask. the smug smirk on your lips makes jihyo sigh amusingly and she shakes her head playfully.

“of course i did.”

“we should…” you begin, “do this more often—if you’re fine with that.”

jihyo laughs and you lay your head on her chest.

“i’m more than fine with it, spiderwoman.”

when jihyo wakes up, she feels an extra warmth on the left side of her body.

she looks down and looks at the face squished in her chest which makes her smile immediately. you’re breathing gently and one arm is draped across her body, loosely resting above her waist.

“like my boobs that much?” she chuckles softly, tracing her finger along your soft skin. you grumble into her and sigh, waking up to the low sound of her voice.

you blink three times—though the first two times were slow and lazy—then shift closer into her. your hand presses her against you more, and you tangle your leg with hers before mumbling, “morning.”

she laughs at the lower tone of your morning voice and kisses your forehead. “good morning y/n.”

after rubbing your face against her shoulder, you push yourself up and prop yourself up on one elbow. jihyo laughs at your squinted, tired eyes before you tickle her with kisses on her jaw and neck.

“jihyo,” you begin—she hums in response. “do you think we rushed this?” you ask, referring to whatever relationship you two have now as you slide your along the skin over her ribs.

“hm, i don’t think so. you’ve already been saying a lot of suggestive things prior to this.”

“you liked it though.”

“maybe.” jihyo says, rolling her eyes. you drop back down onto the bed and return to nuzzling your face into the crook of her neck, kissing it once before closing your eyes again. “y/n,” jihyo says again, this time with a tone that makes you open your eyes again.

“yes?”

“what would your uncle say if… if he knew his detective slept with his niece?”

now your eyes widen and your body tenses. “shit.” you groan. jihyo laughs and you sit up quickly. “how bad did you mark me?”

“let’s hope there’s a store nearby that has concealer in your shade y/n.”

#twice x reader #twice imagines #kpop x reader #miinatozakiii #jihyo x reader #twice jihyo #park jihyo #jihyo imagines #twice #jihyo

[strawberri-yan]

Jing Yuan baby trapping trailblazer!reader, coercing them into giving up the trailbazing lifestyle, and the treating them like the finest treasure in all the Luofu!!!

He’s become too enamored of you with 0 intentions of letting you go. You are the only one good thing in his life and he believes he deserves to be selfish too for once. But when he heard the news you were to depart soon, it was as if his entire world was shattered. Reality had hit him hard when he had remembered that you were a Nameless! Your sole purpose was to travel to distant planets light years away. Therefore, the general decides to take matters into his own hands. Spiking your drink in a night of alcohol induced passion in your little get togethers. It was a one night stand that both of you promised to not let anyone else know, especially the Express crew.

As the days pass nearing your time at the Luofu, you notice the abnormal changes in your body in which you soon find out that you had fallen pregnant. The moment you shared the news with Jing Yuan in his private office, the atmosphere shifted as you were met with Jing Yuan’s enthusiasm and joy. Strong arms encircled around you, a warm and possessive embrace that seemed to promise protection and desire all at once before you feel yourself lifted in the air and twirled by the ecstatic general.

Jing Yuan voices how excited he is and couldn’t wait for his little one. Telling him how you and your child will be treated like treasures of the Loufu. He continues on adding that the two of you will wed right away so that the child could have proper parents. Yet you are very hesitant over the new drastic changes and his antics. A domestic, pampered lifestyle just wasn’t for you. You spoke your concerns with the general, negotiating that perhaps you could leave the child with Jing Yuan so that you may continue your trailblazing duties. You had expected the general to become upset yet surprisingly, he was calm and understanding which reassured you.

How wrong you were.

Later, you had found out that the express crew were getting detained over false accusations from the Loufu, their supposed crime was punishable for a lifetime of years in prison. Putting two and two together, you suspect that the general might have something to do with this. So you march towards his studies and demanded an answer.

"Jing Yuan, I demand to know the truth behind these accusations against my crew," your voice held a steely resolve. "You’ve done something, I know you have. All of this points right back to you.”

"(Y/N)," Jing Yuan's voice was velvety smooth, his tone carrying an air of nonchalance that contrasted the gravity of the accusation. "It seems you always had a way of seeing through the surface, don’t you? I'll admit, I've always admired your perceptive nature."

He leaned back in his seat, his golden eyes never leaving your face.

"You're right," he continued, his smile widening. "I did play a role in their detainment. But understand, (Y/N), I did it for you. To ensure your undivided attention and presence here. I see a future where you and our child are forever bound to the Loufu."

Jing Yuan's words were a careful dance, a balance of reason and manipulation. He spoke as if he had already woven a web that would secure you in his grasp.

“What..? “ you were speechless, not wanting to believe that your dear friend and ally would go to such lengths to get you to forcibly stay on the Luofu with him to raise a child you never wanted. “You endangered the life of my crewmates just because you wanted me to stay and play house wife with you?”

The general’s expression remained eerily serene despite the accusations hurled his way. His carefree smile persisted, a facade that concealed the complex tangle of emotions within him. "My dear, you are what simplify matters," Jing Yuan's voice was almost soothing, his words calculated to both placate and disarm. "I assure you, the lives of your crewmates were never in real jeopardy. I merely orchestrated a scenario to ensure our paths remained intertwined."

He gets up from his seat, taking a step forward you which causes you to take one back.

"I did it for us," he continued, his tone taking on a persuasive note. "To create a future where you and our child would be united under the banner of Loufu. A future where we could be together, as a family." Suddenly, your back presses against the cool surface of the wall. The General's cages you in as his freightening height looms over you, staring down like an eager predator. Jing Yuan's breath brushed against your ear as he leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. The General's hands moved with a deliberate slowness, tracing a path along your sides, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in their wake. His lips hovered dangerously close to your ear, his voice a low, seductive murmur. "After all, you have always been mine, even before you realized it."

#yandere male #tw yandere #yandere jing yuan #yandere honkai star rail

[holdupjack]

Hello Spider

—————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: Spider-Man Earth-1048

Warning: None

—————

Third Person P.O.V:

August

Hermione Granger sighed softly as she typed away on her laptop on the seventh floor of The Daily Bugle. She could hear Jameson screaming at one of his interns about how much property damage Spider-Woman caused in her fight with Vulture a few months ago. His podcast seemed to always be one somewhere in the building...

At least he wasn't spiraling about the new Spider-Man that she has been seen swinging with around the city. Hermione thought Jameson was going to send himself into the ER when it was announced that she had a protégé.

Hermione slowly stood up and collected her wallet, eagerly ready to go on her lunch break to Joe's Pizza Cellar across the street. She only took one step when a muffled explosion came from somewhere within the city.

Everyone around her seemed to look up and turn their heads towards the windows, when her eyes flickered towards them as well, a loud yell rang outa car suddenly flew past the windows.

"I HATE CHASE OF GOOSE"

Hermione threw down her wallet and grabbed her notepad, running up to the window as a familiar set of feet ran across the building.

"Aw come on Aleksei! At least look both ways before crossing the street!"

She soon sprang off the wall, while Spider-Man swung behind her. Hermione watched in awe as they chased after Rhino, writing down her quip before tuning towards the elevators.

Her coworkers began to crowd around the windows as they watched the carnage that was being left behind by the Villains run through New York.

Hermione soon found herself outside, running down the street to where a full-blown fight was taking place. Spider-Woman dodged the bigger man's punches as Spider-Man kept any civilians out of harm's way.

"Really Aleksei, I don't know why you try to punch me anymore. You know I can just-"

Spider-Woman was cut off when Rhino grabbed a light pole that had been ripped from the ground previously and whacked her with it.

She went flying through a department store window, to which Spider-Man immediately kept the villain distracted while the other got her bearings.

Hermione quickly slipped into the store, bumping into scared customers and staff as they ran out of the building. Her eyes land on the iconic red, black, and blue costume. A soft groan escaped the superhero as she pulled herself back onto her feet, shaking her head slightly as a way to get rid of the dizziness.

"I really need to quit jinxing myself" she coughed out.

"Spider-Woman?" Hermione calls out as loud yells and quips from the two outside continue. The hero quickly looked up and the eyes on her mask widened, seeming surprised to see her.

"WHERE IS FEMALE SPIDER" Rinho's voice boomed as Spider-Man flew past the shattered window, the loud crunch of metal and a car alarm blaring made it obvious what he had landed against.

"Stay here," Spider-Woman says as she jumps out of the store through the broken window and runs toward the belligerent man.

Hermione couldn't help but stare in awe, even amid everything going on. So, once again, she followed out onto the street.

Spider-Woman jumped and swung around the barbarian like it was nothing. Spider-Man zipped back into the fight and ducked between Rhino's legs as the other hero punched him in the jaw.

The young journalist knew this was idiotic to do, basically sitting on the sidelines as full-blown armageddon was in front of her.

Rhino swatted Spider-Man away, sending him halfway down the street as Spider-Woman jumped into the air and webbed a manhole in between her and Aleksei.

Yanking it up into the air, she soon slammed it against his head, causing the giant to stumble backward.

Right towards Hermione.

Her eyes widened as she tried to move out of the way, but the guy was falling too quickly. Spider-Woman webbed the arm of Hermione and yanked her up towards her.

The journalist yelled out in surprise as she was pulled into the hero's arms and taken to safety on top of the building behind them.

When Hermione's feet touched a solid surface, she instantly looked up to find the mask of the hero every kid loves.

"You were a troublemaker in school, weren't you?" Spider-Women chuckles in a fake voice as she removes her arm from around the journalist's waist and steps back toward the edge, watching Spider-Man web down Rhino. The bigger man's suit was sparking and in obvious need of repairs, while the two heroes only needed new stitches in their suits.

"Spider-Man, are you good?" she yells down, and he gives two thumbs up in return, before jumping slightly as Rhino yells angrily at them.

Hermione watched in awe as Spider-Woman turned back to her and cocked her head slightly to the side. A gesture that finally made the Brit find her voice.

"Can I...Can I have an interview?" Hermione asks and the hero chuckles softly, sitting down on the edge of the rooftop.

"Alright, you have a minute before the police get here" she responds, causing Hermione to widen her eyes and quickly pull out her pen and notepad.

This was a chance of a lifetime, and she damn sure wasn't going to waste it.

"Uh, why did you decide to do this? More specifically, why did you become a hero?" she asks as she eagerly hovers her pen over the empty page of her notepad.

"Well, the world could always use more heroes" Spider-Women replies as she picks up a small crushed can from the roof, and looks back over the edge, throwing it easily into the trashcan down below.

"That's it? Not the fame, money, or adoring fans?" Hermione asked as she scribbled down the responses and questions. Spider-Woman chuckled and shrugs.

"I think IronMan makes enough money for all of us heroes, and fame or fans? You've seen how the news changes their opinion on me, as do the people of New York" she says simply as she hears the sirens starting to get closer. Hermione looks to her right, seeing a part of the street a bit farther away.

"Don't get me wrong, I love all the citizens, but sometimes it does feel like a punch to the arm" Spider-Woman chuckles softly as she stands up from the edge of the roof and stands in front of the journalist. Hermione stops writing and looks at the hero with a shy smile.

"Well, if it's worth anything, I'm one of your biggest fans," she says, making the woman chuckle again and probably smile underneath that mask. Hermione couldn't really tell.

"Time to go!" Spider-Man calls out as he swings past the building just as the boys in blue turn down the street. Spider-Woman took a step back onto the ledge and looked back at Hermione.

"It's an honor to have you as a fan, Ms.Granger," she says as they stare at one another for a moment. Then Hermione realized something.

"Hey, wait-" she starts, but Spider-Woman quickly jumps off and begins to swing away. Hermione ran up to the edge and watched as she followed after her protégé.

"I never told you my name!" Hermione yells out, but it is no use, she is already too far to hear her. The journalist huffed out a soft laugh as she stepped back from the edge and looked down at her notes.

Now she needed to get down from atop this building.

——————

When Hermione stepped back onto the seventh floor of The Daily Bugle, everyone still didn't pay her any mind as she made her way back to her desk. As soon as she sat down, someone leaned against it.

"Where have you been?"

Hermione looks up to find Y/n Y/l/n,  the only photographer who has been able to get clear photos of Spider-Woman & Man. She was also a very good friend.

"You won't believe who I got an exclusive interview with!" Hermione says excitedly as Y/n rolls over an office chair and sits on it backward. Her arms lay on top of the backrest, her chin resting on her forearms.

"Who?" She asks with a smile as Hermione hands her the notepad, watching as the photographer reads the questions and answers.

Y/n couldn't help but let out a chuckle as she handed back the notepad to Hermione. The two girls had been talking for a while about a front-page story she had been told would be hers if she got an interview with the superhuman. Y/n couldn't resist teasing her about the joy on her face.

"Finally got attention from your favorite hero?" Y/n asked playfully, referring to the piece that Hermione had been working on for the past few weeks about Spider-Women.

Hermione rolled her eyes but couldn't help but smile. She turned on her desktop, and with practiced ease, logged in to her account. Y/n watched as Hermione's fingers danced across the keyboard, her eyes focused on the screen, completely immersed in her work.

"She is one of the reasons I moved here! I want to be the only journalist on the amazing Spider-Woman" Hermione admits, even having a small flush on her face. It obviously wasn't one of the main reasons, but it was a very good perk.

"You know...I do have connections to her. Maybe I could-" Y/n was cut off when Hermione grabbed the office chair and pulled her closer. Their faces were inches away.

"Can you get me another interview?" She asks quietly as they stare deeply into each other's eyes, Y/n's face growing hot at the proximity.

"I...well...yes!" She stumbles over her words as the smile on Hermione's face grows. She suddenly pulled away and opened her document application on her desktop.

Y/n watched as the woman's face lit up with childlike excitement, her eyes widening and a smile spreading across her lips.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine appreciation.

"Oh, this will be remarkable," she added, her tone laced with anticipation. Y/n sat up straight, feeling a sense of responsibility to carefully choose her next words.

"I'll see what I can do, but honestly, she might seek you out first," she says with a small smirk as their eyes meet again, a glint was in Hermione's eyes, something Y/n couldn't place.

"Seek me out? What do you mean?" Hermione asks as her eyes follow Y/n, who slowly stands up from the chair and pushes it back to where she got it.

Y/n gave a small smile in response and turned around to walk back to her desk, leaving Hermione to watch her go. As she walked, a glint of mischief shone in her eye, hinting at a playful side to her personality.

Hermione had seen this look before, though, and knew that Y/n had a way of doing things that was uniquely her own. It was just one of the many things that made her such an intriguing person to be around.

She began to smile as well.

——————

Later That Night

Hermione dragged her feet wearily up the narrow staircase, her arms laden with a heavy bag of fragrant Chinese food takeout. The pungent aroma of soy sauce, ginger, and garlic wafted up to her nose, making her mouth water in anticipation.

As she climbed higher and higher, each step felt like a Herculean effort, and she had to pause several times to catch her breath. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she reached the fifth-floor landing and emerged from the dimly lit stairwell, squinting in the bright light of the hallway. The door to her apartment was only a few steps away, but it felt like a mile.

As she reached the front door of her apartment, she let out a gentle sigh and rummaged through her bag to find the keys. Once she found them, she inserted the key into the lock and turned it, hearing the familiar click.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, feeling the cool air conditioning hit her face. Something about the atmosphere felt different than usual. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but an inexplicable unease crept up on her. Despite this, she took off her shoes and walked further into the house, trying to shake off the feeling.

As she walked down the hallway towards the kitchen, she felt a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. That's when she finally noticed her living room light was on, casting a warm glow on the walls.

But as she peered into the room, her heart stopped. Someone was sitting on her couch, their figure illuminated by the light. Panic set in as she tried to make out the person's identity, but then she recognized the mask immediately. Relief washed over her as she realized that there was nothing to fear.

"So, you break into homes? That doesn't seem very friendly" Hermione says with a smirk, causing Spider-Woman to jump up to her feet and turn towards her. Apparently, she had snuck up on the hero.

As Hermione approached her, she could sense a slight hesitation in Spider-Woman's demeanor. However, she quickly composed herself and greeted her.

"Oh, hi!" she said, her fake voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

"Uh, I don't usually do this...well, yes, I do. But for good reason!" She paused for a moment, placing her hands on her hips as if to steady herself. Her head darted around nervously before settling back on Hermione.

"You know, you should really be locking your windows, just in case wall-climbing...robbers become a prevalent issue," Spider-Woman suggests, her tone faltering slightly as she realizes the irony in her statement.

Hermione chuckled softly and placed her food on the small table behind the couch, watching as the hero seemed tense. This must have been a spontaneous decision.

"Anyways, I wanted to give you a better interview, since you had been willing to risk being crushed by a two-ton man to just speak with me" she continues with an awkward chuckle as she put her hands behind her back and laced her fingers together.

Hermione, with a gentle smile on her face, slowly walks around the couch with her fingers trailing along the armrest. As she makes her way towards the masked superhero, she speaks up.

"You must be feeling quite important. After all, you are the one who essentially controls the content of the front page of The Daily Bugle," she says as her eyes meet the mask, and she stands before her, waiting for her response.

"Owner? That's a little...overstated" Spider-Women replies as she steps back slightly as Hermione gets closer.

"Exaggerated? I don't think so, you have been on the front page more than Mayor Osborn" Hermione hums, her eyelids were low as she held a soft gaze with the eyes of the mask. Spider-Woman felt her fake voice starting to falter again, so she cleared her throat in hopes of keeping it up.

"Well, I'll make sure to send him a fruit basket as an apology," she says as Hermione chuckled and sat on her couch, legs crossed over the other as her eyes slowly trailed up the hero's body.

This wasn't the same woman she had saved earlier in the day, there was thick obvious tension between them now, but Spider-Woman had no idea why.

Well...she had a slight idea.

Spider-Woman, her red and blue costume tightly hugging her form, rested her hands back on her hips and looked down at Hermione. The young woman's face was flushed and her hands were balled into the couch cushion.

Spider-Woman's sharp eyes scanned Hermione's face before she slowly sat down on the coffee table across from her. The vigilante's movements were graceful and calculated as if she was always in control of the situation.

Then suddenly, Hermione sat up straight and seemed to calm in an instant, her arms crossing over her chest as she appeared to return back to normal. This girl was hot & cold.

"Would you mind giving me a longer interview?" Hermione asked innocently. Spider-Woman nodded slowly and rested her elbows on her thighs.

"Of course, uh, whenever you're ready" she replies as Hermione pulls out her phone and begins to record with the voice memos.

"My first question is, is it true that you have been taking the time to clean up the shores?" Hermione asks, but it is obvious that she isn't all that interested in Spider-Woman's environmental protection ideals.

"I try my best since fish is one of our main food groups in New York. We don't need people to get sick from any of them" Spider-Woman replied as she rubbed her hands together. A nervous tick perhaps?

"Alright..." Hermione hums as she shut off the recording, which piqued the hero's interest immediately.

Hermione reached behind her and grabbed the plate of food from the small table that was pressed up against the back of the couch.

"Well, that was quick," Spider-Woman chuckled, referring to the speed at which the interview had ended. The aroma of the freshly cooked food still lingered in the air, making both of their stomachs growl.

"I have a few...off-the-record questions for myself than the paper" Hermione explained as she opened the bag and handed her one of the spring rolls she had ordered.

Spider-Woman gave a soft 'thank you' as she hesitated to lift her mask up to her nose. Hermione didn't even look up as she grabbed the two forks from the bottom of the bag and handed her one as well.

The hero then slowly rolled up her mask until her nose and chin were the only things visible. That's when Hermione finally looked up.

Her pupils dilated like wide saucers, but she didn't express anything outwardly that would suggest something was off. So, when she held the tin container full of orange chicken and lo mein between them, the crusader thought nothing of it.

(A/N: ngl, I'm running out of ways to say 'hero')

Spider-Woman sat at the table, her eyes fixed on the steaming plate of Lo Mein in front of her. She couldn't resist the temptation any longer and picked up her fork, twirling it around in the tangle of noodles until she had a perfect bite.

"I love Lo Mein," she confessed. Across from her, Hermione watched with amusement, a soft smile playing on her lips. She picked up a piece of orange chicken and popped it into her mouth, relishing the burst of flavor.

"I know you do, you get it every Friday after work," she says simply, which causes the hero to freeze, the spring roll almost falling out of her mouth.

Hermione continued nonchalantly as she ate, while Spider-Woman stared at her. Oh how much she wished Vulture or Mr.Negative would burst in here, just so she could get out of this conversation,

"H-How did you...I don't know what..." she trailed off in her real voice as Hermione looked back up with a sly smile, almost teasing in a way.

"At first I thought it was just a coincidence that you were the only person who got special treatment with the Spider Duo because I knew that a few people in the Bugle have been able to get connections with other Heroes and Villains alike" Hermione starts as she ate another piece of chicken, chewing it for a few moments before speaking again.

"But then I noticed your tardiness, your ability to basically disappear and reappear at incredible speed, the random bruises, but again, I just thought it was a coincidence" she continues as Spider-Woman just stared dumbfounded. Hermione put the tin container down beside her and gave her full attention to the woman across from her.

"Then today-"

"I have to go," Spider-Woman says abruptly getting up from her seat, her words echo in the room. With the spring roll still dangling from her teeth, she strides swiftly towards the open window, her hair fluttering in the wind.

Her agile movements and aura of determination suggest that she's on a mission, and nothing can stop her. The bright city lights outside seem to beckon to her.

"Y/n."

Y/n froze in her tracks, her eyes fixed on the window. As Hermione stood up and walked towards her, Y/n's heart pounded in her chest, and her palms became sweaty.

She tried to move, but her legs felt like they were made of lead. Finally, when Hermione was close enough, she placed her hand on Y/n's shoulder and gently turned her around to face her. Y/n's eyes met Hermione's intense gaze, and she couldn't help but feel vulnerable under her gaze.

Without another word, Hermione reached up and pulled off the rest of the mask, and smiled like a little schoolgirl.

"There's my favorite photographer" she whispers as she holds the mask in one hand and takes hold of the spring roll as well.

Y/n and Hermione are standing face to face, gazing into each other's eyes. The moon is shining bright, casting a warm glow on Hermione's face.

"How did you know?" Y/n whispers softly, her eyes are filled with wonder and curiosity as they exchange glances. The night is quiet and peaceful, and the only sound is the soft honking of the hussle of the city.

"It's silly really, but that fake voice you were using, is the same one you use to mock Jameson's podcast" Hermione chuckles as Y/n couldn't help but flush at her own stupidity.

"Oh...oh that makes sense," she says as she clears her throat and looks down at their feet for a moment. Hermione just smiled as she placed the spring roll back in her mouth and gently pushed her toward the window, both of them hearing the roaring of sirens nearby.

"You're secrets safe with me, now go kick some ass" Hermione continues as she placed the mask back around her eyes and above her nose. Y/n grinned and slowly stepped backward toward the window.

"It's really nice to have another ally," Y/n says as she takes a final bite of the roll and speaks with her mouth full. She then pulls down her mask all the way, hiding a relieved smile on her face. The weight of the world seems to have been lifted off her shoulders as she welcomes the newfound support.

"I still expect a full interview tomorrow," Hermione says with a smile as she leans against the wall and watches Y/n back up slightly.

"It's a date" Y/n replied as she took a running start and jumped out the window. Hermione walked over to the windowsill, leaning down, and resting her forearms on it. Her chin found itself atop them as well, watching as Y/n swung away toward the boys in blue.

She smiled softly.

"It's a date"

#harry potter #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #lesbian #fanfic #fluff

[ichangedmycornyahhname]

Spider-man!Hobie Brown x Reader

Side note: I did my best to keep reader gender neutral for everyone 🫶😍. Also made it more friendly than flirty. 😔 sorry y’all. (Basically more platonic, BUT if I make another I may make it romantic.)

Summary: Just reader and Hobie hopping dimensions and taking out bad guys.

Warnings: None? A little violence ig. Just reader and him bickering. Not proof read 🙁 I got lazy as hell.

“Yo Hob, where’s my mask at?” You asked as you watched yourself in the mirror. Your tooth brush sudsy with toothpaste as you quickly brushed at your teeth.

Crashing with Gwen and Hobie was certainly a risky decision to make, but with you always traversing the multi-verses you never stayed anywhere for too long. Which is why you were staying with the two. Well, staying with Hobie. Gwen was currently out on the hunt for a new anomaly, and you were eager to get to work with her.

“Didn’t you leave it on the couch?” He responded as he slipped his ripped leather jacket over his shoulders. The man was already geared up and ready to go. “I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you.” You retorted with the roll of your eyes. You soon rinsed your mouth out with water and tossed your toothbrush into a cup. As you went to exit the bathroom, you took notice of the lack of toilet paper (courtesy of living with two other people), and sighed. “We need more toilet paper Hobie, we’ve already run out.”

He peeked his head throw the doorway, taking a glance at what you had mentioned and laughed. “Ain’t that something. We’ll buy some from a different universe, I’d rather not provide to this crappy economy. Now hurry it up mate, we’ve already got a mission.” You scoffed at his stubbornness as you headed towards the cluttered living area. Per-usual, it was a mess. But you didn’t have time for that now. You dug under piles of junk and gadgets until finally you got your hands on your mask. “Ew..” You grumbled as you stared at the ink stain on the side of your mask. Shooting a look towards Hobie, he only returned it with a grin before pulling his mask over his face.

“We’re cleaning this place up when we get back. Now let’s go.”

The two of you departed, a portal appearing in front of you. The dynamic shapes and colors had grown to be something of a norm to you, though you couldn’t say the same as you hopped through it and shot through the tunnel. It still managed to twist and turn your stomach up.

-

“I believe this is the place.” Hobie chimed as the two of you clung to a building side. “Ya think?” Hobie only chuckled at your sarcasm, having already grown quite used to it.

The evening sunset was almost as mesmerizing as the large mountain of houses. They followed along a road that spiraled all the way down to where they stood. It was like staring up at a giant version of the Aztec temples. “Sometimes I forget how different these universes can be. Alright Hobie, you know who we’re looking for so lead the way.”

He gave you a pat on the back before shooting out a web and pulling himself in the air. You could only smile at his playfulness and follow his movements, now swinging yourself towards the top of the mountain. The area was vibrant with warm colors, reds, blues, and green accenting the bright gold of the buildings. You’d been to plenty of universes, but none quite as beautiful as this. Smells of food, and seasonings flooded your nostrils, as well as the chattering of the busy streets. “Cool innit? Went here once with Gwendy, was a little preoccupied though.”

“With?” You questioned as you worked your way to the top of the mountain.

“This wild variant of the lizard. He was huge! More of a crocodile I’d say.” His enthusiastic attitude seemed to infect you, another smile creeping it’s way onto your face. “That sounds cool as hell. Yo is that who we’re looking for?” Your eyes widened as your spider sense raised your alert. Up ahead stood a large statue, though unlike usual statues, this one was moving. It worked at ripping a large jewel that stood at the very top of the mountain. Hobie, who had been swinging backwards, spun around, the lenses of his mask widening. Then they narrowed. He pulled his guitar from over his shoulder, holding it in one hand as he swung himself towards the golden statue. “Taking that as a yes.”

You webbed the side of two buildings, tugging at the webbing and slingshotting yourself towards the chaos. “I’ll get its legs, you- do whatever. I know you don’t like to listen.” You huffed out.

“You know me so well, love.” He said as he went to taking out the giant. You went to do the same, now swinging your webs around the statues legs. While at first your idea was working, the giant seemed to have a mind of its own. It ripped the webbing in half, but in doing so lost its balance. It tumbled, falling backwards and heading straight for the edge of the cliff. You tried not to panic, and Hobie was now joining you in stopping the giants potential destruction of the golden city. You worked at making a canopy between two poles, the wide wall of webs ready to catch the giant in its grasp.

Hobie stood at the top of a building, webs shot out to slow the giants fall. He strained, pulling back at the web lines. And it worked. The giant was caught in their web.

The two of you met up, now standing in the orange dirt with a victorious look. Then you glanced at one another. “High five?”

Their hands met, the sound of victory ringing in their ears. “High five. Hell yeah Y/N!” His arm found its way around your shoulders, tugging you closer as he spouted jokes. However, you interrupted, “We still have to clean up when we get back.” Hobie’s jubilant expression turned unamused, and he sucked his teeth sighing at your seriousness.

“We really gotta loosen you up love. Now let’s get this guy back in his universe.” His thick accent made it difficult for you to comprehend at first, but once you did, you nodded. The two of you had completed your mission, unscathed, and with time to spare. You were certainly impressed with your efficient work.

#x reader #fluff #spider-punk #Spider-Man #spider-punk x reader #spider man across the spider verse

[jymwahuwu]

@blbrrymilk wren I can't stop my brainrot Dr. Ratio + spanking we talked about yesterday 😫… I tried to endure it but failed… have to write it out. This is extremely self-indulgent. I'm a little embarrassed lmao

And I’m sorry it’s not you as the second person perspective, because I think some of the descriptions of you may not be accurate 🥺🫶💖

You never thought about taking Dr. Ratio's course. Actually that's out of your control. On the selection day, after you entered the damn subject selection system, other students had already rushed in and snatched up all those simple electives. There are a few elective courses left, some that you don’t even know what they mean from the course names. The professor teaching these courses is: "Dr. Veritas Ratio", and there are a large number of student places.

Veritas Ratio…you remember classmates talking about this name. Ratio has taught 52 courses during his tenure, and the completion rate is no more than 3%… That is an impossible challenge!! You put your hands in your hair, groaning in distress.

But… you can't choose other electives… just take classes first and then think of other options… the worst you can do is just retake the electives.

This is your first lesson in the Dr. Ratio course. Before class, you bought a cup of milk tea as usual and wanted to take it to class to drink. This is a way for you to boost your spirits and relax. No professor ever criticized you. When you entered the classroom carrying milk tea, you saw a professor with purple haze curly short hair standing in front of the lecterns. You were slightly intimidated because you had never seen such a young and…muscular professor. His sleeves are bare and you can observe his well-developed muscles. He glanced at you, the laurel accessory on his head was shining, and then returned to the students in the audience.

You stepped lightly and sat on your seat holding milk tea.

The class started soon… about 12 students were sitting in different corners. And you found a corner to drink milk tea while listening to those principles and knowledge…you couldn't understand. This is so boring. You pouted, thinking that you really had to retake the class this time. At this time, a girl walked in wearing a decent and neat college uniform. She first confirmed the classroom number before walking in and planning to find a seat.

"Excuse me, Miss. Do you need to apologize for being late?" The professor stopped her.

You looked at the time on your notebook in surprise, huh? Is it just 20 seconds late? The girl was obviously frightened. She apologized quietly and ran to a seat. You feel sorry for her.

What a fussy professor. No wonder so few students take his classes.

When you listen to those lectures, your eyelids feel heavy. You use your laptop to browse the web and drink milk tea. By the way, you participate in a department store lottery belonging to IPC (what you want is a spaceship ticket. You did win, but that’s a cup of ice cream wtf…).

"The lady sitting on the left side of the sixth row." The endless stream of knowledge lectures came to an abrupt end. Dr. Ratio suddenly started calling the student - you. You took a few sips of milk tea before you noticed all the eyes in the classroom were on you. "A-are you calling me, Professor?"

He ordered with an expressionless expression, like a calm volcano. "Yes. And the lady fourth from the right in the third row. The one who was late just now. "

What? Is he going to drive you two away? Is he some kind of middle school teacher!?

Thinking of this, your fear was overshadowed by fun. Whether he wants to reprimand you or expel you or something, this should not be allowed in college.

You stood in front of him and the girl with an impatient look on your face. She looked confused. You obviously don't know why the professor ordered you two to stand here.

"Okay." He ordered. "Take off your uniform skirt and underwear, both of you."

"What?!" You have never heard such ridiculous words! What does he want to do to you? This is an absolute abuse of power! The girl next to you also frowned and argued with reason. "Professor. What are you going to do? This is unacceptable in college." The students in the classroom immediately started talking and whispering to each other.

"I can, and if in fact you don't comply, you will be expelled and go back to your planet to rest." He waved his arm, waiting for a reaction from the two of you. "You can call the principal or the university office immediately if you don't believe it. I never tell useless false information."

You stared at him for dozens of seconds, trying to see any falsehood in those damn golden eyes…but there was no such thing. He means it. Courage and morality tell you to run out of college and report him, but something inside tells you…that's just not working.

You slowly unzipped your uniform skirt. The girl next to you is more courageous than you. She just picked up her bag and wanted to run out of the classroom, but the cost was that Dr. Ratio grabbed her directly, pulled down her uniform skirt and panties, and bent her waist. The slap immediately hit her buttocks loudly. You watch in horror what's going on, what? Is this really happening? Spanking? Spanking in public?

"It's a pity that you don't have enough concentration, miss. I would appreciate it if you put your energy into class." His firm palm slapped her buttocks, delivering heat and unrelieved pain. There was no predictable rhythm, three slaps on her left hip, five on the right. "By the way, lateness is also unacceptable."

The girl put her hands on the lecterns and whimpered. The slaps from behind fell like a storm, causing her to occasionally kick her legs to relieve the pain. You want to stop Dr. Ratio's unreasonable abuse of power, but how? Witnessing these cruel and inhumane atrocities (referring to spankings), you wince from time to time, and some hallucinations of pain appear on your buttocks, just like those slaps have fallen on your body.

Quietly, you pulled up your skirt again.

After twenty more particularly loud and humiliating slaps, it finally stopped.

You hope it's Dr. Ratio realizing the inappropriateness of his behavior, but he just orders the sobbing classmate to stand in the corner (still without her skirt or panties on! What a pervert!). Then he pulls your shoulders and pulls your skirt and panties down to your ankles. The shame of public exposure washes over you immediately.

"Stop - I hate you!!" You screamed, but your waist was restrained and your bare ass was slapped continuously. He literally lights a fire in your ass… Slap. Slap. Slap. This hurts so much! You can't help but admire that classmate. With such pain, she didn't even scream like you…

"I noticed you've been drinking some high-calorie drinks and you're obviously not paying attention to class. This is just an appropriate punishment for your behavior." He announced the reasons for the punishment calmly, as if he had the authority to do so. “I hope you have a basic respect and reverence for the place where knowledge is imparted.”

"Stop fussing or making noise or I'll use the ruler."

You held your breath, not believing what you were hearing. ruler. That big, long, transparent ruler on his desk? A brief moment, but it felt like centuries of ravage. Not only the shame of being spanked in front of everyone, but also the pain and frustration...

You still ended with more than twenty particularly hard slaps. By the time it was over, you had tears streaming down your face and you were put in the corner by him.

Corner time...

He is a barbarian...a scoundrel...a violent maniac..

"Turn around," Dr. Ratio ordered. You looked weakly at the two hard chairs that had been placed. He told the two of you to sit down.

You sat down, the soreness worsening from the hard material. You squirmed uncomfortably. A textbook has been thrust into both of your hands.

"Good. Listen intently now, because I don't mind another round of punishment for you two." He turned around and drew on the holographic blackboard with electronic chalk. "Let's continue with class."

[stevesbestgirl]

Dreamweaver

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Warnings: mentions of depression, a few curses, briefly mean!Morpheus, soulmate tattoo bs, I took liberties with the lore

A/N: I started this forever ago when I was dealing with some stuff with my brother, so if it feels like a self-insert 🤷‍♀️ (no descriptions of reader's appearance)

5775 words

"Dream."

Lord Morpheus, also known as Dream of the Endless, raised his head from his desk, where he was pouring over a book.

"Dream!"

He heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before standing.

"Dream of the Endless, I hold your sigil and I call to you."

"Yes Death, I am on my way to my gallery as we speak."

"Forget your gallery, come here."

Morpheus suppressed a sigh. But with a sound suspiciously like the flutter of a raven's feathers, Dream disappeared from his library, appearing instead beside his sister. Death's gaze did not waver; she appeared to be watching a young pair seated on a mattress on the floor of a simple bedroom. One, a young woman, seemed to be comforting the other, a young man with enough resemblance to be a sibling.

Dream spared only a quick glance, "Why am I here, sister?"

Death finally tore her gaze from the two mortals, "Can't you see it?"

Morpheus watched the pair again, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing.

"Maybe I'm just bad. That's why she left." Dream could see the wisps of despair puffing up around the boy, evaporating like drops of water on a hot pan.

"You took the fall when I broke Mallory's lamp when we were ten. Don't tell me you're bad," the woman insisted despite her soft tone. "And nothing you did made Bella leave."

"Yeah, I guess so."

Dream's gaze swiveled back to his sister, "I am unsure what it is I should be seeing."

Death huffed impatiently, "Open your mind for just one moment and consider that a mortal may surprise you." When he still stared at her, his jaw growing tight with impatience, she rolled her eyes, "She's dream weaving, Dream. You of all people should be able to tell."

"The dream weavers died out hundreds of years ago."

Death grabbed her stubborn brother by the shoulder, twisting him to face the girl again, "Watch."

Dream watched, albeit a bit disdainful, as the young woman continued to speak. She offered musings about their past. Their childhood seemed to have been a difficult one. But she made jokes, reminiscing and reflecting on what they could learn- how they could create better for themselves. And then he saw it.

Human consciousness, all consciousness really, clung to the Dreaming with tethers. Needless to say, humans clung particularly closely compared to most other sentient life. Each dream, though they varied in strength, was a connection to the dreaming. When a being began to lose the will to live, those tethers weakened.

Her brother's tethers were weak; not quite on the brink of severing, but looking rather exhausted. And while it wasn't possible for her to strengthen the tethers- only their owner could do that, she was reinforcing their connection to the Dreaming. The dreams she was sharing were indeed woven into an intricate web, right on the cusp of his realm.

Her own web was vast, ethereal silver glimmering in elaborate knots and designs, each one a waking dream. This girl's very existence was tied up in his realm.

His only show of emotion was a small parting of his lips, but that was enough for Death. "I told you so."

Dream said nothing, watching the girl speak.

"What are you thinking, brother?" Death prompted, clearly awaiting some kind of response.

"It appears that a new age of Dreamweavers may be upon us, sister."

"Are you going to speak to her?"

"I suppose I am duty-bound to make contact. Soon, more like her will appear, if they haven't already. If they go on unsupervised, they could damage the realm."

Death cocked an eyebrow, "Why do you sound so reluctant? You've never had issue with dream weavers in the past, have you?"

"Not yet. But I have an odd feeling about this one."

*

After departing with Death, Morpheus tasked Matthew with keeping an eye on the girl. She stayed with her brother through the night, the pair of them departing early in the morning and returning a short while later with what appeared to be a third sibling.

Only once the two young men were in each other's company did the girl leave, returning to her own home a short distance away.

She seemed lost in her own thoughts as she puttered around the house, cleaning up odds and ends before changing into a tee-shirt and climbing into bed. Underneath her eyes, dark circles were beginning to swell. She was exhausted.

Morpheus almost felt bad for her; this sleep would not be as restful as she might be expecting.

*

Y/N always had vivid dreams, both waking and while asleep. But she immediately knew tonight was different. Dressed in nothing but her tee-shirt and underwear, her bare feet were chilled against the dark stone floor underfoot.

A shadowed figure sat in a throne at the head of the large room, as though waiting for her.

"Hello?" She took a hesitant step forward, hands clinging to the too-short hem of her tee-shirt, which was barely covering the tops of her thighs.

"Approach, Y/L, L/N."

She did as the voice instructed, stepping forward on unsteady legs. It was male, authoritative and nearly stern. But it wasn't aggressive, or even raised in volume. He simply spoke and expected compliance.

It was also beautiful, deeply toned and unrushed in its delivery. He had an accent she couldn't identify, her mind reeling with thoughts as she approached the throne, still cloaked in shadow.

She felt exposed, painfully aware of his gaze on her. She gave her shirt another nervous tug down, trying to make sure she was covered. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she asked, "What is this place?"

The silence stretched, her fingers abandoning the hem of her shirt in favor of fidgeting with the cuticles of her fingernails. But her hands parted hastily and she sucked in a gasp as she suddenly found herself fully clothed in a pair of dark jeans, socks, boots, and a black jacket over her tee-shirt.

She was relieved for both the privacy and warmth granted by the clothes, but her heart was pounding at the magic, "Am I dreaming?"

The figure remained in shadow, "Yes," he confirmed. "But more importantly, you are in the Dreaming."

She blinked, willing her eyes to make out the figure in the dark as questions bubbled up inside her, "And that would make you-?"

He rose slowly from his chair, towering over her at his full height, somehow still shrouded in shadow, "I am Dream of the Endless, creator of the Dreaming, King of Nightmares."

It suddenly became quite clear to her as she gazed up at him that he wanted her to be intimidated. The question of why still loomed.

"King of Dreams then too, right?" She couldn't find it within herself to give him the reaction he wanted, king or no king.

His voice remained level, "Yes."

"Am I forbidden from laying eyes on the King of Dreams?" She cocked her eyebrow, only slightly, in a challenge. She took a step backwards, inviting him to step into the light.

There was another long pause before he answered, "No, you are not." But instead of moving, the shadows seemed to loosen, pale skin blooming behind the darkness until his face was wholly visible.

It seemed the perfect match for his voice, slim with sharp cheekbones and a shock of deep ebony hair. Long, dark lashes framed his eyes, which were dark, almost entirely black in a way that should have been eerie. But they glimmered like stars, little specks of light dancing deep within their depths and seeming to invite her inside. She felt as though she was falling forward until the darkness swallowed her up.

But inside was far from dark. It was a massive stretch of blackness, yes, but far from nothing. The black was a canvas, swirling with color and light and looking like entire galaxies.

A mess of incoherent thought washed over her, driving her own thoughts from her mind. The galaxy showed her a beautiful woman. She felt insecurity, fear, but also something warm and safe she could only describe as love. Then she saw the sun, but the sun as she'd never seen it before. The sun through the eyes of someone who couldn't go blind. And then came pain, rejection, grief-

"You should not be here."

Then she was back in the throne room, balled up on the floor, her cheeks wet with tears. She sat up, hastily wiping her cheeks, but Dream was already hauling her up by the shoulder of her tee-shirt, her extra layer of clothing stripped away in an instant, "You dare to invade my mind?" His dulcet tones were reduced to a mere hiss. "As the King of Dreams, it is my responsibility to warn you that if you or others like you meddle in the affairs of my realm, it will cost you dearly. It seems that every time I show compassion to a human, you are determined to make me regret it. Cross my path again and you will not receive such mercy a second time."

She wanted to plead with him, to make him understand that it had been an accident. She didn't even understand what she'd done- were those his thoughts?

His change in demeanor stung more than it should have. But his sudden rage combined with what little she'd seen made it clear he would not leave himself vulnerable to her, and perhaps for good reason.

"I apologize for any offense, it was not my intent. I will do my best not to get in your way again." She offered him a sad smile, "And I'm sorry for your suffering."

His eyes glimmered in a brooding smolder and then she found herself jolting awake in her bed, a sheen of sweat glittering on her skin. She made a half-hearted attempt to tell herself it had only been a dream, but there was no denying what she'd seen- what she'd felt.

She felt out of place going back to her everyday life, but her work wouldn't wait for her. And there was plenty left to do for her brother, so she put it behind her, hoping that whatever she had done to draw the King of Dreams' ire was a one-time thing. Their interaction had left a lingering bad taste in her mouth.

She had hoped that her responsibilities would drive the memory from the front of her consciousness, but it continued to creep up on her each time she had a moment to breathe, haunting her rare moments of rest with nightmares. She suspected the King of Nightmares was wholly capable of sentencing her to a lifetime of nighttime terrors, but she wasn't convinced this was his intention. But if she was connected to Dream, as he'd called himself, the only way to fix it would be to visit the Dreaming again.

And now she was thinking about it again. She gave herself a shake; she had another long night ahead of her. So she turned up the music in her car and left for her brother's apartment.

*

"I thought I might see you back here, brother." Death looked smug as Dream appeared beside her in the same place they'd watched from last time.

"And why are you here again, Death?"

"To catch you in the act, obviously."

Dream made a disapproving noise at her joke, but didn't press further. He watched as she and her brother played a video game together. He'd done some reading in her book after her uninvited foray into his mind, though mostly out of spite. It had done nothing to reassure him that he'd acted appropriately.

Her childhood had not been an easy one. Teenage parents, poverty, and drug use had rendered her functional guardian to her two younger siblings at a young age. Once he arrived at the abuse resulting from her first romantic relationship, he'd stopped reading.

The two Endless watched for quite some time before speaking again, but surprisingly to Death, it was Dream who broke the silence. "Why are you truly here, sister?"

"It is part of my responsibilities to check on the humans whose ties grow weak."

"Do you spend this long on every one?"

She huffed a sigh, "No." Stealing a glance at Y/N, she admitted, "When she weaves the dreams, that strengthens the connection, giving a weak tie more time to recover."

Dream tipped his head, "Yes, as you explained last time."

"I'm starting to suspect that the dream she's woven around the center tether may be permanent."

"Is such a thing possible?"

"I don't know. Like you said, this could be a new kind of dream weaver." They both watched her laugh, drawing a laugh from her brother as well. "I wish I could just ask her what she's capable of."

Dream looked back on the way the girl had collapsed in his throne room, realization making his stomach sink, "She is unaware of her abilities."

"As far as I can tell." At Dream's silence, Death glanced at him sharply, "Why do I get the sense that you may have done something foolish?"

Dream was silent, reassessing his interaction with this new information. He'd brought her into his realm, exposed and confused, then put on a show of being intimidating and immediately lost his temper, resorting to threats and expulsion.

He refused to feel shame over actions taken to protect his realm, but he couldn't identify the strange pit that seemed to have opened in his gut. She likely thought him a monster, a nightmare himself instead of their king.

"Dream, what did you do?"

Death's voice broke him from his stupor, though he kept his gaze on the girl, "I brought her to my realm and lost my temper."

Death couldn't suppress an eye roll, but Dream didn't seem to notice, "What was it this time?"

"I suspect one of those new abilities allows her access to memory."

There was a long pause. "She got inside that thick skull of yours?"

Dream broke his gaze to send his sister a scathing look, "Yes."

Death sent her an appraising glance, "She seems to be holding up rather well, all things considered." It was meant to be a joke, but Dream thought the circles under her eyes were damning.

"You are typically far slower to admit you are wrong, so I ask you again, brother, what are you doing here?"

"After my meeting with the girl, I spent an entire evening working on new dreams and nightmares. It was the best work I've done in ages."

Now Death did smirk, "She inspired you then? Is she your latest muse?"

"My days of muses are behind me, sister. Aside from the fact that she is a mortal, my realm needs my full attention."

"Of course, brother."

*

That night, when Y/N fell asleep in her bed, she found herself back in the throne room. Muttering a curse under her breath, she stood, grateful that she'd slept in a pair of shorts this time.

"Approach, Y/N."

She did not obey the voice this time, stubbornly remaining in place and gazing resolutely into the dim light, which was only slightly improved from her first visit.

A moment, then two, passed before there came a sigh. "Very well." Several long strides later the King of Dreams had left his throne to stand before her. She avoided his eyes, afraid to repeat her mistakes.

"Dream King."

"Yes, I suppose I deserve that as well."

Tipping up her chin, she nodded, "You do." She seemed to catch herself, "I'm afraid I'm not sure what I did to end up back here."

"I brought you here- in both instances. You've done nothing wrong, I have realized too late."

She was stunned. She hesitantly met his gaze, relieved when her feet remained planted on the floor.

Dream held his expression steady and nodded, "I apologize for my prior behavior."

She surprised herself by tipping her head, "Thank you." She chewed her lip for a moment, "I'm sorry too. For before. I'm really not sure how I did it."

She knew she didn't have the leverage to flaunt a grudge against the Kind of Dreams. She was pleased with her own politeness, but she would not trust easily.

Dream was silent for a long pause, "What exactly did you see?"

She looked away, "Not much. A woman- a beautiful woman. The sun. And I felt-" His eyes seemed to pull her gaze back in, "I felt some of your pain, I think."

"I apologize."

Her brow furrowed, "For your suffering?"

He shook his head, "For yours, at my hands. We have much to discuss, but you will not struggle with nightmares from tonight on."

The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a smile, "So, I can rest assured?"

Dream either didn't catch the pun or was ignoring it, nodding, "You may. Now come, have a seat." He led her back toward his throne, where a small tea table and a wooden chair sat on the dais beside his own.

She waited, watching him take his seat on the throne before she sat on the wooden chair, ruefully thinking of her own chair at home. And then it was her chair she was sitting in. No sound or movement accompanied the change, it simply was.

Dream raised an eyebrow, as if challenging the action, "Did you just alter the Dreaming?"

Face flushing with warmth, she stumbled over her words, "Not with intention."

His gaze seemed inquisitive, "Have you always manipulated the Dreaming so skillfully?"

She raised a brow, a reluctant smile forming at the corner of her mouth, "I'm not sure that was a compliment."

"Simply an observation."

"Sounds a bit sinister though, doesn't it? 'Manipulating the Dreaming.'"

"What would you call it if someone were to create their own clay sculpture on a block already used by someone else?" Dream wasn't offended by the action so much as he was curious.

"If it serves a new function, I would call it repurposing," she replied thoughtfully.

There was a long pause, "Indeed." She couldn't decipher his tone. "What if I told you that the person who made the original sculpture also created the clay? And that the only clay that would ever exist was his creations."

She sobered up a little, "I'm sorry if I've ruined your work. Once again, not my intention. I have a lot to learn about your realm."

His gaze trailed over the chair she'd conjured, noting the details. The golden colored thread in the stitching that glinted in the dim light of the throne room. The slight wear to the fabric around the arms. Dreams were often vague, even half-formed, because mortals struggled to shape the Dreaming. But Dream suspected he'd find a perfect match to this chair if he were to visit her home.

"Clay is never ruined for having been used for creation. However, some do not take kindly to their working being- repurposed. But that is what I brought you here to discuss."

She gave him a nod, "I'm listening."

His dark gaze seemed to pierce her, "You are something known as a dream weaver. Historically, dream weavers used their abilities to tether many humans to the same dream."

She blinked at him, expression blank for a long time, "I don't mean any disrespect, but could you be mistaken?"

"I could be, but my sister is almost certainly not."

"Your sister?"

"Death."

She shook her head, trying to clear the thoughts that had grown thick and slow.

"Why would you want humans to have the same dreams?"

"Back in the early days of human development, human dreams were chaotic and disorganized. Dream weavers helped drive human development by uniting many humans under the same dream."

"Dreams affect human development?"

That drew a surprising chuckle from the Dream King, "Dreams are human development. The world exists as it is because of dreams- because of the Dreaming." There was a marked note of pride in his voice at that.

"Everything?"

"Everything."

"So like, the depths of the ocean and all the scary stuff down there was all dreamed up by humans?" He nodded. "What about space- the entire greater solar system? Is any of that real?"

"Created by dreams, but very real." She took a moment to process that, stifling a sigh. "You are displeased?" Dream raised a curious brow.

"That's a very human-centric reality. I kind of liked it when we were just little specks of dust among the vastness of the uncharted cosmos."

The corner of his mouth lifted in almost a smile, "You still are. But only because humans have dreamed it so."

"How have we survived this long? It seems to me that human beings have a tendency to destroy more than we create."

"Humans can be very destructive. But they are also very clever. No other species has demomstrated such an capability to dream up solutions to its problems like humans."

"So like, climate change. The solution to all of the pollution, to the whole climate crisis, exists?"

"Not exactly. It may or may not exist now. But it could exist if enough humans were to dream of it."

She rested her head in her palm, forcing a breath; she was starting to get light headed. This was overwhelming. Her next breath did not come as easily as the first, a fact not unnoticed by the Dream King.

"Are you alright?"

"I-" she swallowed hard, trying to get past the lump in her throat, "I think I'm having a panic attack."

Dream calmly reached out and brushed his hand over her forehead, his intent to soothe her distress. Instead, a sharp spike of heat burst through his palm, quickly going icy. He heard her gasp, but couldn't tear his gaze away as the trails of ice left behind dark lines of deep purple criss-crossing over his wrist.

"What the fuck?" Her voice was barely over a whisper, the only evidence of distress the high-pitched strain that overtook her tone. Tearing his eyes from his hand, he saw the same design decorating her hand in a blue so dark it was almost black.

Her wide-eyed gaze flicked up to his, "Did you-" She left the question unfinished, not wanting to make an accusation and unsure of what to ask even if she did.

"No."

"Do you know what this is?"

"No." His voice had gone cold and hard, just like it had been their first time meeting. Her eyes flicked back to the lines marking her skin and Dream saw the panic begin to rekindle in them.

After only a split second of hesitation, he pressed his palm to her forehead again, "Sleep, now. We will speak again soon."

Her eyes grew cloudy, but she fought against his magic with surprising vigor, "No- the- n-nightmares-"

Dream's hand seemed to slide down over her cheek to cup her face of its own accord as her eyes started to glisten with fear, "You will suffer no bad dreams tonight, Dreamweaver."

And as she faded from his realm, her consciousness joining her body in sleep, Death's words about the girl's resilience to seeing inside his head echoed again. But the lines swirling over his wrist stretched from his fingertips all the way up his forearm, nearly to the elbow, demanding his attention. They were delicate, weaving together and knotting at the crossroads between, like a tangle of flower stems and intricate lace. And at the apex of it all, the palm of his hand had an empty circle at the center.

As he stared at the mark on his hand, Dream of the Endless felt something he was neither accustomed to or fond of- he felt lost.

*

"You look like a kicked puppy today, brother," Death remarked, not breaking pace on her way to the next destination. The city street seemed to blur behind her, though her pace appeared normal. Dream's long strides quickly made up the distance, though he said nothing.

Death's raised eyebrow slowly lowered as she noticed the markings on his hand. "It appears that congratulations are in order."

The frown lines on his face only seemed to grow more pronounced.

"Unless-"

"Unless." Dream was unamused.

"Unless you are not pleased to have found your soulmate."

If he were mortal, those words might have rung in his ears, the vibrations enough to make everything he'd known crumble. But they were not enough because he was not mortal and he did not have a soulmate.

"You believe such foolishness, sister?"

"You are so confident it is foolish with the evidence staring you right in the face?"

"This?" He raised his right hand, "This is not evidence. I have never encountered such delusion in any text or reading-"

"And you will not. But if you sought out the people who can remember the farthest back in human history, they would remember."

"If it is so certain, why is it not documented?" Dream sounded annoyed that it was becoming more difficult to be skeptical.

"It is. But it has been changed in writings, splintered and embellished, transformed into something not quite the same. They never quite get it right. But they dream of it. Surely you have seen that."

"I have. Yet I have never met a mortal with markings like this."

Death suppressed a chuckle at his determination to disprove her theory, "I myself have not seen a soul mate marking in a long time. But they exist. I suspected as soon as you'd told me the girl got in your head."

"I suppose that was a sign as well," he mused bitterly.

"Yes, it was. Why are you so determined not to believe, Morpheus? You aren't usually the type to ignore evidence. I thought you would be happy."

"Happy at a cruel joke? Even if I accepted this as truth, it is clearly the result of Desire's interference once again."

Death shook her head, "Soul mates go even beyond Desire."

"Then why is my soul mate a human?" he demanded. "Am I meant to destroy human-kind in my pursuit of happiness, sister?" He knew he was being unfair, demanding such answers from his sister, but he would not allow her to light the hope inside him. He would not have what he wanted, that much he knew.

"Of course you aren't. I don't have all the answers, Dream. But be patient. They will make themselves clear over time."

That was not what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, sister. I must go." And he did, leaving Death alone just as a sigh fell from her lips.

*

All day long, Y/N got remarks about the lines twisting up her wrist. After a night of blissfully peaceful sleep, she woke up feeling refreshed, taking a moment to examine the designs that had followed her from her dreams.

The lines had filled in more since while she slept. What had been dainty lines had thickened to nearly an eighth of an inch- she'd measured. What was more, the deep, rich blue that had made up the original color was deeper now, with glimmers of royal purple, black, and the occasional glint of something golden- like a raven's wings.

The lines seemed to connect at every possible juncture. The empty circle at the heart of her palm seemed like the center, although she didn't quite understand why.

There was a lot she didn't understand; why did she have a tattoo at all? It wasn't exactly normal to wake up with new ink. And based on the Dream King's reaction, it was also not normal for ancient royalty to find themselves with a flash tattoo. But she would hopefully get more answers tonight.

She was embarrassed- mortified actually, at the way she'd freaked out last night. But she had to go back. He'd called her a Dreamweaver, whatever that meant.

But when she climbed into bed that night, she tossed and turned, anxious thoughts keeping her mind active. She felt a strange sense of trepidation whenever she visited the Dreaming; she wasn't exactly in a hurry to piss off the Dream King any more than she already had at their first meeting. But more concerning than the shadow of fear was the sliver of excitement at the prospect of seeing him again.

Despite her efforts to convince herself it was the remnants of the dream, muddling her emotions, even now she could feel his pull. She could practically feel him waiting for her on the other side of her consciousness. And when she finally did drift off to sleep, she never reached a state of rest.

Instead, she found herself seated in the chair she had left behind the night before in the throne room of what she presumed was the Dream Castle. Dream was waiting for her, his throne no longer shrouded in shadow. In fact, the whole throne room was warm and well-lit, her breath catching as she gazed around at the stunning architecture.

"Did you sleep well?" Dream's voice broke her stupor, somehow managing to catch her off guard.

"What?" Her head snapped to the throne, where he was waiting.

She watched the corner of his mouth curl up in a faint smirk, "You were concerned about nightmares, if I recall."

"Oh. No- yes, I um, slept fine." She wasn't sure why she was so flustered.

Dream let out a low hum, "Excellent."

She wasn't sure what to say, especially since Dream hadn't seemed to be in the best temper when she'd been here last. She had questions, starting with what had happened to her arm and ending with what the hell it actually meant to be a Dreamweaver.

"I'm sure you have questions."

She nodded, "A couple, yes."

"I will answer to the best of my ability."

Though her gaze lingered on the marks on her arm, the words that came out were, "What do I need to know about being a Dreamweaver?"

Dream was pensive before answering, "You must remember that the Dreaming, no matter how it responds to you, is my realm. What I say goes." You had to consciously suppress the shiver that wanted to rattle you at the intense way he held your gaze while he spoke.

She nodded, "You mentioned others- who may not take kindly to my abilities."

That elicited another pause, "That question leads to many more questions. Rest assured, I will provide an overview on my siblings, but not tonight."

She bit back the torrent of follow-ups and asked instead, "Are there more like me?"

He gave his head a solemn shake, "There were a great many Dreamweavers at one point in time. But eventually they stopped emerging and died out."

"No immortality then, I take it?" She was only joking, but he shook his head seriously. She suddenly felt shy meeting his eyes, "Are you immortal?"

He cocked his head like he was determining her intentions, "Not as you might think. I am not mortal- I do not age, grow old, or die by natural causes. Though it is exceedingly difficult, I can be killed."

The silence seemed to stretch as she processed what she had just learned. Everything should have seemed overwhelming- she shouldn't believe it. But she could feel the truth of it.

Finally, she held up a clenched fist, her eyes on the dark lines glistening in the light, "What is this?"

Dream was silent for so long that she almost asked again, but he finally said softly, "It is a soul bond."

Her gaze flicked to his eyes; the dancing lights there seemed to be waiting for her reaction. Then it fell to his own left hand, where the matching lines seemed so much more elegant on his pale skin.

"What does that mean?" She asked even though she already suspected.

"I do not know." That caught her off guard; she expected him to know everything. He certainly seemed to know more than she did.

She surprised him by asking, "Is there anything you want to ask me?"

He'd expected her to push for more information. "Have you always had these abilities?"

She offered a chagrined smile, "I didn't even know I had abilities, to be honest."

"You are quite skilled."

He made a vague hand gesture and she wasn't sure what he'd done. Then she caught a glimpse of light above her head, her mouth falling open at the intricate web of silvery white that seemed to hover over her head. She didn't quite understand how she had created this masterpiece of dreams, but she believed him.

It took her a moment to realize that he had paid her a compliment, "Oh- thank you." Her face felt a bit hot. "I have another question." At his nod, she continued, "Will I see you again?"

She couldn't explain it, since his eyes were so difficult to read, but he seemed pleased as he mulled that over, "You are not bound to me; you are free to go back to your life. But should you have need of the Dreaming, it is always here. I trust you can make your way back."

She couldn't place why she felt as though he were flirting with her; he clearly avoided expressing any kind of desire to see her again of his own volition.

She felt the urge to admit she wanted to see him again, grateful to her own good sense for stopping her before the words formed. Dream hadn't spelled out what kind of being he was to her, but she knew he was likely high above whatever a 'soul bond' meant. He was the definition of being out of someone's league.

So she nodded her head, "Thank you, Dream King."

A beat of silence. "Morpheus. You may call me Morpheus."

Her lips curled into a half-smile, "Thank you, Morpheus."

He wasn't prepared for how his name sounded when spoken from her lips. She wasn't prepared for the soft smile that graced his handsome face. Even solemn, he was beautiful. But a smile, faced directly at her- because of her- it was like knowing the sun was shining because of her.

She was so unprepared that she blinked, waking up in her own bed, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. A wave of emotions washed over her; loss, frustration, hope, longing. She felt desperate to fall back asleep, to see that smile grace Morpheus' face again. But if that was going to happen, she would have to go to him.

#dream of the endless #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus #morpheus x reader #dreamweaver #dream of the endless fluff #morpheus fluff #one shot

[sixstringphonic]

‘The Godfather of A.I.’ Leaves Google and Warns of Danger Ahead

(Reported by Cade Metz, The New York Times)

Geoffrey Hinton was an artificial intelligence pioneer. In 2012, Dr. Hinton and two of his graduate students at the University of Toronto created technology that became the intellectual foundation for the A.I. systems that the tech industry’s biggest companies believe is a key to their future.

On Monday, however, he officially joined a growing chorus of critics who say those companies are racing toward danger with their aggressive campaign to create products based on generative artificial intelligence, the technology that powers popular chatbots like ChatGPT.

Dr. Hinton said he has quit his job at Google, where he has worked for more than a decade and became one of the most respected voices in the field, so he can freely speak out about the risks of A.I. A part of him, he said, now regrets his life’s work.

“I console myself with the normal excuse: If I hadn’t done it, somebody else would have,” Dr. Hinton said during a lengthy interview last week in the dining room of his home in Toronto, a short walk from where he and his students made their breakthrough.

Dr. Hinton’s journey from A.I. groundbreaker to doomsayer marks a remarkable moment for the technology industry at perhaps its most important inflection point in decades. Industry leaders believe the new A.I. systems could be as important as the introduction of the web browser in the early 1990s and could lead to breakthroughs in areas ranging from drug research to education.

But gnawing at many industry insiders is a fear that they are releasing something dangerous into the wild. Generative A.I. can already be a tool for misinformation. Soon, it could be a risk to jobs. Somewhere down the line, tech’s biggest worriers say, it could be a risk to humanity.

“It is hard to see how you can prevent the bad actors from using it for bad things,” Dr. Hinton said.

After the San Francisco start-up OpenAI released a new version of ChatGPT in March, more than 1,000 technology leaders and researchers signed an open letter calling for a six-month moratorium on the development of new systems because A.I. technologies pose “profound risks to society and humanity.”

Several days later, 19 current and former leaders of the Association for the Advancement of Artificial Intelligence, a 40-year-old academic society, released their own letter warning of the risks of A.I. That group included Eric Horvitz, chief scientific officer at Microsoft, which has deployed OpenAI’s technology across a wide range of products, including its Bing search engine.

Dr. Hinton, often called “the Godfather of A.I.,” did not sign either of those letters and said he did not want to publicly criticize Google or other companies until he had quit his job. He notified the company last month that he was resigning, and on Thursday, he talked by phone with Sundar Pichai, the chief executive of Google’s parent company, Alphabet. He declined to publicly discuss the details of his conversation with Mr. Pichai.

Google’s chief scientist, Jeff Dean, said in a statement: “We remain committed to a responsible approach to A.I. We’re continually learning to understand emerging risks while also innovating boldly.”

Dr. Hinton, a 75-year-old British expatriate, is a lifelong academic whose career was driven by his personal convictions about the development and use of A.I. In 1972, as a graduate student at the University of Edinburgh, Dr. Hinton embraced an idea called a neural network. A neural network is a mathematical system that learns skills by analyzing data. At the time, few researchers believed in the idea. But it became his life’s work.

In the 1980s, Dr. Hinton was a professor of computer science at Carnegie Mellon University, but left the university for Canada because he said he was reluctant to take Pentagon funding. At the time, most A.I. research in the United States was funded by the Defense Department. Dr. Hinton is deeply opposed to the use of artificial intelligence on the battlefield — what he calls “robot soldiers.”

As companies improve their A.I. systems, he believes, they become increasingly dangerous. “Look at how it was five years ago and how it is now,” he said of A.I. technology. “Take the difference and propagate it forwards. That’s scary.”

Until last year, he said, Google acted as a “proper steward” for the technology, careful not to release something that might cause harm. But now that Microsoft has augmented its Bing search engine with a chatbot — challenging Google’s core business — Google is racing to deploy the same kind of technology. The tech giants are locked in a competition that might be impossible to stop, Dr. Hinton said.

His immediate concern is that the internet will be flooded with false photos, videos and text, and the average person will “not be able to know what is true anymore.”

He is also worried that A.I. technologies will in time upend the job market. Today, chatbots like ChatGPT tend to complement human workers, but they could replace paralegals, personal assistants, translators and others who handle rote tasks. “It takes away the drudge work,” he said. “It might take away more than that.”

But that may be impossible, he said. Unlike with nuclear weapons, he said, there is no way of knowing whether companies or countries are working on the technology in secret. The best hope is for the world’s leading scientists to collaborate on ways of controlling the technology. “I don’t think they should scale this up more until they have understood whether they can control it,” he said.

Dr. Hinton said that when people used to ask him how he could work on technology that was potentially dangerous, he would paraphrase Robert Oppenheimer, who led the U.S. effort to build the atomic bomb: “When you see something that is technically sweet, you go ahead and do it.”

He does not say that anymore.

(Reported by Cade Metz, The New York Times)

#fuck ai #A.I. #AI art #AI writing #ChatGPT #WGA strike #writers' strike 2023

[baddiewiththebook]

‘Little’ Hopper

-> You meet Eddie at the police station your father works at. His reputation makes you worry. Soon, however, you find yourself in an entangled web of love and lust. Now, all you have to do is convince your father that Eddie isn't a bad guy.

-> Eddie Munson x Hopper!Reader (she/her)

-> secret romance, slow burn, smut [+18]

-> warnings: explicit content (no minors)

< next part >

-> <-

“You can sit here,” your dad wheels a chair around for you in front of an empty desk. “I’ll be right back, but just don’t talk to anyone.”

Dad’s the sheriff of Hawkins. While you feel completely protected in your personal life, there is a downside to being the sheriff's eldest daughter. The downside is that your dating and your social life seriously suck. Anyone your dad didn’t approve of wasn’t getting past the front door. He’s hyper vigilant and he never misses.

When he picks you up from school this afternoon, your bouncing at the balls of your feet. He scans the note you hand him with a frown upon his furrowed brow. Slowly, the frown relaxes into a wide eyed and open mouth grin!

You’ve been accepted as an honor roll student as a reward for the grades you've accomplished this year. Nothing slips beyond an ‘A’ grade. All the time you spend locked away in your room because you can’t go out past four in the afternoon, or date a single boy, has really paid off.

Protective is the word Jim Hopper would use to describe his relationship with his daughter. One day you'll grow to an age, and perhaps that will be the time you have your own children, that you'll show the same emotions towards your baby. At this age, boys have one thing in their pea sized brain. And, Jim is not about to allow that to happen.

You compare your day to a spinning wheel. Routine at best. It starts the same way, and it ends the same way. Except for weekends, which is an exception because you work as an assistant in the Hawkins Library - a job your dad has swindled you.

After school, your dad likes to take you to the department. You pretend as though this isn't an opportunity to show off. That every time he handcuffs or deals with someone difficult that this isn't a way to show off that he's not intimidated by anyone. He's got to let go of the leash he has on you someday.

There's a desk in the middle of the crowded room for you to dedicate your hours to studying for your homework. Bobbleheads of a baseball team you've never heard of dance at your expense. You swivel them around, so they face the window. They're creepy.

Otherwise, the desk you've kidnapped into your work space is empty. A few notches in the wood from being roughed around doesn't stop you from beginning today's homework from school.

Scribbling down a few notes for your final project in O’Dell’s, your attention drifts when none other than your classmate is brought into the station in handcuffs. The town ‘Freak’ they call Eddie Munson. He does well for his namesake. Anytime he breathes, the whole two knows he’s up to something.

The Munson Family has a history of poor behavior. Your dad tells you stories of Al Munson, Eddie’s dad. Al found pleasure in the misfortune of others. Specifically, he enjoyed hot wiring cars that didn't belong to him, so that he could take them on a joy ride out of town going a hundred miles an hour.

The story goes, Eddie Munson was abandoned by his father. Eddie lives in a trailer with his uncle, whom raises him like his own son. Al hasn't been seen around Hawkins in a while, but that's because he's been doing time in prison.

Rumor has it.

The officer wags a thick sausage finger in the boy's face and he warns Eddie not to move from that spot. Eddie clicks his tongue to the rough of his mouth, before swinging the chains that have him locked in place. Rolling his eyes, the officer leaves the delinquent to file some paperwork.

You hope that you haven't made too much noise to draw his attention, and put your eyes back onto your assignment. Twisting the pencil around in your grip, the tip snaps.

"Damn," you've got spares somewhere in your backpack.

Little did you know, Eddie has his head cocked in your direction. Eyeing the skin of your legs that the dress you wore leaves open for wandering eyes, he shifts his weight and kicks one of his legs out in front of him. You're too soft to be arrested. Too baby smooth for the likes of him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Eddie’s voice scrapes ice across your spine. “Whatcha working on?”

Hitting your knee on the desk with a thud, you scrunch your nose at the nickname. You're still digging through the trenches of your dad's old backpack to find a pencil.

Eddie doesn't falter, and he tries again to get your attention. This time he poses a question, “You’re in Mrs. O’Donnell’s class with me, right?”

Again, you're pretending as though he isn't there. This is someone your dad has warned you about, and you're better off ignoring him. Ah-ha! That blasted pencil you're searching for is squished between the pages of your textbook like a bookmark. Oh, well. You've written the page number down somewhere.

“Not a big talker, huh?” His laughter is smooth like the beer you steal from your dad’s cabinet when you need to relax. “I bet you’re working on that project for O’Donnell. Right?”

Eddie's seen you around the school. In the hallways, you carry yourself with your head in the clouds. You're practically floating. Not that Eddie could blame you. Golden spoon in your mouth. You’re the sheriff's kid. An untouchable light that will burn the second the flame strikes your skin. Eddie likes the risk though. He doesn’t mind getting burnt a bit, as long as you’re the one striking the match.

“I’m trying to focus,” you dismiss him.

Unsure why you've spoken up, you're in too deep now. Rule number one with your dad is to never speak to those who have been arrested. You can't get yourself roped into whatever they're up too. It'll be bad for the station, but worse it'll be bad for you.

Eddie tuts. “Oh, she speaks!”

“Eddie,” you've grown exhausted of this game. Little did you know, you're adding fuel to his ever growing fire. “I need to focus on my final project, so I can graduate.”

You stick a silver needle his balloon. Hot air fills the space around you and him. Eddie finds this funny, and laughs with his whole body.

“I’m trying to graduate too,” he shimmies to sit up with the cuffs reminding him where he's at. “What if you help me?”

You snort. “Why would I do that?”

“You’re so smart,” he plays. “Think of it as another tick on your resume. You’re helping the poor, the weak - the simpletons.”

This could benefit your reputation. If you could get Eddie Munson to graduate, then the entire school would be at your feet. You could also use practice, before you decide if you really want to become a school teacher. Taking on Eddie Munson would be the hardest project yet to come.

“Suppose I did help you,” you drop your pencil onto your notepad, and swivel the chair to his direction. “What then?”

“Anything, Princess,” his words are tactful.

You won’t admit that his charm is working. That you wouldn’t pounce on him right here in the middle of the office.

“You gonna go to college and get a real job?” You propose.

“College is a stretch,” he hisses. “Job? Yes.”

“A legal job?”

“Nothing illegal about me,” the way the chain jangles around his wrist tells a different story. “I’ll be forever in your debt, Little Hopper. Anything you need, I’m your guy.”

The nickname makes your heart skip a beat. Something you'd like to forget and to never admit. Yet, your heart is fluttering inside of your chest. Anything you need?

“What could I possibly need from you?”

Eddie raises one of his eye brows, then cocks his head to the side while wetting his lips.

You kick your legs back under the desk to keep him from eyeballing you. You'll never get anything done if he keeps doing that.

“I’ll help you,” your heart pumps. “Just - stop looking at me like that.”

He chuckles. “Oh, now that would be a crime.”

You hide the daring curl of your lip behind your work that you’re no longer focused on. You’ll be spending hours alone with Eddie, and somehow you couldn’t wait to get started.

“What did you do?” You don’t look away from the paper in front of you, but the words spill before you can hold them back.

Eddie lifts his head back up. “Hm?”

“You’re not here because you want to be,” you say.

“Oh,” he hums. “They think I stole a bike.”

“You stole a bike?!”

“I didn’t steal a bike,” he whips his head to see if anyone heard you. “I was returning the bike to the rightful owner. Someone else stole it.”

“Uh, huh.”

Eddie’s lips thin. You’re impossible, he decides. He likes the impossible. Yes, Eddie has seen the sheriffs daughter around school. He’s been purely infatuated with you since he saw you in class.

You were wearing a daringly tight outfit that day, he must say. When you bent over in front of him, he's sure you're doing it on purpose. The skin from your thighs made him parched like he hasn't taken a sip of water for years. He would like a sip of you.

Sheriff Hopper rounds the corner in time to see his daughter in conversation with that sly fox, Munson. Anyone else, he would prefer you to share words with. You’ve got all the potential of becoming a credible influence to the world, and the last thing you need is someone like him to screw everything up for you.

His grip tightens on the keys in his hand, but alas he must let Munson go since they had no real evidence to pin him on. His damn deputy messed up real good this time.

“Munson,” his voice rattles Eddie. “You’re out of here.”

You flip pages in your notebook to hide the missing tear in the binding from when you wrote your number down for Eddie to slip into his pocket without your dad noticing.

Eddie jogs out of the police department, before he finds himself in more trouble.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” your dad hovers.

You make a new note in your notebook that makes zero sense, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t want you hanging around that kid,” he points.

“I’m not,” you shut your notebook. “Can we go to dinner, yet?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x hopper!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson preference #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things preference

[agentmarvel]

König art (top left) by @ave661 - original art here

Divider by @trashmouth-richie

Summary: König leaves a letter for you as he departs on his latest mission.

Pairing: König x Reader

Word Count: 2,000

Inspired by: Stalker's Tango by Autoheart (listen here)

MDNI - 18+

Tags: Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, Meet-Cute, Well... kinda, König is a stalker, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Author Has Never Played Call Of Duty, Yandere Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Alternative Reader, König is feral for goth girls and no one will change my mind, Barista!Reader, Non-Graphic Violence, Abuse of Google Translate tbh, Reader might be a little cuckoo too, Explicit Sexual Content, No use of y/n, No description of reader outside of outfit specifics

😈

Oh, mein Liebling, you truly have no idea how much I adore you.

I remember the day we met, don’t you? That’s right! Exactly one year ago today, in this very coffee shop. Feels like yesterday, does it not?

You were so sweet to me from the moment I walked in. I saw the concern in your eyes when I nearly hit my head on that silly little bell over the door. When I came up to the counter, your eyes widened just a little. I don’t think you quite realized just how much I tower over you. But that surprise quickly melted into a mile wide, saccharine smile.

There was such softness to your voice when you asked me what you could get started for me. I barely took a breath before you offered your recommendations. I ordered the one you seemed most excited about. The sugar buzz and little nickel and dime costs were so well worth the mirth in your eyes. You looked so excited to make it. How could I possibly say no?

You asked my name; I gave it to you. 

"König?" you repeated, scribbling it on the cup. I cannot begin to describe what that did to me, my darling, the way you said my name so sweetly. "Isn't that German for 'king'?"

The fact that you knew - oh, mein Herz sei still! - nearly had me on my knees. Do you speak German, kleines? No matter, I will teach you anything you would like. You will have plenty of time to learn.

You waited so patiently for me to nod, to tell you that was correct. I could see it in your eyes that you so desperately craved that validation. As soon as you got it, those expressive eyes of yours, even with all that dark make-up, lit up like an explosion. I could practically see the little hearts floating around your head. Your smile got so big, and I knew at that moment that you had me caught in your web.

Crafty, meine kleine Spinne, not often that I am the fly instead of the spider.

Then you turned around, that cute little skirt flaring just enough for me to see those fishnet stockings beneath. I swear, my heart skipped a beat. Jumped right out of my chest. Maybe that’s when you stole it, hmm?

Of no consequence. It is yours now.

Somehow, I do not feel you are told often enough, but mein gott, you are beautiful. The way the sunlight reflects off your pretty skin, the soft line of your jaw, every curve and dip of your body, each little freckle and scar and pore; I love everything about you. Every inch of you, head to toe, is worthy of worship. Will you let me worship you, my love?

I promise to treat you like the deity you truly are. I will gladly work my fingers down to bone to carve marble statues in your likeness, write every word you speak to me in the night sky, paint your beauty on canvas with my own blood if I have to, anything to show you how I crave being near you.

You’re all I think about, little darling. My first thought when I wake, my last thought before I sleep. It keeps getting harder to be away from you, even for something as important as my work. The frequency with which I must leave you sickens me at times. It kills me to be away from you. But I make due with your pretty pictures.

I have a few on my phone, little candids while you work or when you’re lost in your favorite show, but I keep two very special photos in the pocket of my vest - right over my heart so I always have you close.

The first one is you curled up on the bed, fast asleep. I’ve memorized every inch of your bare spine, the way your arms curl beneath your pillow, the way the satin sheets encase you with such enticing detail. I doubt you know I took the picture. It was the middle of the night during the spring, and you were so exhausted from your work day. I swear, I can still hear those precious little snores every time I look at it. 

The other, however, is exponentially less tasteful, hübsche Spinne. Similar position, on your stomach with your knee pushed out to the side, but you threw the sheets off that summer night. Too hot for your poor, perfect body. Stripped down to nothing to stave off the heatwave. If only you would have asked me to fix your air conditioner instead of waiting for your landlord.

From across the room, by aid of the moonlight through your open window, I could see that pretty little cunt. I could see how wet you were. Fuck, you were soaked for me. Sweet little hole just begging to be stuffed full. I needed a little taste, needed to touch you. So I just ran my finger through your messy lips. Nearly lost control when I licked you off the tip. I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life, never wanted anyone so badly, struggling to fight the urge to bury my face in between your thighs, to force my tongue, fingers, anything inside you. Show you how perfect you really are. 

But I stopped myself, kleines. I would never want to hurt you in any way you did not ask for. We both know you can’t take my cock without proper foreplay. Instead, I stood as close to you as I could and fucked my fist, biting down on one the t-shirts from your bedroom floor until I came.

(I’ll give that shirt back soon, love. I know it’s one of your favorites, and you’ve been looking for it for months.)

That’s the picture - my spend dripping between your cheeks, my cock dangling just inches from your pretty pussy. Almost right where it belongs, ja? I’ll let you have it all as soon as I get home to you. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, darling; soon, we’ll never be apart again.

Oh, the things we will do when I come home… We will have months worth of lost time to make up for, though I cannot say why I will be gone so long. I am sure you understand. 

We can start with movies, yes? I want you to show me all your favorites. Play me the things that make you laugh, show me what makes you cry (fuck, you are so pretty when you cry, do you know that?), teach me about the things that feed your nightmares so that I may chase them away for you. 

What next? Music? Yes, music. You have a vast taste, don’t you? I could sit with you for hours listening to your favorite playlist. I have done so on many occasions, but to hold you, to dance with you, that would be ideal. You can choose our first dance, but choose wisely, mein Schatz, because I will not forget it. May just be our first dance on our wedding day, too.

I did not get a chance to tell you before this, but do you remember that little bar we went to? The one with the live music? You did not see me there, but I saw you. I also, unfortunately, saw the boisterous little gnat that tried to cozy up to you a few times. He would not take no for an answer, would he? Kept pestering you and trying to take you home with him, but no, not you, not my venomous little spider. Mein gutes Mädchen, you shot him down so quickly so many times. You are so well-behaved, even when you do not know I am there.

He will never bother you again, I assure you. I handled the situation after you left that night with my favorite knife. Ruined a perfectly good shirt, but I kept it for you in case you ever need a reminder of the lengths to which I will go to keep you safe.

Do not worry, it’s been washed. There are just some stubborn stains that refuse to come out.

Unfortunately, I must go. I’ve re-written this letter so many times to try to make it perfect for you, but it would seem I have run out of time. It will not be long before I return to you, my darling girl. Please, take care. I will see you soon enough.

All my love,

König

P.S. I hope you enjoy this little care package I have put together for you. Take an evening to pamper yourself for me before I come home. Ich liebe dich, meine Spinne ♡

You look at the letter in your hand, black ink stamped and splattered and smeared by the key strikes of a typewriter. The envelope taunts you from the countertop, boasting your name with flourish. Your heart is racing as it lodges itself inside your throat. You try to swallow around the lump that’s formed, but it only spurs tears. 

There’s no surprise in the fact that you know exactly who sent this. He’s outrageously tall, broad shouldered, jacked as shit, and always wears a ballcap and a neoprene mask that hides the lower half of his face. You’ve only ever seen his eyes - those intense, wide blue eyes that you swear are glued to you at all times.

It’s involuntary and upon pure instinct (or perhaps morbid curiosity) that you grab the box and rip the wrapping paper off. The edges of the tape sealing the top are wrinkled enough for you to dig a nail under to peel it back, and immediately, the scent of a musky cologne hits you. It’s strangely pleasant, despite the fact that you can see something beneath the first layer of tissue paper that’s a deep red-brown. Your heart drops from your throat to the pit of your stomach as you lift the paper away.

A beige t-shirt, covered in blood stains, sits in your grasp. There’s a small tear in the collar. It smells a lot better than you’d expected, but still, a wave of nausea hits you. Gently, you hold the fabric up in front of you. A shirt that size would swallow you, reach your mid-thigh at minimum, so it’s certainly not your missing one.

Something falls from the shirt as it unfolds, a dull thud sounding off the laminate counter. It’s another box, a small one, that opens with little to no effort. Inside sits a knife with a fixed blade bearing an inscription: Ich liebe dich - I love you.

That same morbid curiosity gets the best of you, and you can’t stop yourself from looking inside the small box again. Beneath one more layer of tissue paper, you find three things: two pairs of panties you thought you had been eaten by your dryer (filthy, unwashed, and now covered in multiple questionable white stains) and another envelope. Your hands shake as you toss said panties back in the box and tear through the top of the seal. There’s cash inside, quite a lot of it. Suddenly the pampering comment makes sense.

Blankly, you place the knife box, the envelope, and the t-shirt back inside the box, folding in the flaps so nothing falls back out.

Tears sting the corners of your eyes. It’s terrifying to feel this way, and your mind is running a million miles per hour. Hundreds of thoughts are flooding your brain while thousands more sit in the recesses, but none of them will settle enough to be coherent. Why did he choose you? How long had he been watching you? How did he get into your home? Is he inside your head, too?

You’ll have to find a way to thank him for such thoughtful gifts when he comes home. Turns out your feelings for him aren’t quite as unrequited as you thought, hmm?

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig #könig cod #stalker romance #jj writes #mind the tags y'all #könig mw2 #könig imagine #könig fanfiction

[gingeraleluke]

hi mads ! ! i hope you are doin' well ^^

if it's okay can i request a fic (for vinnie) where the reader is feeling exceptionally lonely and burnt out,, like she had a fallout with her best friend and at the same time she feels as if in every relationship in her life she's giving her 100% but she isnt receiving the same (if that makes sense!! also i'd really appreciate if they're alr dating in the fic <3) and j kinda angsty but w fluffy ending :)

ive been feeling vv lonely lately and had a fallout w my best friend who i held dearly so i'd really appreciate if u could write this for me ! ! i understand if u can't tho

i adore ur writing btw it always makes my day 100 times better ! ! mwah i luv u have a great day <3

𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲𝘀

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: vinnie hacker x fem!influencer!reader

𝘀𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: vinnie’s girlfriend has a hard time feeling his presence.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: kinda angsty, but also very fluffy, like one swear word, vinnie cheering his girl up and reassuring her, broken heart from a friendship, reader is sad and lonely:(

𝗔/𝗡: i have never related so much to something in my life and i just knew how much i would have loved to have someone write about it like this for me so hopefully you enjoy this!! as someone who is always giving their all and receiving little in return, i 100% know the feeling. just remember that people like us are special and that everything works out in the end <3 ily PS: i made reader an influencer in this hope you don’t mind lol

y/b/f/n: your best friend’s name

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

you weren’t quite sure what was wrong with you.

you had assumed that you were lacking something in the basic human needs department and that that was why you constantly found yourself chasing after everyone.

maybe you were just…boring?

but, no, that can’t be it. how can a girl with thousands of followers be boring? yet, how can a girl with thousands of followers feel so alone at the same time?

these were the questions that constantly spewed from your head, spinning a web of uncertainty that you would get tangled in and no one could pull you out of it.

“pass me my towel, sweet girl.”

not even your boyfriend.

“sweetheart?”

“hmm?” you broke from your daze, looking at the boy who was calling your name and mentally trying to figure out how long you were zoned out for.

“my towel.”

he was on the edge of the pool, the upper half of his body on display while the lower half was still submerged in water. his arms were flexing as he held his body up, lifting himself halfway out of the water.

“oh.” you lifted your chin from your palm and leaned over to grab the green towel, walking to the side of the pool and handing it to vinnie.

“thank you.” he muttered, the water splashing as he pulled himself up and out of the pool— not even bothering to use the stairs.

it was the first time in a while that you two got some alone time. vinnie living at the hype house made it quite difficult at times, and being super introverted, you always hated going around there. sure, you were a social media star, but you hated the constant cameras and chaos that came with the house. you much rather preferred having vinnie stop by your apartment instead, but since no one was at the house, you let it slide.

he noticed how as soon as you gave him the towel, you immediately dropped back down to your seat, chin in your hand and your phone laid beside you, anxiously bouncing your leg. you wouldn’t even look at him, and would instead just drift out into space, your gaze falling on whatever was in your way.

you weren’t really present.

vinnie momentarily wrapped the towel around his head to absorb the water from his hair before draping it around his hips, drops falling from his hair as he stepped forward.

“did you know that zac effron was in ‘the greatest showman’?” vinnie asked, watching as his girlfriend hummed an absent reply. “yeah, i saw a preview of it and i didn’t even know he was like still acting..”

sometimes when vinnie didn’t know exactly what to say, he’d fill the silence with whatever random thought he could find.

“mm.” you stayed zoned out, your brain analyzing every little thing you ever did and judging yourself for not doing it differently.

“sweetheart…”

“mm.”

huffing, he walked in front of you, squatting down so he was at your level. your brain immediately shut up as soon as his face appeared before yours.

“huh?” you asked again.

“sweetheart, you’re out of it.” vinnie stated, his hands on both of your knees to balance himself.

“i-i know, i’m sorry..” you weren’t sure where to look so you decided to focus your gaze on his earring, wanting to zone out once again and avoid all confrontation possible.

“is it y/b/f/n?” he questioned, already knowing your answer.

“yeah…”

“she still hasn’t answered you, huh?”

“nope.” you spoke, frowning and popping the ‘p’.

“well..” vinnie reached over and grabbed your phone, holding it up out of your reach.

“hey—“

“you don’t need this right now, okay? it’s only gonna make things worse, trust me. i know it’s hard, but it’s gonna be right here with me, okay? i’ll take good care of it and you can get it back later, alright?” he grabbed your shoulder, making you look at him.

“alright?”

you groaned a reply, standing up before him.

“good girl, now let’s go.” vinnie held onto your wrist, dragging you behind him and into the house.

“go where?”

“go cuddle, duh.”

you’re stomach erupted into millions of butterflies from his words and yet you still felt empty inside. “you sure, vin?”

“yes, sweet girl. let me just dry off.”

◦◦,`°.✽✦✽.◦.✽✦✽.°`,◦◦

“okay, baby. i’m all yours.” vinnie grunted, jumping into his bed beside you. his eyes danced down to your outfit.

“y/n, what are you wearin—take it off.”

“huh?”

“here.” he tore off his shirt, leaving his chest bare again and threw it at you. “strip and put this on. it’ll be more comfy.”

“but, vinnie, it’s 2pm..”

“so? no one’s gonna bother us, trust me, and there’s nothing that needs to be done right now, y/n. just come here and get comfy.”

“okay.” you muttered, tearing off your clothes while your boyfriend laid behind you patiently. once his shirt was hugging your body, you plopped down beside him.

“there’s my sweet girl. see how much better this is?”

“mm.” you hummed, clinging to him immediately and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“do you wanna talk about it baby?”

“i don’t know, i just…i need you.”

“i’m right here baby.” he chuckled, holding you closer.

“i know, i just…everything feels really out of reach right now.”

“how so?” he asked, swirling shapes with his fingers on your arm.

“i don’t know, i just… i miss y/b/f/n. she was the only person who i really felt loved by, other than you of course, and…i don’t know, i feel like people don’t care about me the way i care about them. like, i know it may sound stupid but, i just feel like no one really….wants me. like i’m always used by people and yet whenever i want something in return, i’m the bad guy.”

“you aren’t though and everyone feels like that.”

“yeah, but, i’m just so used to constantly giving my all to people and always getting nothing in return and it just really fucking sucks..”

“i’m sorry, pretty girl. i wish everyone was smarter and knew how special you are…because you are, you’re really dope. like….10/10 in everything, i promise.” his voice was soft and he left a small kiss beside your eye once he finished talking.

“you’re my boyfriend, you have to say that.”

“no, sweet girl, i mean it, okay? look, i’m sure everything with y/b/f/n is gonna work itself out, so don’t drain yourself over it. everything is gonna be okay y/n, i promise, and you aren’t stupid for feeling like this. a lot of people do, including me.”

“i’m just so tired…like…i don’t know, i need a break.”

“i know, baby, come here.” he rolled you over so that you could lay against his chest. “i’m all yours right now, okay y/n? we can watch whatever you want, it’s your choice.”

you nodded happily, grabbing the remote and turning on your favorite show, happy to have your boyfriend there beside you.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

@radioblah-blah @eilishbby @lolalee24

#vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie hacker fluff #vinnie hacker imagines #vinnie hacker angst

[acciojaeyun]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇

DISCLAIMER. I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE COPIED/REPOSTED ON HERE OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM, OR PUT INTO ANY AI PROGRAMS. DON’T LIKE, DON’T READ.

back to main masterlist.

oneshots

☕️ 11:47 PM how sunghoon falls in love. ☕️ under the web warnings: smut there’s something about the way people seemed to scurry about whenever park sunghoon from the IT department would be coming to whichever area of the office. that’s something that would be all because of you, his lovely officemate. your constant teasing and mockery of that one thing you know about park sunghoon made it seem to reach the headlines, and park sunghoon was determined to let you know that you’re not the boss here.

extras more to add soon!

#park sunghoon #sunghoon #enhypen #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen smut #sunghoon x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enha fanfiction #enha smut #sunghoon fanfiction #ksmutsociety #kpop smut #kpop fanfiction #sunghoon au #sunghoon imagine #enhypen hard hours #enhypen soft hours #enha hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enha soft hours #enhypen soft thoughts #sunghoon imagines #enhypen imagines #enhypen imagine #park sunghoon x reader

[rjalker]

The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin, is now available in English, transcribed into text from a single PDF scan of the story from Popular Magazine #81, v6.

This is, as far as I am aware, the only version of this story available in English besides the original PDF. You're welcome.

Links:

Read or download from the Web Archive.

Download (and, optionally, leave a tip) on Itch.io <-- now includes two audiobook versions!

Buy a physical copy from Lulu.com

@walks-the-ages, @internet--archive (thought you might like to be tagged, lol)

You can also read this short story under the read-more right here on tumblr. It is 9,051 words long, not including the title.

Summary, by me:

A crime so terrible it barely bears thinking about has been brought to the attention of cabinet minister Jean Rouxval, and he has taken it upon himself to bring those responsible for this horrible deed to justice.

But his plans to go it alone are brought up short when a detective by the name of Hercules Petitgris is assigned to assist him. Despite his poor appearance, detective Petitgris comes highly recommended. The suspects arrive, and Rouxval begins his interrogation, the proceedings watched over by the silent Petitgris as Rouxval takes the lead, driven by anger over the crime he has discovered. Little does he know that Petitgris got the case all worked out as soon as Rouxval started talking...

(Archived read-more link)

[read-more link was here]

The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin

Written by Maurice Leblanc,

“author of “The Hollow Needle,” “813,” “A Gentleman,” Ect.”

[Image description start: A black and white illustration with a black border, showing four characters. One is a man sitting at a desk, in a suit and tie, gesturing with one hand, while another man stands in front of the desk with his back to the viewer, one hand on his hip. Then a man and woman looking worried, the man with his hat off and hanging by his side, his other hand held out as he speaks, the woman with one hand to her face, the other clutching her chest. Image description end.]

Hands behind his back, head sunk deep in the collar of his coat, his harsh countenance contracted in deep thought, Jean Rouxval nervously paced up and down the length of his vast study. At the threshold the chief page, detailed to the service of of cabinet officers, awaited orders. The minister betrayed by his short, quick steps, his drawn brow, his agitation, that he was shaken by emotion which assail a strong man seldom, and only at crucial moment of his life.

Stopping suddenly, he said to the page in a determined voice:

“A lady and a gentleman, no longer very young, will arrive presently. You will ask them to wait in the drawing-room. Shortly after I expect a gentleman, younger and alone. You will conduct him to the yellow room. They are neither to speak nor to see each other. You understand? I am to be notified at once of their arrival.”

“Very well, sir,” said the page, and withdrew.

Jean Rouxval’s political ability lay mainly in his tremendous energy, his attention to detail and a determination to know a bit about everything, whether it concerned his department or not.

Having enlisted almost at once in 1914 to avenge his two sons – both of whom had seemingly vanished from the field of battle – and the subsequent death of his wife, the war had given him an excessive sense of the value of discipline, authority, and duty. Affairs in which he was concerned always discovered him ready to undertake the most serious responsibilities and consequently found him assuming the greatest amount of power. He won the esteem of his colleagues, but they were also a bit wary lest the exaggeration of his good qualities might not drag the cabinet into needless complications.

He looked at his watch. Twenty minutes to give. He still had time to glance over the record of the frightful case which had caused him so much anxiety. Just then, however, he was interrupted by the telephone. He seized the receiver; the president of the council wished to speak to him.

He waited what seemed an endless time. Finally the president himself spoke. Answering, he said:

“Yes, Rouxval speaking, Mr. President.” He listened, seemed annoyed, and then replied in a bitter voice:

“Certainly, Mr. President, I shall receive the detective you are sending. But don’t you think I could have obtained the necessary information? Well, of course, if you insist, my dear president, and if this Hercules Petitgris is, according to you, a specialist in criminal investigation, he can attend the meeting I have arranged … Hello! … Hello! … Yes …. What? … My dear president. … This Petitgris may be… Really! Is it possible? Ah! Well, merely a supposition … That is-- Petitgris has all the perspicacity usually attributed to Arsène Lupin. … Yes, sir...Perfectly. … I shall wait for him. Hello! … You are quite right, my dear Mr. President. … The case is very serious, especially since certain rumors have already begun to be circulated. … If I do not arrive at an immediate solution, and if the truth of the matter is at all what we fear, it will be a frightful scandal and a disaster for the country. … Hello! … Yes, yes, rest easy, my dear Mr. President, I shall do the impossible to succeed. I will succeed. … I must succeed.”

After a few more words, Rouxval hung up, muttering between clenched teeth:

“I must! I must! What a scandal!” He was considering the various paths which might lead him to a successful solution, when he gradually became aware that some one was near him, some one who was not seeking to be noticed.

He turned his head and was dumbfounded by what he saw. All but next to him stood a shabby, wretched-looking individual, a poor devil, one might say, holding his hat in his hand in the humble attitude of a beggar asking alms.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“By the door, sir. The chief page was busy parking people right and left, so I beat it straight in.”

“But who are you?”

The stranger bowed respectfully and introduced himself:

“Hercules Petitgris – the specialist whom the president of the council just recommended to you, sir—”

“Oh, then you were listening?” Rouxval broke in peevishly.

“What would you have done in my place, sir?”

He was a sickly looking, pitiful object, sad-faced – his hair, mustache, his pinched nose, his thin cheeks, the corners of his mouth, all drooped pathetically.

His arms hung wearily in a long, greenish overcoat which seemed about to slip from his shoulders. He spoke in a disconsolate voice, not without care, but accenting certain words in a manner peculiar to the common people.

“I even heard you speak of me as a detective, Mr. Minister,” he continued. “Wrong, all wrong! I am not even on the police force. I was dismissed from headquarters for ‘weak character, drunkenness and laziness.’ Those were the terms of discharge.”

Rouxval was unable to conceal his amazement.

“I don’t understand. The president of the council has recommended you as a man with a disconcerting ability to diagnose clearly and correctly.”

“Disconcerting, Mr. Minister, is the right word. There are people who even believe I am Arsène Lupin, as the president was telling you. That is why some gentlemen consent to my services, in cases where no one has succeeded or could succeed, without looking too closely at my record or my character. Sure they say I am conceited and insolent to my employers. And then what? When one of my employers puts his foot in it and I see the point right off, haven’t I the right to tell him, have a little laugh on the side? On the level, Mr. Minister, I have turned down money more than once just to be able to bust right out laughing. They are funny! You ought to see the faces on them.”

In that melancholy face, under the drooping mustache, the left side of his mouth curled up in a little, silent sneer, uncovering a huge tooth – the tooth of a wild beast. It gave him a look of sardonic joy for a moment. With a tooth like that the possessor would bite, and bite deeply.

The minister was not afraid of being bitten, but the stranger certainly did not appeal to him, and if the president of the council had not so insistently recommended him, Rouxval would have gotten rid of him promptly.

“Sit down,” he said gruffly. “I am about to question three people and have them face each other in my presence. In case you have any remarks to make, you will make them to me directly.”

“To you directly, Mr. Minister, and in a whisper, as I always do when I always see my chief putting his foot in it.”

Rouxval frowned. In the first place, he hated people who did not know their place – like many men of action, he was very sensitive and keenly feared ridicule. Concerning his efforts the phrase “putting his foot in it” seemed particularly outrageous and almost an intentional menace. But he had already rung; the page entered. Without further delay Rouxval ordered the there people brought to him.

Hercules Petitgris took off his worn, green overcoat, folded it carefully and sat down.

The lady and gentleman were the first to enter. They were evidently aristocrats, and both in deep mourning; she, still young, tall and very beautiful, with a lovely face, pale and austere, framed in graying hair; he, slightly shorter, slim, elegant, his mustache almost white.

Jean Rouxval addressed him:

“The Count de Bois-Vernay, I believe?”

“Yes, sir. My wife and I received your summons, which I confess, startled us a bit. But may we hope it has no ominous portent? My wife is not very strong.”

He looked toward her with affectionate solicitude. Rouxval asked them to be seated and answered:

“I am sure everything will be suitably arranged and that Madame de Bois-Vernay will excuse the slight inconvenience I have caused her.”

The door opened. A man between twenty-five and thirty entered. He was of more modest mien, not very carefully dressed; his countenance, though frank and kindly, gave evidences of dissipation and weariness, confusing one’s estimate of his fair, broad-shouldered young man.

“You are Maxime Leriot?”

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“You do not know this lady and gentleman?”

“No, sir,” answered the newcomer, looking straight at the count and countess.

“No, we do not know this gentleman, either,” said the count in answer to a question of Rouxval’s.

The minister smiled. “I regret that this interview should begin with a statement which I am forced to disbelieve. But that little error will right itself at the proper time. Without haste and without undue delay over nonessentials, let us begin at the beginning.”

He opened the records on the table, turned to Maxine Leriot and in a slightly hostile tone said:

“We shall begin with you, sir. You were born in Dollincourt, Maine-et-Loire. Your father was a hard-working peasant who starved himself to give you a suitable education. The mobilization of 1914 found you a private in the infantry. Four years later you were an adjutant, with the croix de guerre and five citations for bravery. After the war you reenlisted. Toward the end of 1920 you were in Verdun. Your papers gave you credit for ‘ability as an officer.’

“But, about the middle of November, in the same year, came a bolt from the blue. One night in a third-rate dance hall, after opening ten bottles of champagne, you lost your head in a senseless brawl. You were arrested. You were taken to the post. You were searched. On you were found one hundred thousand francs. Where did you get that amount of money? You were never able to explain.”

Maxine Leriot protested:

“I beg your pardon, sir, I said that I had received the money from a person who wished to remain anonymous.”

“A worthless explanation!” said the minister. “Nevertheless, an inquiry was instituted by the military authorities. It came to nothing. Six months later, after obtaining your discharge from the service, you were again the center of another scandal,. This time your bill fold contained forty thousand francs in war bonds. And concerning these, too – silence and mystery. And again no explanation as to your means of livelihood or any reason for the dissipated existence you were leading. No position, no resources to speak of, yet money flowed through your fingers as if they supply were endless.

“The special detectives assigned to your case at the time could discover nothing, and you continued from bad to worse. Chance only, or a misstep on your part, could undo you. And that is what happened. One day, beneath the Arc de Triomphe, a man approached a woman who came there each day to pray, and said in a low voice, ‘I expect your husband’s letter to-morrow. Warn him – otherwise—‘

“The man’s attitude was surly, his tone snarling and menacing. The lady was frightened and quickly sought her motor. Must I specify that one of these persons was you, Maxime Leriot, and the other the Countess de Bois-Vernay, and only a moment ago you pretended not to know each other?”

Rouxval abruptly held up his hand. “I beg of you, sir,” he said to the count, who was about to interrupt, “do not try to deny the evidence. The episode occurred near me, for I also go regularly to the sacred tomb each week to pray for my sons. It was I who overheard the whispered threat; and it was for my own enlightenment, without knowing any of the facts which I have just related to you, that I undertook to discover who the man was, and the identity of his victim, in this too-apparently blackmailing scheme.”

The count said nothing. His wife did not stir. In his corner Hercules Petitgris nodded his head and seemed to approve the conduct of the investigation. Jean Rouxval, who had been watching him out of the corner of his eye, felt reassured. The tooth was not to be seen; therefore all was well. Rouxval continued, forging additional links in his chain of evidence.

“From the moment when circumstances placed the direction of this affair in my hands, it took quite a different turn, perhaps because I saw it in one light rather than another. Instead of Maxime Leriot, the man of to-day, I immediately saw the soldier of yesterday. His past interested me more than his present. Instantly, the moment I glanced at his record, two things struck me forcibly – a name and a date: Maxime Leriot was in Verdun, and he was there in the month of November, 1920 – that is, at the time when the anniversary of the armistice was to be celebrated and when most the solemn of ceremonies was about to take place.

“I went there and directed and inquiry on the spot, which proved neither very long nor difficult. His former battalion chief, whom I questioned, showed me an old order of that date over his signature, which also struck me forcibly. It seemed the key to the situation. The leader of one of the eight funeral cars, brought from eight different points along the great field of battle and bearing the bodies of eight nameless heroes, one of which was to be the Unknown Soldier-- this leader was none other than Adjutant Leriot himself.”

Jean Rouxval struck the desk with his fists, straining every muscle in his anger. Then in a muffled voice, deliberately emphasizing every word, he said:

“You, Maxime Leriot, were in the gallery of the fort where this historic ceremony took place; you were one of the guard of honor. Your heroism, your fame in military annals, caused you to be among those chosen for a part in this ceremony, amid the tricolor flags of your country and the trophies of victory in the great mortuary chapel. You – you were there—”

Overcome by emotion, Rouxval was forced to interrupt his vehement denunciation. It was necessary, moreover, to state facts more accurately and with less passion if the purport of his secret thought was to be clearly understood. Hercules Petitgris continued to nod his head approvingly, which only served to fan the flame of the minister’s ardor.

The former adjutant did not utter a sound. Like troops piercing an enemy line came Rouxval’s accusations. Hesitant, then stronger and stronger, and with greater force they had overwhelmed the foe before he could recover himself. The count listened and looked anxiously at his wife.

“Until this point in my investigation, I have only vague forebodings, no definite suspicions, no clews to lead me. I dared not understand. It was in this spirit, terrified, aghast, that I sought proofs of what I feared to know. These proofs were irrefutable. To begin: On All Saint’s Day, again the third of November, the fourth and the fifth, Adjutant Leriot, whose daily life I succeeded in reconstructing exactly, went, as soon as darkness had fallen, to an isolated inn.

“there he met a lady and gentleman with whom he remained in conference until dinner time. This lady and gentleman came to the inn in an automobile from a near-by city where they stayed at a certain hotel, the name of which I secured. I then went to this hotel and asked to see the register. From the first to the eleventh of November, 1920, two guests had been there – the Count and Countess de Bois-Vernay.”

A silence; the pallor of the countess deepened; Rouxval drew from the records two sheets of paper which he unfolded.

“Here are two birth certificates. The one of Maxime Leriot, born in Dolincourt, Maine-et-Loire, in 1895. That is yours, Maxime Leriot. The other, Julian de Bois-Vernay, born in Dolincourt, Maine-et-Loire, in 1895. That is your son’s, Monsieur de Bois-Vernay. Therefore, we may say, the same birthplace, the same age – two facts granted. Here is a letter from the mayor of Dolincourt. The two young men had had the same nurse. In youth they continued the friendship of their childhood. They enlisted at the same time. Again uncontestable facts.”

Rouxval went on reading from the documents as fast as he turned the pages.

“Here is the death certificate of Julian de Bois-Vernay; died in 1916 at Verdun. Here is a copy of the burial permit for the cemetery of Douaumont. Here is an extract of the report of Adjutant Leriot, who ‘brought back from a trench running along the road to Fleury-à-Bras and near an old surgical service station, the remains, in good condition, of an unknown infantryman.’

“Finally, here is a relief map of the whole scene of action. The old service station is here, about five hundred meters from the cemetery where Julian de Bois-Vernay lay buried. I went from one to the other. I had that tomb opened – it is empty! What has become of the coffin of Julian de Bois-Vernay? Who removed it from the cemetery of Douaumont, if not you, Maxime Leriot? You, his friend, and the friend of the Count and Countess de Bois-Vernay!”

Each sentence Rouxval uttered lent force to the final charge which the accumulated evidence imposed. The enemy was surrounded by undeniable arguments. There remained nothing but submission.

Rouxval, coming closer to Leriot and looking at him squarely, continued:

“This sinister venture is written on the pages of an open book. We know that the coffin of your foster brother was first taken from Douaumont, where he had been buried in an ordinary grave, to the trench where you were sent to secure the body of an unidentified combatant. We know that you took it there, and we know that it was this coffin which you brought to the fort at Verdun. In this we agree, I am sure. And the sequel – the choice, the supreme hour among the eight unknown—”

Again Rouxval could not go on. He mopped the sweat from his brow and tried to regain his composure. In a few moments he managed to continue in the same muffled and anguished voice:

“I hardly dare paint that scene. The slighted doubt in that direction is blasphemy. And yet, is this not rather a certainty than a doubt? Ah, what a frightful imposture! How did you ever succeed in your infamous plan? Answer—answer me!”

Jean Rouxval questioned, but it seemed as if he were afraid to hear the answer. His voice did not carry the authority which brings confession. A long silence ensued, fraught with uneasiness and anxiety. Madame de Bois-Vernay breathed the salts her husband gave her. She seemed very weak and on the verge of fainting. Maxime Leriot turned to the count, mutely asking his help. The count looked toward his wife, afraid to begin a dangerous struggle, asking himself upon what ground he would stand.

Then the count arose and said:

“Mr. Rouxval, because you have so shaped this interview, we there sit here facing you as if we were guilty. Before defending ourselves against an accusation, the meaning of which we do not yet clearly understand, we should like to know by what right you question us and by what right you demand our answers.”

“By the right, sir,” answered Rouxval, “of my great desire to suppress infamy, which, if it became public property, would injure my country inestimably.”

“If the affair is such as you have outlined it, Mr. Minister, there is no reason to believe it will become known to the public.”

“You are wrong, sir. Under the influence of alcohol, Maxime Leriot has talked. What he said was not understood, but various interpretations and rumors have been circulated—”

“False rumors, Mr. Minister,” broke in De Bois-Vernay.

“That makes no difference. They must be stopped.”

“How?”

“Maxime Leriot must leave France. A position will be found for him in southern Algeria. You will, I am sure, furnish him with the necessary funds.”

“And ourselves, Mr. Minister?”

“You will also leave – both you and madame. Far from France, you will be safe from further blackmail.”

“Exile, then?”

“Yes, for a few years.”

The count again turned to his wife.

Notwithstanding her pallor and frailty, she conveyed an impression of vitality and obstinate determination. She leaned forward and said firmly:

“Not a day, sir! Not for an hour will I leave Paris.”

“And why not, madame?”

“Because my son is there. In the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.”

Those few words, that explicit, frightful avowal, seemed to drop into a pit of silence, which echoed and re-echoed, syllable by syllable,a message of death and sorrow. In Madame de Bois-Vernay’s attitude there was more than an expression of an unconquerable will – there was a defiance and the calm acceptance of a challenge which she did not seem to fear. Nothing could change the fact that her son lay under the Arc de Triomphe, and no power on earth could trouble his last sleep in that tomb of glory.

Rouxval held his head in his hands, desperate. Until that moment he had been able to keep, in the face of all evidence, some illusion of an impossible justification. The confession took the ground from under his feet.

“It is really true!” he murmured brokenly, “I did not really believe – I could not admit it even to myself – it is beyond all reason!”

Monsieur de Bois-Vernay, standing between the countess and Rouxval, begged her to sit down. She pushed him aside, ready for the struggle, determined and defiant.

Only two adversaries now faced each other, implacable enemies, with the count and Maxime Leriot mere accessories.

Scenes of such extreme nervous tension must necessarily be of short duration, when from the first each one throws every ounce of power into the grueling struggle. What further enhanced the tragedy of this duel was the calm, the intense quiet with which it was waged. Not a loud tone, no apparent anger, simple words, radiating emotion. Simple sentences, no oratory, revealing the depth of Rouxval’s amazement and horror.

“How dared you? How do you continue to live, knowing what you do? I, myself, would have borne any agony rather than permit such a deed for one of my sons. It would seem to me I had brought him ill luck in his last sleep. Given him a tomb which was not rightfully his! Diverted to him the prayers, the tears, all the holy thoughts which flow over a loved one, dead! What an abomination! Can’t you see that?”

He glared at her, opposite him, tense and white, and continued more aggressively:

“There are hundreds – no, thousands! -- of mothers and wives who may believe that their son, their husband lies there. These bereaved women, as sorely smitten as you, with the same rights to seek consolation there – these women have been betrayed, pilfered, robbed – yes, robbed and vilely robbed!”

The countess shrank under these insults, this contempt. She had surely never paused a moment to consider her course of action in itself; certainly she had never weighed its ethical values. She had reacted impulsively, moved by the bitter suffering of a mother seeking to regain a small part of the son so cruelly torn from her; for the rest – nothing mattered.

Murmuring, almost in a dream, she answered:

“He did not rob any one. He is the Unknown Soldier. He is there in the place of the others; he represents them all—”

Rouxval seized her arm. Her words exasperated him. He thought of his own lost ones, whose remains he had almost found again that day of solemn burial and consecration. Now they had vanished once more in a fathomless abyss. Where now could one pray? Where find the dear ones, gone forever?

But the countess smiled, her face transformed by the happiness which fairly irradiated her whole being.

“It was circumstance which caused him to be chosen among all the others,” she said. “What I did, alone, would not have sufficed, if there had not been a greater will than mine in his favor. Chance might have assigned the honor to some soldier who did not deserve it, either in his life or in his death. My son was worthy of the reward.”

“All were worthy!” protested Rouxval vehemently. “Even if during his life he had been the most obscure, the most odious of men, the soldier chosen by destiny became, in that instant, the equal of the greatest!”

She shook her head. Her eyes gleamed with a contemptuous pride. Before her rose the ghosts of a hundred proud ancestors and the heroic dead of her country acclaiming her son the chosen one, born for glory.

“This has happened for the best, sir,” she said. “Believe in me and rest assured that I have stolen no tears, no prayers. Every mother who kneels there and weeps, prays for her dead son. Does it really matter if it is my son, if she does not know it?”

“But I know it,” said Rouxval, “and they may find it out! And then what? Can you imagine what will happen – the anger, the hate, the wild scenes of unbridled fury? No crime in the would would arouse such indignation! Can’t I make you understand?”

Little by little he was losing control of himself. He despised this woman. Her exile seemed more and more the only solution which could avert a calamity and at the same time appease his own pain.

Without any attempt to spare her, he said roughly:

“You must go, madame. Your presence at that grave is an outrage to every other woman. Go, and go now!”

“No, I will not,” she said.

“You will; you must! With you out of the country, their wrongs will be partially righted; the soldier there will once more become the Unknown Soldier.”

“No, no, no! What you ask is impossible. I could not live away from him. If I had to continue to live, it is only because he is there, because I can see him each day, speak to him, and hear him speak to me. Oh, you cannot understand how I feel when I stand there in the crowd! They come from every corner of France, bringing their offerings of flowers, of tears, of prayers. There are moments when I am so overwhelmed by a wave of happiness and pride that I almost forget he is dead. I see my son alive – alive and standing beneath that arch, smiling at me as I kneel before him. And you dare ask me to give up all of that! It is madness. It would be like killing my beloved child a second time!”

Rouxval clenched his hands, to restrain himself from killing this ungovernable woman. He knew now that she was stronger than he was. Driven to desperation, he threatened:

“You force me to the worst. If you do not go – I swear – I swear that I will denounce you! I will unmask you to the whole world rather than permit this ghastly imposture to continue --”

She laughed mockingly.

“Denounce me? Is it possible? You will denounce me and inform the world about this imposture which causes even you to tremble?”

“Nothing, nothing can stop me!” he cried. “I shall do my duty even if it kills me. Your trickery has made life intolerable. If you do not go, madame, he shall go – the body of your son shall be --”

She quivered, stricken by the brutal words. The frightful image of that poor body, torn from the tomb, roughly handled and cast into another grave, was more than she could bear. Tears came to her eyes; with a cry of pain her hand went to her heart. The count made a vain attempt to reach her as she tottered and fell to the floor, unconcious.

The duel was nearing an end. Wounded to the depths, but triumphant, she fell, not yielding a step in her struggle. The count carried her, still unconcious, to the couch with the assistance of Leriot and Hercules Petitgris. She was stifling, grinding her teeth, still fighting in her coma.

“Oh, how could you, how could you hurt her so!” exclaimed De Bois-Vernay.

But Rouxval made no excuses for his conduct. A temperament which drove him to extremes, when he had curbed his desires too long, did not allow him time for reflection or regret in a crisis. He saw red. The problem seemed to him so hopeless he would have stopped at nothing, however ridiculous, to solve it.

What difference did it make what he did, as long as he did something? It seemed as if his revenge were already nearer, if he could only proceed in some way. Action became a necessity. Should he call the president of the council? The telephone! He seized the receiver and, as soon as the president answered, gasped out breathlessly:

“Yes, Rouxval, Mr. President. … I must speak to you immediately, in person… You’re not free? ...In half an hour? ...All right. In half an hour I shall be there. Thanks. Situation serious. ...Quick action… Yes...Later.”

The countess was being cared for by the three men. She was evidently subject to these attacks, as her husband had a small case of medicine from which he quickly administered a dose. He took off his overcoat, knelt beside her, and tended her in an agony of fear which all but suffocated him, speaking to her constantly, as if she could hear him.

“It is your heart, darling, isn’t it? Your poor heart! But you are better, aren’t you? You are better – your cheeks have a little color – I know you are better. Are you, dearest?”

Madame de Bois-Vernay remained in the swoon several minutes, but at last her eyelids fluttered and she slowly regained consciousness.

As soon as she saw Rouxval she gave a cry of distress.

“Take me away! Let us go. I cannot stay here!”

“But, dearest, be reasonable. You must rest a few minutes.”

“No, no, not a moment! We must go. I cannot stay.”

The count begged Leriot’s aid, it was he who carried the countess from the room, while the count followed, completely upset, having been assisted into his overcoat by Hercules Petitgris.

Rouxval had not stirred. One might have thought that he had no connection whatever with the scene which had just taken place. These people, guilty of the most odious crime, were beyond his sympathies; he did not feel he owed either pity or kindness to a woman like the countess. With his head pressed against the windowpane he tried to think of a reasonable course of action. Why talk to the president of the council? Would it not be better to finish the affair and get in touch with headquarters, with the department of justice?

“Come now,” he said to himself, “no nonsense; a level head at any price!”

He decided to go as far as the president’s home; the walk there, the cool air, might calm his overwrought nerves. Taking his hat and stick from the stand, he started on his errand. To his surprise he found Petitgris sitting on a chair in front of the door, completely in shadow. He evidently had not left the study.

“Well, it’s you,” said Rouxval. “Still here?”

“Yes, Mr. Minister, and I cannot advice you too strongly to keep me company.”

Rouxval was annoyed and about to reprove him for his familiarity when a second glance at the man gave him a sudden shock. He noticed that the huge tooth of the detective was clearly visible, under a curling lip. He could not have been more discomfited if he had seen a ghost rise in front of him. The appearance of that tooth, long, white and pointed, the tooth of a wild animal, could only mean one thing – Rouxval was being jeered at, mocked.

“Confound it, I certainly have not put my foot in it!” said Rouxval to himself, remembering Petitgris’ words.

He pulled himself together. A cabinet minister, used to handling men and affairs of state, does not go “putting his foot in it.” Nor does he step into the pitfalls which trip the unwary. Having risen to such a position, he sees clearly, and goes straight to the goal. Yet the sight of that tooth troubled him. Why – what did it mean at this time? To reassure himself, he blamed the detective.

“If one of us has put his foot in it, it is that scamp. This whole thing is perfectly clear; any college boy could see that,” argued the minister to himself.

As clear as it was, however, he answered Petitgris by asking surlily:

“What is it? I’m in a hurry. Speak up!”

“Speak up, Mr. Minister?” he repeated. “I have nothing to say.”

“What do you mean, nothing to say? I don’t suppose you expect to sleep here?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Minister.”

“Well then?”

“Well, I’m just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For something which is sure to happen.”

“What ‘something?’”

“Patience, a little patience, Mr. Minister! You are certainly more interested in knowing it than I am. It won’t be long, anyway – only a few minutes—at the most about ten minutes. Yes, just about ten minutes.”

“Nothing of the sort,” cried Rouxval. “The confessions these people have made are perfectly explicit.”

“What confessions, Mr. Minister?”

“What confessions? Why, Leriot’s, the count’s, and his wife’s!”

“The countess’, perhaps. But the count confessed nothing; neither did Leriot,” said the detective.

“What are you trying to put over now?”

“I’m not trying to put anything over, Mr. Minister; it’s a fact. You might say, the truth, the two men didn’t open their mouths. Only one person talked, and that was you, Mr. Minister.”

Without paying any attention to Rouxval’s threatening attitude, he continued:

“A wonderful speech, really, and I sure did appreciate it. What an orator! In the senate you would have been a riot! An ovation, publicity, and all the rest of it. Only a speech is not all that is needed. When you are trying to dig facts out of a criminal, you don’t stuff him with talk. On the contrary, you question him. You get him to gab. And then you listen. That’s the way to get to the bottom of things. If you think Mr. Petitgris was just snoozing in the corner, you can bet you made a mistake. Mr. Petitgris never took his eye off those two codgers, especially that Bois-Vernay. And that’s why I’m telling you, Mr. Minister, that in eight minutes some one is coming and something will happen – in seven minutes and a half.”

Rouxval was floored. He did not give the least credence to Petitgris’ predictions not to the special announcement that “something” was going to happen. But the man’s tenacity held him. And that canine tooth, which gave him an expression at once arrogant, fierce, wicked, enigmatic--

The minister capitulated, and returned to the other end of the room, where he gave vent to his rage by tapping furiously on the desk with a pen handle, by nervously moving the desk appointments about, by looking at the clock and watching Petitgris out of the corner of his eye.

The detective sat quite still, only moving once. He tore a sheet of paper from a pad, came to the desk, borrowed Rouxval’s own pen with an air of authority, and rapidly write a few lines. He folded the paper in half, put it in an envelope and slipped it under a magazine, which happened to be near the desk edge. Then he sat down.

What did it all mean? Why did he continue to sneer with that mysterious, abominable tooth? Three minutes. Two minutes. Rouxval, in a sudden burst of anger, jumped up and again started striding up and down the room, knocking over a chair, jostling against a table and upsetting all the bric-a-brac. This whole case was stupid. That blockhead Petitgris and his devilish tooth had unnerved him.

“Listen, Mr. Minister,” mumbled the detective, holding up his hand. “Listen!”

“Listen to what?”

“Footsteps! Listen. Some one is knocking.”

Someone was knocking. Rouxval recognized the discreet tap of the page.

“He is not alone,” asserted Petitgris.

“What do you know about it?”

“He can’t be alone, because what I told you would happen is going to happen, and it can’t happen unless some one else comes in.”

“Well, confound it, what is it that is going to happen?”

“the truth, Mr. Minister. There are times, when the hour has struck, that nothing can prevent the truth from being known. It comes in at the window if the door is closed. But the door is so near, Mr. Minister, you don’t want to stop me from opening it, will you, Mr. Minister?”

Rouxval, beside himself with rage, opened the door.

The page looked in. “Mr. Minister, the gentleman who left here a little while ago with the lady is asking for his overcoat.”

“His overcoat?”

“Yes, sir; the gentleman forgot it, or rather he got the wrong one.”

Hercules Petitgris explained:

“He is right, Mr. Minister. I see a mistake has been made. The gentleman took my overcoat and left me his. Perhaps the gentleman can come in and—”

Rouxval acquiesced. The page went out, and almost immediately Monsieur de Bois-Vernay entered.

After the overcoats had been exchanged, the count, having bowed to Rouxval, who carefully looked the other way, started to leave the room. On the threshold, grasping the handle of the door, he hesitated, murmured a few words scarcely audible, stopped and re-entered the room.

“The ten minutes are up, Mr. Minister,” whispered Petitgris. “Consequently, ‘something’ is going to happen.”

Rouxval waited. Events seemed to occur as the detective had predicted.

“What do you wish, sir?” inquired the minister.

After a few minutes’ hesitation Monsieur de Bois-Vernay asked:

“Mr. Minister, are you really going to denounce us? The consequences would be so serious that I am taking the liberty of calling them to your attention. Think of the scandal – public clamor --”

Rouxval lost his temper.

“Will you tell me if I can do anything else?”

“Yes you can – you should. Everything can be arranged between us two, in a perfectly legitimate way. There is no reason why we should not come to some agreement.”

“I did propose an agreement, but Madame de Bois-Vernay would not hear of it.”

“She would not, but I will.”

Rouxval seemed surprised. Petitgris had already made the distinction between husband and wife a short time before.

“Explain yourself!”

The count seemed embarrassed. Irresolute, hesitating between sentences, he went on:

“Mr. Minister, I love my wife beyond words – and – sometimes I am weak enough to do things – for her which I know are – wrong, dangerous. That is what has happened. The death of our son so completely demoralized her – that twice – in spite of her deep religious sentiment – she tried to commit suicide. It became an obsession. In spite of my watchfulness, my every care, she would have carried out her intentions. But at an opportune moment Maxime Leriot came to see me. While talking to him about the war, our son – the idea came to me-- to combine – the Unknown—”

He shrank before the decisive words. Rouxval, more and more irritated, broke in:

“We are losing time, sir, since I know the result of your machinations. And that is all that matters.”

“It is precisely because the result alone matters that I am here. Because you discovered certain preparations, you concluded too hastily, perhaps because of your apprehension, that a sacrilege had been committed. That is not so.”

Rouxval did not understand.

“It is not so? Then why didn’t you protest?”

“I could not.”

“Why?”

“My wife would have had to hear me.”

“But Madame de Bois-Vernay herself confessed.”

“Yes, but I did not. It would have been a lie.”

“A lie! But the facts are there, sir! Do you want me to reread the records, the inquiries, the proofs that the body was removed, your meeting with Leriot?”

“Again, sir, may I say that these facts show definite preparations, but not the execution of a deed?”

“That is to say?”

“That is to say that there were meetings between Maxime and ourselves, and the body was removed. But I never, never had an idea of committing an act which I, too, should consider unforgivable sacrilege. For that matter, Maxime Leriot would never have consented.”

“Your idea then—” began the minister.

“My intention was to give my wife the --”

“To give her?”

“To give her the illusion, Mr. Minister.”

“The illusion?” repeated Rouxval mechanically, as the truth was beginning to dawn upon him.

“Yes, sir, an illusion which might sustain her, give her a faint desire to live – and which has sustained her until now. She believes it, Mr. Minister; she believes it! Try to imagine what that means to her! She believes her son is in that sacred tomb, and that belief has kept her alive.”

Rouxval bowed his head with his hand before his eyes. Overwhelmed by this sudden happiness, the restoration of his shrine, he feared they might see how disturbed he was.

With an affectation of indifference, he said:

“Ah, that is what happened! There was a pretense—” He stopped. “But how about all these proofs?”

“The proofs I took great care to accumulate, that she might have no doubts. She saw all, sir; she insisted upon being there during the entire proceedings: the removal of the body, the transfer to the funeral car. How could she have suspected that the funeral car did not go directly to the fort of Verdun, that our poor child is buried a little way on in a country cemetery where I go, when I can, to kneel at his grave and beg his forgiveness – his forgiveness for me and his absent mother.”

Rouxval was convinced that the count told the truth, that there was nothing in the evidence to contradict his statement of the facts as they had actually occurred.

“And Maxime Leriot’s part in this?”

“He obeyed my orders.”

“How about his actions since then?”

“Alas! The money he received turned his head, degraded him. It is my one great regret. The more I gave him, the more he wanted; that is why he threatened to reveal all to my wife. But rest assured, Mr. Minister, I will answer for him. He is really an honest, loyal soul, and has promised me he will leave the country at once.”

Rouxval meditated a moment and then said:

“Are you prepared to swear to the absolute truth of your statements?”

“I am prepared to swear to anything, provided my wife learns nothing and continues in her belief.”

“We agree in that, sir,” said the minister. “The secret shall be kept. I swear it.”

He took a sheet of paper and was about to ask the count for a written statement when Hercules Petitgris leaned over and whispered to him:

“There it is, Mr. Minister — under the magazine -- just lift it up and you’ll find it --”

“I’ll find what?”

“The statement. I drew it up a few minutes ago.”

“You knew?”

“You can just bet I knew! The count only needs to write his name on it.”

Rouxval, nonplused, pushed the magazine aside, snatched the paper and read:

I, the undersigned, Count de Bois-Vernay, acknowledge that I, with the connivance of Maxime Leriot, proceeded with certain arrangements in order to impress my wife with the conviction that our son was buried under the Arc de Triomphe. But I swear on my honor that no attempt was made by me, or by the said Maxime Leriot, to fulfill these arrangements and give my poor child the honors and resting place of the Unknown Soldier.

While Rouxval remained silent, the count, who was as astonished as the minister, slowly reread the document aloud, as if weighing each word.

“Quite right. I have nothing to add nor curtail. I should have written the same thing if I had drawn it up myself.”

He then affixed his signature without further hesitation.

“Mr. Minister, I must trust you,” he continued. “The slightest doubt on her part would cause the death of a mother who is guilty of nothing but too great a love for her child. I have your promise?”

“I have but one word to give, sir. I have given it. I shall keep it.”

He shook hands absent-mindedly with Monsieur de Bois-Vernay, accompanied him without a word to the door, closed it, and came back to the window where again he remained standing, with his head pressed to the windowpane.

“So Petitgris guessed the truth!” he mused. “In that chaos, that entanglement of fact and fancy, he saw the narrow path which led to the truth.”

Rouxval was distressed, angry; the pleasure he might otherwise have felt in seeing his case in another light was singularly diminished. Behind him he heard a tiny chuckle, undoubtedly the detective’s manifestation of triumph. It conjured up a vision of the pointed tooth, that terrible tooth.

“He has the laugh on me,” thought Rouxval. “He has known from the beginning. He maliciously let me put my foot in it. He could have warned me and he didn’t. What a beast!”

But his prestige as a cabinet officer would not permit him to remain in that humiliating position. He turned suddenly and taking the offensive said:

“Yes, yes, and then what? Luck was on your side! You probably discovered some clew—”

“Not a clew,” sneered Petitgris, who was not granting any favors. “What did you want clews for, anyway? Just a little bit of judgment, a grain of common sense, were all you needed.”

And with hideous good nature, he continued:

“Come on now, Mr. Minister! That long rigmarole of yours didn’t stand up at all. It was just bunk. Contradictions, omissions, impossibilities of every kind and color. Just a rotten scenario! That the countess should have bitten, all right, but you, a minister of your rank! Honestly, do you think people juggle with corpses in real life? Have a heart!

“They make every effort to have the Unknown Soldier be an unknown soldier! Arrangements for the public, funeral cars, functionaries, generals, brigadiers, ministers; in fact, the devil and his whole crew, and are you credulous enough to believe that any little gentlemen with cash in his pocket can afford the luxury of making a laughingstock of the world, and of burying an everlasting concession under the Arch de Triomphe! Well, I’ve heard some good ones, but that one has ‘em all beat.”

Rouxval restrained himself with difficulty and said:

“But the proofs—” began Rouxval.

“Those proofs – they were good enough for kids. I said to myself right away: ‘As long as the count couldn’t possibly afford the Arc de Triomphe, what was he cooking up with Leriot?’ Just as soon as I saw the way he looked at the wife I got it. ‘My boy, you're a good thing. Just to help the wife along, you’re going to play a little game and make her believe you did the real thing. But you’re a bit weak, too, and if my chief gets good and mad and threatens you, you’re going to give in.’ There’s the whole trick, Mr. Minister! Rage and threats on your part, and little Mr. Bois-Vernay gives in.”

“All right, well and good so far,” said Rouxval. “But you could not know he was coming back and that ‘something,’ as you put it, was going to happen.”

“Say, listen! What about the overcoat.”

“The overcoat?”

“Great Scott! how could he come back without it? He had to have some excuse to leave his wife and to confess before the department of justice put its nose in it.”

“Well?”

“Well, when he was leaving, I helped him on with my overcoat instead of his. He was all up in the air; he couldn’t see anything – but red. Then outside in the car, when he saw my cast-off, he jumped at the chance to run back here! D’ye get it? What do you think of that piece of work? I put over some better ones in my life, a couple of harder ones, but never a shrewder one. I got that without moving – a decision with hands in my pockets – and landed a punch that knocked the other fellow out. That’s some good job!”

Rouxval was silent; the cleverness, the ease with which Hercules Petitgris had handled the situation, disconcerted him. All alone in his corner, without interrupting the inquiry, without asking a question, and knowing nothing about the case, except what Rouxval himself was telling, Petitgris had really conducted the examination, guided the trend of questions, thrown light on the whole case. With one little move at the right moment he had managed to have the problem solve itself in the only way possible.

Rouxval put his hand in his pocket to draw out a bank note. But it went no farther. The detective sneered:

“Put it back, Mr. Minister. I’ve got mine.”

The tooth gleamed implacably. A frightful chuckle, and his face again resumed the fierce look of a wild animal. Could one help remembering the jeering words: “when one of my employers puts his foot in it, haven’t I the right to tell him, and have a little laugh? I have turned down money more than once just to be able to bust right out laughing! Are they funny? You ought to see the faces on them!

“Don’t blame yourself too much, Mr. Minister. I’ve had worse cases. Your big mistake was to rely too much on logic, and the logic of what you see and hear isn’t worth a nickel. The real logic runs underground like some rivers, and when it does run out of sight, then you have to keep your eye on it. That was where you lost your head. Instead of going into the details of that ceremony in the fort of Verdun, you turned away! ‘I hardly dare paint the scene. The slightest doubt in that direction is blasphemy!’

“Damn it all, Mr. Minister, that’s the time you should have gone ahead, investigated, put your whole mind to it! You would have seen there wasn’t a chance of a fraud. And what is more, Hercules Petitgris wouldn’t be laying down the law to-day to a cabinet minister in his own study.”

He had risen and was putting on the worn, green overcoat. Rouxval had a strong desire to take him by the neck and strangle him, but – he opened the door.

“Let us say no more about it. I shall advise the president of the service you have rendered us.”

“Oh, don’t bother!” returned the detective. “I’d rather do that myself.”

“Sir!” cried Rouxval.

“Well, what, Mr. Minister?”

Petitgris suddenly drew himself up and seemed to change personalities under the very eyes of the minister. He was no longer the poor devil begging alms, but a lively, self-possessed young man entirely at his ease. With thumb and forefinger he delicately removed the enormous tooth; the lines in his face changed; the horrible grin disappeared. He looked cheerful and gay, but still arrogant.

Rouxval asked:

“What does this mean? Permit me to ask who are you?”

“Who I am is of no importance whatever,” he answered. “Let us say that I am Arsène Lupin. The memory of your recent mistake will perhaps be less bitter if you connect it with the name of Arsène Lupin, rather than with that of Hercules Petitgris.”

Rouxval showed him the door. The detective passed gracefully in front of the minister to the anteroom. In that doorway, he said:

“Good-bye, Mr. Minister-- and a word of advice: Don’t go out of your little world again. A case of shoemaker, stick to your last. Straighten out government squabbles, help them make the laws, but – when it comes to police work leave that to the specialist.”

He started to go. Would he never stop talking? He came back and said:

“After all, you may be right – perhaps I put my foot in it. Come to think of it, what proofs have we that the count did stop on the way, that he did not go through with his plot? It is quite possible, and he did make excellent plans! Well, it’s all over my head. Good-by, Mr. Minister.”

This time he had nothing more to add. He left the anteroom.

Rouxval returned slowly to his desk and sat down heavily. He was singularly troubled by the detective's last words. They were a last bite of that frightful tooth – a drop of distilled venom! He felt vaguely that he would always be in doubt, that his case would always remain a mystery. He knew it was absurd, but all the same – the proofs – the removal of the body – the transfer to the funeral car --

“Damn it all!” He cried, infuriated. “What an infernal bird he is! If ever I lay my hands on him again!”

But Rouxval knew that Petitgris was none other than Arsène Lupin, and Arsène Lupin was not one to be caught a second time.

#Rjalker reads The Overcoat of Arsene Lupin #Rjalker reads The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin #Rjalker reads Arsène Lupin #Arsene Lupin #Arsène Lupin #The Overcoat of Arsene Lupin #The Overcoat of Arsène Lupin #Hercules Petitgris #Jean Rouxval #Public Domain #Public domain characters #Public domain books #Public domain short stories #short story #mystery #detective #La Dent d'Hercule Petitgris #Le Pardessus d'Arsène Lupin #writing prompts #writing ideas #Leblanc Lupin #LeblancLupin

[bridenore]

HD BDSM fic recs

Here are a few BDSM fic recs. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Another Mask Behind You by @letteredlettered [116k]

Draco is a high-end prostitute who hides his identity.  Harry unknowingly hires him.  And then there is porn, questions about identity, domestic bliss, more porn, and truth as seen through a web of lies.  (And then more porn.  Seriously, if you don’t want sex scene after sex scene you probably shouldn’t read this.  And please read the warnings.)

Breaking The Line by @kedavranox [19k]

Draco was a Dom for hire. Harry was his best client. But Harry disappeared and now Draco’s retired. Draco’s doing fine (he’s even attending parties!) but who should show up to the latest BDSM shindig, but Harry Potter himself? Can Draco play with his ex-client without breaking the line?

Freedom to be by @quicksilvermaid [169k]

Harry Potter is the Boy Who Lived. 12 years after the war, he’s become the Boy Who Lived For Everyone Else. He has the perfect wife. The perfect house. The perfect job. The perfect friends. Only nothing feels perfect. Until one day he stumbles across a club called Release and begins a journey of self-discovery that takes him to a very different place.

Give Me Sweet Oblivion by @tryslora [4k]

Italy seems like a long way to go to keep a fetish secret. But the club is exclusive, and the far away location, and Muggle nature, promises anonymity from Wizarding Britain. The only problem is that sometimes, great minds think alike.

Hades Paradox by Romaine [32k]

For reasons unknown to most, Draco Malfoy came to Hogwarts soon after the battle and for five years had never left its premises. Auror Harry Potter comes to Hogwarts to deal with his psychological daemons, but soon realises Professor Draco Malfoy has his own magical and physical daemons to deal with. However, much to Harry’s surprise, Draco is coping well with help from the person Harry aspires to be.

The Hand That Feeds You by @gracerene09 [17k]

Harry needs something only Draco can provide.

Moneymaker by @dictacontrion [16k]

As a top trader, Draco has power and money, suits and cars, houses and good champagne - everything a person could want. So when Auror Potter comes looking for help, Draco can’t think of anything that might persuade him to lend a hand. Well…maybe one thing.

Take My Pure (Wash It All Away) by peachydreamxx [16k]

The only thing Draco is good at is using his mouth. The only thing Harry Potter is good at is everything, apparently. (The one where both of them are total sluts for each other and they don't care who knows it)

The Unspeakable by @the-sinking-ship [24k]

Healer Draco Malfoy took the job at the International Department of Mysteries for the paycheck and the prestige. But what he got was Unspeakable Harry Potter and the most fascinating curse he’d ever seen.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #theme rec

[prismaticpichu]

If Sephiroth lost his mind in a less destructive way and just reverted to the mentality of, say, a 3-5 year old, would Zack take care of him himself in Midgar, spirit him away to the countryside, or take him to a nursing home and visit him a lot? Would Cloud join them?

Either way, I demand Genesis come around to apologize and Sephiroth stick his tongue out at him and go ppbbttthhhh. And maybe eventually hug him, that's negotiable.

What he looks like to Zack:

What he actually looks like:

THE GIFS ddgdgdggcc xD

-------

If Sephiroth were to somehow get reverted to a childlike state, I do actually imagine him taking on some animalistic tendencies. Not a feral child or anything--but just tapping in a LOT more to those alien instincts as a kid than as an adult.

Altho it would be... very awkward at first, I do think Zack would take care of him <3 Sephiroth probably wouldn't even recognize him at first, all those books having completely warped his mind into something vulnerable and splintered and instinctive. Zack would have to approach him calmly--like taming a scared, bristled animal. Seph might back away as Zack tries to step forward, eyes wild and frenzied and unseeing. But Zack would keep going, would take it step by step. He would extend his hand and talk in a low, hushing voice. Talk to the friend that he knows is in there.

"C'mon, buddy... you know me. We're pals."

Sephiroth's breath is labored, a book skidding across the floor as he backs away.

“Please, bud... Don't let them turn you into a monster."

It takes time, it takes patience, but eventually Zack makes a break through. He gets close enough to Sephiroth to place a comforting hand on his shoulder--a gesture of affection that Sephiroth displayed to Zack countless times in ShinRa. Sephiroth doesn't speak, can't find the will to make a coherent sound. But Zack understands from the look in his eyes that Sephiroth remembers him--somewhere in the tangled web of confusion and truth and lies. Somewhere within the threads, there's a part of Sephiroth that knows he is safe.

The bond is fractured, of course, and it takes days upon days of care for Sephiroth to fully trust the person that he's with. They bade Nibelheim and ShinRa goodbye as soon as they left the library, stopping at Cloud's house one last time to have a proper goodbye. Needless to say Cloud is... startled by the drastic shift in his commander. Sephiroth is practically hiding behind Zack the whole time, unwilling to step into the house or even the porch. It's a saddening sight--and Cloud is very confused--but Zack assures his friend that Sephiroth is safer if they leave, even if it's in this condition. The boy understands, sharing a hug with Zack. And, promising not to return to Shinra himself, he watches the two depart into the outskirts of Nibelheim.

What proceeds in the following days is essentially how Zack took care of Cloud--except Sephiroth is conscious on most levels. Zack brings him food and water to eat when he can find them, having to urge Sephiroth to have some H2O and actually digest some nutrients. He's a picky eater, but Zack is always ginger, and ultimately nourishes his friend. They spend the days trekking across the continent, Zack making sure to have his sword ready and always keeping an eye out for helicopter-shaped shadows. At night they sleep under trees--unless lightning storms calls for other arrangements. Separated by a few feet at first, Sephiroth insists on sleeping closer and closer to Zack as the days pile on. His back would be pressed to the other's, just to always ensure that his friend is there. That he hasn't left him. Left him like... like the people in his mind that memory couldn't quite reach, but their spirits still loom in his mind. He's afraid of being alone. Of being abandoned. And every night, feeling the way his friend's body tenses, Zack mumbles to him that he's not going anywhere. And he mumbles it as many times as he needs to until he feels those muscles relax.

This arduous routine carries on for weeks--almost months, And while Sephiroth is nowhere near his normal self, bits and shards of his humanity begin to break through the surface again. He doesn't sleep coiled up anymore, but instead on his side; he stands up straighter and eats with far more care. Once, Zack even hears him trying to croak his name--like he's remembering he can speak, trying with strenuous effort to form the syllables and remember which order they go. Tears nearly welled in his eyes when he recognized the vague sound of a "Z..." pushing its way through Sephiroth's teeth. He's coming back to himself, piece by piece. And with each recruited fragment, the hope in Zack's heart burns even brighter. The hope that everything is going to be just fine. That they won't go back to that hellish life. That nothing is going to hurt them.

Until that day.

One afternoon, when the glaring orb of the sun is blazing high in the mountains, it's not the shadow of a helicopter that Zack spots. No. It's something... sharper. More arched. Almost like--

And the feathers begin floating to the ground.

Zack sprints to where Sephiroth is resting--currently eating a piece of meat that he had used his own Firaga to cook. The warrior hardly has time to register why his friend is so frantic before Zack is standing over his body like a shield. And he hardly has time to register that before a red-cladded figure descends before them--Rapier flaunted, eyes glimmering with vulpine intent.

Genesis laughs that he has finally found Sephiroth after all this time--taunts Zack for being his little guard dog. But what Genesis can't see behind guard dog!Zack is the way Sephiroth is reacting. The way the man is bristling as he listens to his voice, the way his muscles are tethering into knots and the embers purring in his eyes--ready to be ignited. Something inside of him is being stirred; something visceral, something raw. A flash of something that extends beyond his earliest memories of the library--beyond the books and shelves and sickening splatters of words. Something that transcends all of that. Something that catalyzed it. Something that he remembers.

And he hisses.

The conversation--argument--that Genesis and Zack are having is cut short, severed mid-sentence. Genesis initially thinks it's a monster--some piercing sound made by some animal in their proximity. But it's not. Of course it's not. And as Zack sees the look in his eyes, the confusion--all those horrifying feelings he felt when he first found Seph in the Nibel library--he decides to show Genesis the full consequences of his actions.

Visage stern, Zack steps aside, and reveals the hunched, dehumanized Sephiroth behind him. Seph's eyes are blazing--more wild than they hd been in month; his lips are pulled back in a vicious snarl; his muscles are tauter than rope, almost ready to snap at the faintest quiver of his limbs. He looks insane, rabid. Dangerous. Monstrous.

And Genesis is horrified.

He tries asking what the Hell happened to him, tries to get through. But he can't. There's no response--which is somehow the loudest answer he could have been given. Zack takes the reins then and explains exactly what happened--how he found Sephiroth in this state in the Nibel library, all after what happened in the Reactor. After what he learned; after what he was brutally told. Genesis can't speak, is unable to grasp onto any semblance of coherence. He can only take step after step back, staring at his friend--gaping, the glimmer in his eyes extinguished--unable to tear his gaze away from the sight of his old friend.

Of his old friend...

Of his old friend...

His old friend....

The first words he sputters are messy, broken. Pained. They're laden with something--heavy with some ghostly form of regret and sorrow. They're words that are sunken deep, poisonous and dry in his throat. But he gets them out anyway. He needs to. He needs to, because they are eating his voice away.

"This.. this isn't what I wanted..."

But it's what he got. It's what he did. The words are no more healing outside his lips than they were inside his body. He continues to stand there, staring at his shattered friend, feeling so incredibly caged amid the endless swaths of stone and mountain surrounding them. He drops his sword, lets the echo ripple and rattle. He wants to clutch his chest; he wants to fall to his knees. He wants to say something that matters.

He... he wants to...

"Can... can he hear me?"

Zack, recognizing the genuine swarm of emotions consuming the auburn, lets his visage soften. His eyes lose a lot of their malice, his heart slackens from its vengeful grip. And he responds to the question honestly.

"I don't know, really... but I think so."

It's all Genesis needs to hear. With a lump of iron in his throat, he begins to cautiously approach the snarling Sephiroth--step by step, inch by inch, like he was barefoot and walking on a sheet of flaming coals.

"Sephiroth... it's not true, okay? I was wrong. Do you hear me...? I was wrong."

Sephiroth doesn't take his eyes off of him.

"Don't listen to what I said... please. I was angry... so angry. And i just wanted your help. And... and I didn't know what to do when I couldn't get it."

A flicker, distant and almost imperceptible. A glimpse of something. A response.

'You're not... okay? Please, just listen to me. You're not one. Okay? Okay..?! Do you hear me?!"

Sephiroth closes his mouth, loosening... listening. Watching as the red-cladded figure grows closer and closer. Closer and closer. Zack doesn't intervene, doesn't say a word. He recognizes the shift, can feel it in the air--the faint shadow of a smile falling onto his lips as Genesis continues to approach him.

"Please... you're not.. you're not a monster, Sephiroth. Don't do this. Please. I'm..."

A deep, broken breath rattles through the air. A swallow. A choke. And the unmistakable shimmer of a teardrop.

"I'm sorry, my friend. I'm... I'm so sorry... for everything"

He is practically standing in front of Sephiroth now, legs shaking. Weak. The air had grown significantly thicker, a dense and heavy pressure weighing on all three's shoulders. Sephiroth has gone completely silent--his mouth closed, his muscles untethered, the embers controlled and purring. He stares at the red-cladded man for a long stretch of time, not saying a word. Almost like he's thinking. Considering.

Until. suddenly, faster than the speed of a bullet, the man pounces.

"Seph, DON'T!--

....

....

...

But he hadn't pounced to attack; he hadn't pounced to kill.

Instead, the man had lunged forward, and wrapped his arms around the winged SOLDIER.

"...F... forgive."

#sephiroth #zack fair #ffvii #crisis core #ff7 #asks #ty!! #pichu writing #genesis rhapsodos