#split amongst the four of them

[toxicanonymity]

Hello, Toxy, my darling friend! I am here to bribe you and beg for more of your talent <3 I was so positively shaken by 'Spectators' and the glimpse of lore you gave us, that I just neeeeeeeeeed to know Joel side of this beautiful taboo relationship 🥵

will you be so inclined to tell us more? maybe this gif will inspire you? *slides a battered 20$ bill and all of the change i got in my pocket across the table*

concessions

Joel Miller x f!reader, 1k @iamasaddie ... this gif 🧎‍♀️🫡 ilysm 🪺 WARNINGS: 18+ degradation kink, infidelity, manhandling, jealousy, pussy spank, object insertion, incest mentions. after spectators.

You were just about to walk away when Tommy announced, “Joel's got a second date tonight,” and a pang of jealousy stopped you in your tracks. You turned around, making your short dress twirl out almost a little too high in the breeze.

Behind the bleachers, Joel smoked a cigarette in front of a small, brick building with his feet spread, one arm crossed, hand tucked under his bicep. As you came into view, he mumbled, “here comes trouble.” He threw his cigarette at the gravel and used his boot to smother it before retreating into the concessions kitchen. He started putting a pot of popcorn on.

A group of four women in the bleachers looked down their noses at you and murmured amongst themselves. Their lives must have been so boring. Two men in front of them stared at you until one of the ladies snapped her fingers at them.

Judging eyes be damned, you proceeded confidently around back of the building and let yourself in without knocking.

Joel didn't bother taking his eyes off the stove as he greeted you with sarcasm. “Come on in, make yourself at home.”

“Hey, big boy.” You stood there looking pretty, and finally he glanced up.

“Popcorn won't be ready for a minute, but you can get in line outside,” he said as if he didn't have his cock in you hours ago.

“You know that's not what I'm here for,” you said saucily.

“Bored of terrorizing my brother?” Joel asked.

You scoffed. “That asshole wouldn't even let me sit down.”

“Bet he was nicer than he coulda been,” Joel said with a bit of a snarl, then met your eyes and ranted, “Who do you think you are, showin’ up here tryin’ to give him a goddamn lap dance in front of Maria's friends? In front of his kid, for chrissake.”

“Public game last I checked,” you said.

Disgust tinged Joel's voice. “You get some kinda sick pleasure outta bein’ a homewrecker?”

“Not my fault he can't keep his dick in his pants,” you pointed out.

“No, but it's your fault everybody gotta know about it” Joel snapped.

“You think everybody knows about it?” you asked.

“Anybody with two eyes and two ears,” Joel said.

“Mm” You replied as though in thought. “They don't *really* know, though.”

“They know enough.”

“They know y'all like coatin’ your cocks in each other's cum? Eatin’ each other outta me? You think they know that?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Joel snapped. He abandoned the stove as he got in your face, neck vein throbbing.

Turned on by his anger, you hooked your hands into his belt and dropped to your knees.

He hesitated for a moment, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring with each rise of his chest.

“Ain't doin’ this,” he grabbed both your wrists and shoved them backwards, making you lose your balance and fall to the side.

“What's wrong? Afraid ya can't cum without your little brother's cock smashed against yours?”

“Get up. Get up now.” He grabbed you by your arm, and manhandled you to your feet.

“Just pretend I'm your sister,” You taunted.

He opened his mouth wide and over-enunciated, “Go… home.”

“You know… I dunno who you think YOU are. Couple hours ago you were balls deep in my pussy talking ‘bout the two of you splitting me open tonight. Now you want me to disappear.”

He shifted his weight onto one foot and rested his hands on his hips. “Ain't happenin’ tonight." It sounded more decisive than degrading. As if he did have a date.

And for a moment, pity flickered across his face before he hardened his gaze again.

“Shouldn't make a promise ya can't keep, brother,” you said. “Our mama raised you better than that.”

“God damnit, get off the floor.” He manhandled you to your feet and eyed the bin of empty beer bottles in arm's reach.

He turned you around and shoved you against the counter so you were both facing the sink.

He held you by the back of the neck. “Always runnin’ that whore mouth…”

You spread your feet and tilted your hips for his access, and he announced, “There she is. Jackson's most used hole. Ain't even gotta lift your dress to see it.”

He gave your pussy a spank, and the sting of his fingers between your legs felt like such a relief.

He grabbed a bottle and warned, “If you don't smarten up, next time it's gonna be two of these.” He pressed the lip of the bottle against your cunt then wiggled it into your entrance.

Once the first inch was in, he slid the rest of the bottle neck into you with a twist, making you gasp when the body of the bottle pushed at your entrance. Joel's cum from earlier began to drip into the glass.

“Savin’ that for Tommy?” you asked.

“God damnit.” Joel sighed and slipped the bottle out of you, wrapped a rag around the neck, and turned it upside down. He held by the neck and used his other hand to spread your swollen pussy lips. You were dripping arousal and cum. Bottom-first, he wedged the bottle into you with help from his fingers. When your walls were stretched around the glass circle, he pushed with a grunt, making you whimper with the pressure.

“You don't act right, we’ll find out if you can take two of these. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” you agreed, butterflies in your chest. As if he’d pass up a chance to share a cunt with Tommy.

“Tommy sure as hell won't fuck ya later. Not after that display out there…” He pushed the bottle a little further. “And if I'm gonna bother, gotta know you're tight enough for me to feel somethin’.”

“Felt it earlier didn't you?” You asked.

“Yeah, then I wrecked ya. And if this bottle falls out, I know she's still wrecked.”

He pushed the bottle further into you until your cunt had swallowed the whole fat part of the bottle, and only half the neck was sticking out. It was a remarkable fullness.

“You better pray this dress is long enough, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Though I reckon you'd get off on it, huh? Get off on the whole town seein’ ya walk around with a bottle hangin’ outta your cunt?” He pushed just a little further, and the curved glass of the bottom was flush against your cervix.

“Ow.”

He chuckled darkly, left it there, and stepped back to admire his work. Hands on his hips, he watched you stand upright and tug down your dress–God, it was obscenely short.

“Joel?” A woman’s voice called from outside.

The popcorn was burning.

“Go on,” he nodded toward the door. Get.” He subtly turned his attention toward the stove, and turned the burner off.

With a few slow steps, your cheeks burned at the sensation that your body wanted to push the foreign object out of you, birth it right onto the ground.

“Joel?” the voice was closer

You tried to tighten your muscles to keep the bottle in place, but it was slipping.

You reached down to feel almost the whole neck was out, and the thought of people seeing it under your short dress made your cunt spasm and gush, sending the bottle onto the concrete just as the door opened.

“There you are–Oh!” the woman said as the bottle shattered into a few pieces onto the cement floor.

Face on fire, you looked at the bottle, then glanced at Joel. His eyes met yours with a half smile and he said, “I got it.”

You looked the woman up and down and thought about telling her to enjoy your sloppy seconds, but you left her with an amused half smile. The same one Joel was wearing.

-

-

-

double play

Ty for reading 🖤

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Eight

Steve slices the apple into four parts, and then retrieves the clock from the hallway; this one will be best, there’s no glass or anything, so he can just force the hands around with his fingers. Eddie sits on a stool at the breakfast bar, watching Steve and waiting patiently.

“Okay buddy, what time does it say?”

“Four,” Eddie says confidently. Nice and easy that one, because Steve has the little hand on the four and Eddie has grasped to look at the little hand first pretty fast.

“Okay so,” Steve puts down the clock, and holds the pieces of apple together to make it whole. “This is a full apple, yeah? One. It’s whole.”

“Whole apple.”

“Right, so now, how many?”

Steve pulls the pieces apart so he has two slices held together in each hand, “two.”

“That’s right, but It’s also half.”

“Half.”

“Yeah, whole apple. One apple. Two slices. Half an apple.”

“Half an apple.”

“Right, so,” Steve puts the apple slices down, letting them split, and moves the big hand down to six, “half four.”

Eddie moves the apple pieces around, frowning, “half four. Two,” he points.

“Yeah, with counting. On the clock. Time. This is half past four.”

Eddie frowns at the clock again. He shakes his head.

“Okay, so,” Steve spreads out the apple slices, “four. Four quarters,” then he moves the big hand around the clock face again, “quarter past four, half past four, quarter to five.”

Eddie frowns again, face scrunching a little bit, and Steve can sense the distress from Eddie, upset that he doesn’t understand.

“Half, two,” he volunteers.

Steve sighs, “yeah buddy, but-”

“No! Half two!” And then Eddie picks up two apple quarters and shoves them in his mouth, presumably to make the problem go away, crumbs of apple and juice dripping messily onto his chin as Eddie chews manically with his pointy teeth.

The kitchen dims a little, thick clouds scudding over the sun. Steve looks out of the window, it’s suddenly dark.

Red lightning flashes.

Eddie moves, leaning over the counter to slide a knife from the block, “half. Two.” He says, pressing the tip of the knife to his tail; black, thick blood wells up and starts to drip, and Steve stands frozen.

Eddie's eyes catch the light strangely, flashing silver, then they glow red as lightning crashes, “it’s for the best, Steve-”

Steve wakes with his heart pounding and a scream trapped in his throat; he feels like he can’t breathe, all of his body shaking and not obeying him, the sheets and blankets tangled around his legs. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he pants to himself, finally getting out of bed.

The light in the bathroom makes him feel better and he splashes his face and then drinks a little water right from the faucet. He sighs deep, just a dream.

Just a dream.

It takes ten minutes before Steve feels better but...even though it doesn’t make any sense at all, he needs to check. He just has to see Eddie, just for a second, to make sure he’s okay. Then he’ll come back to bed and everything will be fine.

Even though it’s completely fucking irrational, and Steve knows it is, he checks the knife block first; everything is set in it’s little slot, nothings missing...which, of course it isn’t. Of course it’s fine. He’s just being ridiculous.

The kitchen looks completely normal, even if it does feel a little sinister in the dark. Steve tells himself again that it’s just a dream.

The lounge is only illuminated by the moonlight from outside, but it’s enough to make out the curled up lump that is Eddie, sleeping on the couch.

Steve breathes a sigh of relief, even as he tells himself he’s being ridiculous.

“Stee?” It must have been enough to wake him, and Steve watches as Eddie’s head, somehow, pops out from amongst the tangled ball of tail and today's blue sweater. Steve’s let him have four and washes them on rotation. They don’t come completely clean – the grass stains are impossible, and the bottom edges are already ruinously frayed, but it’s fine, they’re only sweaters.

“Sorry, Buddy I...I had a nightmare.”

“Night...mare..?”

“Yeah a uhm,” Eddie shifts, and Steve sits next to him on the couch, “a bad dream, you know when you’re asleep?”

Eddie nods, “sleep, dark,” he points to the outside.

“Yeah, right so...do you ever see things, when you're asleep?” Eddie cocks his head, “like, uhm, TV. Like watching TV,” and Steve taps the side of his head.

Eddie takes Steve’s wrist, pulling his hand away, nodding furiously, “dark TV,” he uses Steve’s hand to tap the side of his own head, “many. Many all.”

“You dream? Every night?” Eddie nods. “What do you...what do you dream about?”

Eddie frowns, so Steve gets up, retrieving colored pencils and a larger notebook, he flicks on a lamp. Steve sits back next to Eddie, and using his woefully inadequate drawing skills, he makes out a couple of withered, spiky trees, shades the sky dark, draws swirls of black on the floor and a crackle of red lightning across the sky, “do you dream of this?”

Eddie’s mouth pops open, eyes wide with terror, he taps the paper urgently, “Stee? Stee in?? Many??”

“Yeah… Stee in, but not many.”

“Stee no! Stee not safe!” Eddie taps the paper, “Stee no! Bad bad!” Eddie's clearly horrified by the thought of Steve in The Upside Down.

“I won’t buddy okay, no more,” Steve taps the page, “finished.”

That seems to placate Eddie, he sits back, staring still at what Steve’s drawn, “dark TV,” he says quietly.

Steve gets his pencil and draws a stick figure with curly hair and a long pointed tail, he draws a little arrow and writes, ‘Eddie’, next to it, “Eddidie?”

“Yeah,” Steve tells him, “we call this place The Upside Down. That’s where you come from, The Upside Down.”

“The upside Down. Stee come from?”

“Hawkins Indiana.”

“Hawkins Indiana.”

“Yeah Buddy, that's where we are now. That’s what this place is called. Listen,” Steve draws another stick figure with a tail near to Eddie on the paper, “are there more like you there?” Steve taps his little drawing. Then he draws another stick figure mermaid, just for good measure.

“Yes.”

“Many?”

“Many many.”

“Do you...miss them?”

Eddie tilts his head.

“Okay Buddy, you and me, we’re friends,” Eddie nods, “and the kids. Birdie. Jon, Nancy. They’re our friends.” Steve taps the page again, “friend?”

Eddie shakes his head, “no,” he purses his lips, looks around, thinking, “Stee...pear, celery, grape?”

“Yeah, I know, food. That’s food.”

“Food...no many food in Upside Down.” Eddie taps the page, then hisses, clawing and biting the air a little.

“Fight. You had to fight them for food?”

“Fight. Yes,” Eddie takes the pencil and aggressively scribbles out the other two stick figure mermaids, Steve can’t help but chuckle.

“Well, you don’t have to fight anyone here buddy. No fight. All the pears are Eddie’s.”

Steve wakes up to something tickling his nose and something else digging viciously into his ribs. He feels a little attacked considering it’s first thing in the morning. He blinks awake, shifting, and his back screams at him.

Well fuck. The couch might look fancy, and it might be alright for sitting on, but it’s shit for sleeping on.

Especially when you’ve got a bony as fuck fish guy sleeping on you, “hi Eddie.”

“Hi Stee,” Eddie replies into the front of Steve’s shirt.

“Any more bad dreams?”

“No. No bad dreams. Stee good,” and Eddie pats Steve’s chest, “Stee dream?”

“No buddy, I’m all good too. But...if you do have bad dreams, you should come find me, okay? If you want to.”

“Stee find Eddidie?”

Which, yeah, Steve guesses, that is what happened last night, “yeah Buddy, like that.”

Eddie shifts again, and Steve realizes that it’s Eddie’s bony fucking elbows that might be trying to stab him in the guts, “we should get up,” and Eddie does, sitting up with no regard for the fact that means he’s sitting right on Steve’s lap – and his morning wood.

Eddie wriggles.

“Right, nope,” Steve sits, spreading his legs so that Eddie falls through and gets dumped onto the couch cushion, letting Steve slide away and stand up, “I’m going to go shower.”

“And Eddidie?”

“Yup, but you can go after me,” Steve is telling him, as Eddie follows him up the stairs.

That night, Steve isn’t even really asleep yet when he hears the quiet noise of Eddie making his way up the stairs. The soft susurration of Eddie moving across the carpet, and then the door being pushed the rest of the way open.

Steve lifts the covers, inviting Eddie in, “but take that off, it’s got dirty today,” Eddie does, pulling off the jersey and climbing in, lying face to face with Steve.

“Hi Stee,” Eddie whispers.

Steve smiles, “hi buddy,” he whisper back, “bad dream?”

Eddie nods.

“What about? Tell me?”

“Tell...dream?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie thinks, biting his lip a little, probably trying to work out how to explain it. Eventually he volunteers, “in Upside Down.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, because he figured as much.

Slowly, Eddie brings both hands up. He puts his palms on his cheeks, then covers his face with interlocked fingers. Steve has a mounting sense of horror; already certain he knows where this is going.

Slowly, Eddie lifts them, unlacing his fingers, like the spread of petals on his face.

“Demogorgon,” Steve whispers.

“Eddidie is food.”

Steve can’t really express the sheer amount of horror the thought fills him with, so he just pulls Eddie into a hug instead, “you’re safe now buddy. I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Steve actually manages to fall asleep alright with Eddie’s tail wrapped around his legs, and if he dreams, he doesn’t remember it, coming awake to the now familiar sound of a chair being dragged across the kitchen floor.

Steve heads downstairs to see what Eddie’s up to; he’s at the bottom step when the smell of coffee hits him, and he vaguely wonders if Robin or someone is here.

No. Just Eddie. He’s seen Steve work the coffee machine enough times to work it out for himself, obviously, and there’s a full cup waiting ready on the counter. On the table there’s a plate with a piece of dry toast on it, but there’s a jar of jelly from the fridge. A half full bowl of cereal (no milk) and a single pear.

“Eddie...did you make me breakfast?”

Eddie grins at him, and Steve just about rescues the mug of coffee from him before Eddie tries to make it across the kitchen one handed.

“Buddy this is...so good. Thank you so much.”

Part Ten

[atlasscrumpit]

Doctor Hannibal x Patient Reader

"So, why exactly are you taking me into a criminal psychiatric ward to visit one of your patients?" Will asked as he walked beside Hannibal.

"Well, you've been a criminal profiler for quite some time now. Y/N is a...unique case, I thought it might be good for you to expand that knowledge of criminals you have." Hannibal explained as they stopped in front of a door with your name labelled on the front.

A guard walked over and unlocked the cell door before stepping inside with Will and Hannibal.

As soon as you laid eyes on the doctor your face lit up.

"Doctor!" You shouted happily as you ran up to him and danced on your feet like an excited puppy.

"Is that you asking for a hug, my dear?" He asked opening his arms as you leapt forward and gave him a big hug.

He wrapped his arms around your smaller frame and held you tightly.

"There's someone I would like you to meet." He said, pulling away as you looked at Will, a slight scowl forming on your face.

"I'm Will, you must be Y/N." He said holding out his hand as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"I need you to play nice, my dear. Will here is a very good friend of mine and he works with me." Hannibal explained as you reluctantly shook Will's hand.

"Nice to meet you." You grumbled.

"Where would you like to have our session today, my dear? Outside in the gardens again?" Hannibal asked, your face changing immediately as you looked at him.

"Yes, please!" You shouted enthusiastically making Hannibal chuckle softly.

"Alright, put your coat on, my dear." He said grabbing your cardigan and helping you put it on before you followed the three men out of your cell.

The guard was following closely behind you, ready to subdue you if it came to it.

You made it outside and breathed in the fresh air, after all the only time you were allowed outside was when Doctor Lecter was here.

You skipped around the gardens as Will observed you.

"So, you're telling me this is the girl that killed four people and two guards?" Will asked in disbelief as he watched you dance around like a child.

"That is her, yes. Which is why she is a unique case. What do you read from her, Mr. Graham?" Hannibal asked as they followed after you.

"Innocence... But, an underlying terror of everything around her. She was cold to me but, I could see how afraid she was." He replied before they took a seat and watched you run around the garden like an excited dog.

"Her mind works in odd ways, something we see as innocent her mind will tell her it's evil and needs to be erased from this world. Paranoia, delusions and a split personality...amongst a lot of other things." Hannibal explained before you ran over and sat down between them both.

"Have you been behaving since I last saw you?" Hannibal asked as you chewed the inside of your lip.

"Kind of." You muttered as he chuckled softly.

"Kind of means no, my dear." He retorted as you sighed.

"Some of the guards are just mean to me." You grumbled as he sighed.

"Have any of them been...inappropriate with you again?" He asked as you smiled and shook your head.

"Nope! Not after you dealt with the last guy." You replied as Will looked between you and Hannibal.

"What do you mean dealt with?" Will asked, narrowing his eyes at Hannibal.

"Oh, relax my dear friend. I simply got that man fired for what he was doing." Hannibal explained.

Will didn't really believe him.

While Hannibal spoke with you, Will followed a guard back inside to take a look at your profile.

He examined it, he couldn't believe the innocent looking girl he just met had committed so many atrocities.

Once you came back inside Will caught up with Hannibal.

"I suppose you were right to want me here, she's a unique case, that's for sure. So, I'm guessing it was her other personality that committed the crimes?" Will asked, still glancing over your file.

"We aren't sure, she never says. She also denies that she even has anything wrong with her, she claims that it's all to do with demons and such." Hannibal explained as Will nodded.

"Why do you treat her like she's a kid that's done nothing wrong?" Will asked.

"Because she is a child who has done nothing wrong...at least to her. She understands she needs to be punished but she doesn't understand the extent of what she's done."

"She killed people! Children, even!"

"Contain yourself, Will."

They stood in your cell looking at you sitting on the ground and humming to yourself.

"I must go now, my dear. Our session is over." Hannibal said as you looked up and pouted.

"Do you have to go?" You muttered like an upset child.

This happened everytime.

"Yes, my dear. But, I'll be back next week. Would you like me to bring Mr. Graham again?" He asked as you looked at Will.

"I guess..." You grumbled making the doctor chuckle.

"Then we will both see you next week, my dear. Behave for me." He said as he knelt down and ran a hand through your hair.

"I'll behave." You muttered sadly making him smile, he leant forward and kissed your forehead.

"That's a good girl, I'll see you next week." He said as you smiled sadly and nodded.

"Bye, Doctor... Bye, Will."

[rememberwren]

/•Harmless Fun•\

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Exactly what it says on the tin. Established ghoap, bringing in fem!reader roommate. Poor writing. Reader has had any identifying features removed, but she owns a Ford Fiesta. Take that as you will. Just testing to see if there is interest in a lighthearted fun sexy fic like this. 🩶

*

“Remember. You’re desperate,” you muttered to yourself looking at your reflection in the rearview mirror of your tiny Ford Fiesta. The ink might as well still be fresh on the ad your roommate printed off for you (the perfect symbol of her guilt for moving back in with her boyfriend and forcing you to find a new apartment and new roommates in the first place).

The ad reads as thus: WANTED: ANY GENDER WELCOME to fill the second bedroom in a 2b/2ba 1290sq ft apartment. DOWNTOWN. In-building laundry. Utilities and rent split EVENLY amongst 3. NO FASCISTS, NO HOMOPHOBES.

It was the most promising ad you had seen after days of scouring the internet in your every spare moment (usually reserved for those moments when you were on break during shifts, feet and back aching, hating your life OR at the end of a long day when the post-sunset depression hit with all the force of a typhoon). Any two people who were against fascism and homophobia were alright in your book. As for the finer details—well. You were desperate. You were going to have to overlook any skeletons in their closets, as long as those skeletons weren’t literal.

I’m texting about the apartment downtown. Is this the right number?

Yeah, you’ve got it. Nice to text ya. You’re interested?

Very. Is there somewhere we could meet to discuss the details?

We don’t mind showing the apartment. Got a few others coming to see it as well. You cursed up a storm reading over that particular text, so much so that your roommate’s boyfriend knocked angrily on the thin walls separating your bedrooms. Scowling, you knocked back—a little too angry to be mistaken for conciliatory. You blamed that bastard for your troubles in the first place.

I’ll see it ASAP, if that’s okay.

Go-getter. How soon can you be here?

Which is how you found yourself in the parking lot of the building, hastily combing hairs back into place, hoping for some semblance of presentability. If only there was a way to hide the desperation in your eyes…

The apartment complex itself is everything you could have hoped for. It even has an indoor pool, which is a step up from the facilities offered at your own apartment. The rent is a little higher than what you were pulling at your old place, but you think you can manage it if you cut back on excess frivolities. And any joy. (Joy costs)

There’s a doorman even—an honest to god doorman! He instructs you on the way to the elevators, and you take them up to the top floor, feeling your ears pop from the change in altitude. By the time you’re standing in front of their door, your knees are knocking together, terrified of who you might be meeting. Even more terrified that they might not like you, that they might say no—

—and the door opens, shattering any expectation you have. The man standing there is undoubtedly, ungodly, unseemly, obscenely hot. His head nearly brushes the frame of the door, blond hair wild and mussed, like he’s just had the fuck of his life. He’s thick, too, muscles on muscles along his corded forearms, bared by the dark tee that stretches across his chest.

He is pale and dark eyed and frowning down at you so sternly that you are convinced you have knocked on the wrong door. God help you. It’s all an honest mistake—but then his gravelly, softly-accented voice says: “You’re here about the apartment?”

Your heart nearly stops. This is the person who owns the apartment? How could you be expected to live alongside this behemoth? Just as you are about to tuck tail and run, a hand grips the man’s shoulder and gently tugs him aside and another specimen—two of them! two!—appears. This one has his hair cropped in a Mohawk, his eyes a deep drown-worthy blue. A few inches shorter, he is just as impressive shape. He beams at you.

“Well!” he says, leaning on the door frame in a way that fetchingly shows off the cut muscles of his arm and chest. His voice is accented too, something rougher, different than the taller man’s. “You aren’t what I was expecting. Unless yer just a wee fascist.”

You blink. You had been thinking the very same. Your hackles rise on instinct, bristling in preemptive outrage. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“We’ve had a type answering the ad,” the other man says dryly. “Johnny doesn’t mean nothing. Come in—if you’re still interested in the apartment.”

It crosses your mind that this is perhaps foolish: entering an apartment of strange men, regardless of how you had left the address with your roommate and specified a time to check in with her. But you’re desperate. So you slip in after them, Johnny making ample room for you to move past him in the doorway.

When you do, you smell his shower gel, something woodsy. You say a prayer that you aren’t drooling.

Your eyes roam over the open-concept apartment. The living room and kitchen are combined, larger than you might have imagined. It is homier, too, for a place where two men live: there are pictures along the walls, potted plants in the corners and on the desk, and an easel overlooking the balcony in the corner, an oil half-rendering of the view outside.

It is tidy. It smells nice. It is owned by two of the hottest men you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“I want it,” you blurt out.

Johnny laughs. “Sure ya do. Let us show you everything and then we’ll talk.”

You barely manage to contain your impatience as they lead you room to room. The guest room is empty, except for some boxes that Johnny hastily promises can be moved. The closets have no skeletons (you check). You would have your own bathroom. The more you see, the more convinced you are that this would be an ideal apartment regardless of who was offering it to you, but the frequent banter between the two men (Johnny and Simon you find out) is so entertaining and inviting that it’s hard not to feel like they want you—to be their third. Roommate that is.

After every nook and cranny of the apartment has been seen, they seat themselves on the loveseat and you on the adjacent armchair, your fingers interlaced like a businesswoman about to make the deal of her lifetime.

“I still want the room,” you admit. Johnny smiles, an expression that you sense comes easily to his face. His smile falls a little when you continue: “I just have one question. Why the vacancy?”

Simon takes a measured breath. The silence grows thick as they share a glance, communicating silently in a way that only two who have known each other—who have been through things with each other—can. At length, he says: “We’re ex-military. Disabled.”

That explained the cane Johnny had been using to move around the apartment.

“The benefits were excellent until recently, when we saw a generous…cut to our monthly pay.”

You frown. “That’s terrible. Why would they do that?”

Johnny gives a breathless little laugh. His hand comes down slowly to rest on Simon’s knee. You stare, unsure what you are seeing. “Well, it happens…when you get married.”

-

“That explains a lot,” your roommate says when you spill every little detail after driving home. By the time you arrive, her insufferable boyfriend is gone for the night (thank God) so it is just the two of you, like the good old days. “Namely why two men in a two bedroom apartment are looking for a roommate.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” you groan, palming at your eyes. “Am I homophobic?”

“No, just desperate and wishful,” she teases. She has no idea how accurate she is. It’s been years—literal years since you’ve been with anyone of substance. In the meantime, you’d been happy to settle for your fingers and your toys, but there was the occasional itch that only a cock could scratch in you. Figuratively. “This is a good thing though. The last thing you need is getting tangled up with your new roommates. That’s a recipe for disaster.”

“Instead I’ll be in the middle of their marital bliss. Or lack of, depending on the day,” you suggest dryly. But you aren’t even sure how much you believe your own words. Simon and Johnny said they had been together for nearly ten years, and more than their words, you had seen them with your own eyes—the way they gravitated to each other, the way their eyes were never far from each other. The way they roasted each other so good-naturedly. They seemed like a couple who were past their seven year itch, who had grown older and comfortable with each other. They seemed like they had their shit together.

Did it make you terrible that you still wanted to be pinned between them like a bug in a science project?

“Then tell them no,” she says, sitting on the edge of your bed. You see the guilt in her eyes, and it makes you just a little vindicated. Which makes you feel terrible. “You’ll find something. I promise. You could always stay with us until you do—“

“God no. No offense.”

“None taken. I think.”

You sigh. You nudge her with your foot. “Alright, out, I need to think.”

But it takes such little thought when Johnny (affectionately added to your phone) messages not ten minutes later.

I don’t want to rush ya, but another person asked to see the apartment. Should I show them?

No way, you text. That room is mine.

[caffeinewitchcraft]

The Hero and Hope 4/5

Okaaaay, so there's 5 parts instead of 4! I realized that the last part was over 6k words, so we're splitting it into two! The last part will still be posted next Friday, so this will keep us on track!

Summary: The picnic has an uninvited guest that you're uniquely suited to greet.

-------

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone able to catch Marie,” the Lord says, brows raised. His golden eyes track Isla across the garden and he whistles when she jumps to tag his former knight. “That was not within the capabilities of a Villager.”

Ivan scans the crowd around them. Most of the townsfolk are too far away to eavesdrop and the ones close enough to potentially hear are engaged in their own conversations. “Careful, Brennan. If the Director hears you speculate…”

“Yes, the Director,” Lord Brennan sighs. He brings his teacup to his lips, but doesn’t drink. He contemplates Director Sarah where she crouches with a glass of water near Annie. “You know this is the first time we’ve met?”

It’d been a fight to get Sarah to agree to today at all. Ivan chooses his words carefully. “Your predecessor did not have the sort of…kind interest you do.”

The former Lord’s interest Sarah shared with them was a lot more horrifying. There’s a reason that Isla at only fifteen years old is the eldest at the orphanage.

“That’s one way to put it,” Lord Brennan agrees. He settles back into his seat and sighs in satisfaction. He watches the children gradually grow tired of their game and drift towards the dessert table. He grins when the townsfolk naturally make room for them, a few of them even fetching treats from the center of the table for the littler ones. “See my people together? It was very good of me to lure you and Marie to my territory.”

“You gave us a castle,” Ivan says. They weren’t so much lured as bludgeoned with generosity. Some days it feels like they blinked and ended up standing amongst fine silk and filigree.

“It’s a manor as far as paperwork goes,” Lord Brennan says.

“It has buttresses.”

“A very fortified manor.” Lord Brennan finally sips his tea and sighs again. “This tea is from our fields, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It’s delicious.” The full canopies of the trees enveloping the estate rustle in the wind. The sun shines warmly overhead. Lord Brennan takes another drink. Delicious. “The land’s come a long way since we ousted my father, hasn’t it? Plentiful harvests, an established trade route, a new school. If it weren’t for the demons, my work would be done.”

“I would prefer you had no work then,” Ivan says dryly.

“Me too.” Lord Brennan sets his tea aside and rubs his eyes. “Any updates?”

“None,” Ivan admits, frustration leaking through his words. His face is still amiable and the disconnect between his tone and his visage is jarring. “We investigated the wolf tracks in the woods and only found carnage. No signs of the demons themselves.”

“So they are demons?”

“Regular wolves wouldn’t be able to evade a squadron of your knights, my lord.”

“Neither would demon wolves,” Lord Brennan says. He rubs his chin, brow furrowing. “I don’t like what that implies. Any sign of larger foes?”

Ivan doesn’t want to discuss this here. Marie’s eyes are on him, sensing his rising distress. He smiles and waves to her. “Besides the horned rabbit migration?”

“Is it a migration?”

“Isla saw five within the first four weeks of summer,” Ivan says.

The Lord’s attention falls on the teenager. She’s patiently letting one of the other children – Hera? The one who’d curtsied to him like a little noble – weave flowers into her braid. He tries to imagine her fighting a horned rabbit and his lips thin. “I’ll call for reinforcements from the capital.”

“Marie and I can—”

Lord Brennan waves Ivan off. “No, no, I’ve asked too much of you already. Aren’t the two of you too busy in your retirement already? I thought you’d be settled with a child by now.”

“It’s not good to rush these things,” Ivan says as he has the last three times Lord Brennan has asked. This time it’s Ivan who sighs. “It took Marie and I a good few months to win Director Sarah over after our misstep.”

“Asking about Destinies, was it?”

“Implying we’d value any child less for not being a knight like us,” Ivan corrects.

“There seem to be a lot of unusual Destinies in the orphanage,” Lord Brennan says. He’s not an Identifier but he’s got a good eye. Though no one can know for sure until a child either develops their mark or comes into their power at fifteen, he’s seen more than a few signs of a Scholar, a Guardian, and a Teacher. Once again he finds his gaze being drawn back to Isla. She’s got a child under each arm and is running from Marie again, the game having resumed after their snack break. “That one is a Guard, at least. Nobody else would have physical abilities like that.”

Ivan ignores the Lord’s comment. “It’s been worthwhile getting to know them all.” His smile turns a little more genuine. “They’re all good kids.”

“Surely you and Marie have an inkling of who’ll be a good fit?” When Ivan doesn’t reply, the Lord clicks his tongue. “You can’t choose all of them.”

Ivan’s voice is a study in nonchalance. “Can’t we?”

Lord Brennan opens his mouth only for no words to come out. At length, he has to laugh. His knights do like to keep busy. “You’d need a castle.”

“You did give us one, my lord.”

“I suppose I did.”

The two men lapse into a pleasant silence. It is good to see the townsfolk this cheerful. This town is the furthest from Lord Brennan’s own castle and he rarely has a chance to visit. The first time he had had been very different. The people still bore the wounds of winter in gouged cheeks and brittle smiles. Now he sees the glow of health everywhere he looks.

He contemplates the Director once again. She’d been the only one back then to not seem pleased to see him ride in on his white horse. Even now he can feel the chill of her scrutiny as she stood defensively between him and the orphanage. None of that chill is present today. Her smile is as sweet as his tea while she tends to a scrape the little Scholar sustained in this round of tag. “Ms. Sarah is very pretty, isn’t she?”

“I know we can’t adopt them all,” Ivan blurts out. He doesn’t seem to have heard Lord Brennan. His gaze is turned towards his own inner conflict which is why he also doesn’t notice the blush dusting the Lord’s cheeks. “It wouldn’t be fair to them. Marie and I decided to adopt a child who would benefit from what little we can offer. Military arts and luck.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Lord Brennan says with raised brows. “You and Marie offer a lot more than a Knight’s experience. Haven’t you shown that already in your actions?” He’s not aware of everything his former knights have done, but he’s heard plenty from the children today. He didn’t think Marie had the patience to teach anyone how to read.

Ivan’s hands fist. “It’s not enough, it’s not—the little boy. Josiah. He’s so smart. I don’t even know where to start with him and even Marie says that he’ll soon outpace her—”

“Well,” Lord Brennan says, “Neither of you are Teachers, true, but there is a school for that--”

“And Annie wants to know why bread rises and why the sun sets and how many seconds are in a day—”

“All kids are curious—”

“Hera staged a whole theater production for my birthday and all we could do was clap—”

Is he missing something? “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“We don’t know any actors or directors to introduce her to!” Ivan cries out. He quickly lowers his voice, but can’t hide the stress around his eyes. “What could we give to a child like her? Like any of them?  Marie and I are out of our depth. It would be so much simpler if one was a Knight!”

The Lord tentatively offers, “If Isla’s a Guard--?”

Ivan gives a cry of distress that he barely capture in the palm of his hand. “Isla! That girl feels like my daughter already, but…she’s been through so much. She doesn’t need a father who teaches her how to fight or a mother who teaches her how to withstand a siege! She deserves to never have to fight again. What could we offer her? What could we possibly give to her she hasn’t already learned on her own?”

A light goes on in the Lord’s head. He takes in the festivities with new eyes. The town’s Baker, Blacksmith, Teacher… His friends have invited every possible parent they could in hopes of providing for the children in ways they felt incapable of doing themselves. As noble as that was…“Ivan, being a parent goes beyond the skills you can give a child. It’s more than fostering talent or an offering an apprenticeship. It’s—”

A horse’s scream drowns out the Lord’s next words.

Ivan is in front of Lord Brennan with his sword drawn before the horses and their blood-splattered riders even round the side of the castle.

-----.

 You throw Annie and Josiah behind you the moment you hear the sound of hooves galloping towards the manor.

“Isla, what—” Josiah starts to ask and then cuts himself off as the innkeepers and their entourage burst into the party.

You smell blood before your eyes register the terrible red staining their fine clothing.

“ORCS!” Mr. Innkeeper screams over the frightened snorts of his horse. He stumbles down from his mount and staggers towards the Lord. “They overtook our carriage—please, my wife, she’s hurt—”

Mrs. Inkeeper is holding her side and seemingly barely holding onto the saddle horn. “Our guards won’t be enough to hold them off—”

“Inside,” Sarah hisses into your ear. She points after Hera who’s already shepherding the younger kids into the building. “Now.”

“—an army—”

“—fast—”

“—waiting for us—”

You move faster than you’ve allowed yourself since you arrived. This is no time to take care in hiding your abilities; there are roars coming from the forest unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. Your senses seem to dial up with your heartrate and you can hear the clash of steel against rock and flesh. You scoop Annie into your arms and leap after Josiah and Sarah.

Mr. Dallen’s face is pale as he ushers you all into the manor. He holds the door open for the townsfolk. The hall fills with the sounds of panic and sobs as fear washes through you like a tidal wave. There have never been orcs south of the mountains, there have never been demons bigger than a horned rabbit in the last twenty years, even when the Winter froze the river—

Mr. Dallen waves down Marie as she sprints to the large doorway. You think that he’s going to pull her inside to safety, but instead he thrusts her bow into her outstretched hands.

“Do not open these doors,” she commands. Behind her the knights are assembling into a formation, their Lord at the center. Ivan stands before them all, barking orders to ready their spears as the trees in front of them begin to sway. Marie pulls a dagger from under her skirts and slices the bottom half of her dress clean off. She kicks it away from her feet as she talks. “Take everyone to the basement—”

“Ma’am, the escape tunnel still isn’t cleared of debris—”

Marie swears so violently that half the townsfolk gasp. She grabs Mr. Dallen by the shoulder, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and her husband. “Then we will draw them away. The moment you think you can, run to the wagon. Get the children to—” She bites her lip. You can see the devastating truth flash through her mind. There isn’t anywhere to go. “Damnit. Bar the door and arm everyone you can.”

Mr. Dallen’s lips are bloodless as he nods. “My lady.”

Marie turns to everyone. Her voice is unlike anything you’ve heard come from her lips; it’s harsh and barking. A commander giving orders much like Ivan is doing outside. “Listen, everyone. We are in danger. Our best estimate is that 25 orcs are marching on the manor. There is no guarantee of survival. The moment this door is breached, it will mean the knights have failed. You must be prepared to fight. Do you understand?”

Twenty-five? Your hands ball into fists and your breath catches in your throat. You’ve heard of entire villages being wiped out by three.

“Then we’ll fight with the knights,” the Baker says. He pushes away from the center of the group and marches to the wall. He pulls down the crossed axes, keeps one, tosses the other to the Blacksmith. She catches it easily. “You’ll need everyone who can hold a weapon.”

Marie never voices her protest. You can see the strain of holding it back in her tense shoulders and her poignant silence. At long last, she nods. “You’re right. Stay behind the knights. They know how to handle the frontline better than you.”

There’s a flurry after that. The townsfolk divide in half. Those unable to fight slide back as those who can start scavenging for weapons. Mr. Dallen grimly pulls two long daggers from under his coat while pointing your neighbors to decorative swords, to ornamental spears, to the heavy coatrack just inside the parlor.

Grimly, you stride past Sarah, ignoring her hiss and darting hands. You can leave the weapons to the villagers, there’s a large knife on the dessert table you can use—

Marie slams a hand against your chest. You stagger back at the weight of the blow, breath knocked from your lungs. You’re more stunned than hurt as you gape at her.

“Children stay here,” Marie says. Her eyes narrow. “No exceptions.”

“But I’m—”

“We don’t have time to argue!” She pushes you further back, clearing the doorway for the armed villagers to run outside towards the knights. “You’re strong Isla, but this isn’t your fight. Stay here. Guard the door.”

The winter wind howls in your mind. You splutter. “But I—”

Marie spins away from you. “Director Sarah.”

Sarah’s arms slide around your shoulders. “Yes, lady.”

 The closing of the door feels like a blow in itself. You stare sightlessly at the unyielding wood as your emotions rage. How could she? You’re strong, you can do more, you can help, you’re the one who kept everyone from starving—

“We need to barricade the windows,” Director Sarah is saying to the townsfolk. Half of them gaze at her uncomprehendingly. Her hands slide from your shoulders slowly, as if testing that you aren’t going to leap outside. When you don’t move, she lets go entirely. “Isla, move the furniture. Hera and Josiah, find something to tie it down with.”

You move on autopilot. There are other hands alongside yours as you push the sofa and armchairs in front of the windows, the townsfolk coming together to defend the manor. Hera darts between you all and pulls the curtains closed, reclaiming the curtain ties to use as rope. She’s got a grim determination in her eyes that looks uncomfortably familiar.

Your attention is on the noise outside. The orcs are slow, but loud. The roars change to squeals and bellows of challenge. Branches break and there’s a terrifying, splintering crash as a tree falls. Metal rings as the knights raise their shields. You can see it all in your mind’s eye, the knights in a defensive line across the length of the garden, the Lord securely in their center. Ivan is shouting about this being what they’ve trained for, that there are more of them than there are orcs, that this city won’t fall—

And the Lord is speaking too, quickly and quietly to Marie. The escape tunnel? Damnit, I should have sent more men—

It will be fine, Marie says. Her bow sings as she holds it ready and you know the way her muscles flex and her eyes narrow from experience. We won’t let a single one of those monsters past us. We won’t--

The knights bellow alongside the orcs. Your heart leaps and your focus is jarred. You’re standing in front of the door again, your hands balled at your sides. Everyone can hear the battle now and the townsfolk scream when the orcs’ battle cries shake the manor.

“Quiet!” Is that your voice? It is. Your eyes slide to the frightened faces behind you. “You’ll distract the knights.”

Sarah steps up alongside you. “And let the orcs know exactly where we are.”

The villagers quiet into aborted whimpers and muffled sobs.

The battle rages, louder and louder. Are orcs big? They sound big. When you close your eyes you can hear the way their feet pummel the earth. Do they have weapons? Metal clashes. A knight screams that their hides are too thick. The Lord shouts back to aim for their eyes. A table splinters, a bow sings, there’s a liquid gasp—

BOOM!

You slam your hands against the door, muscles straining as another blow lands against it. The wood convulses under your hands and the lock creaks. The villagers scream.

“No,” someone whispers. “No, they found us.”

You’re eight and the snow spirits are howling for blood. Your shoulders ache with the effort to hold the door against the wind. The cold is biting at your fingertips and there is an old hope dying in your chest--

Small hands slam against the door next to yours. Hera is snarling and swearing, Josiah is crying. Sarah is telling the kids not to worry, Isla and Hera and Josiah won’t let them in –

They’re here. You’re not alone.

“GET AWAY FROM THERE!”

The orc’s bellow isn’t nearly as loud as Ivan’s roar.

The blow you’re bracing for never comes. Ivan goads the orc to follow him, to leave the manor alone, to eat the man readily available to him—

It does not sound like the knights are winning now.

“My Lord!” Marie’s voice is strained.

“Do not fall back, they’ll corner us—”

“Who is that? Who is—”

The crack under the door lights with a sickly purple. The smell of ozone seeps into the manor. For a moment there is a silence so complete you think you’ve been struck. What was that? Magic? You’ve never seen magic before--

Screams rocket across the field. The Blacksmith’s screams. The Baker’s screams. Marie’s rage-filled howls.

“DEMON KING!”

Your Destiny burns.

---.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

----------------

Thanks for reading! If you'd like read the last part of Isla a week early, please consider supporting me on Patreon(X)!

[anemoiadawn]

< used to this >

pairing:: mostly just bang chan. but felix is there too genre:: pure fluff, nothing weird! slight angst. word count:: 3.7k summary:: "... for the first time in his life, Chan was starved of a compliment." warnings:: none! minors can interact, but please don't follow me or look at my other posts, thank you! notes:: i wrote this for class. had to edit it a bit to be able to post here, and the version for class only had five of them (chan, felix, jisung, changbin, and jeongin)- so that's why you may not see a lot of the others. if my professor sees this no you didn't.

“How would you describe yourself in one word?”

Chan read the last card in his hands aloud, then looked up into the camera lens. He felt his heart sink in his chest, his muscles tensing under his sleek button-down shirt. He brought his knees up to his chest as he racked his brain for an answer. There wasn’t any single word that would describe him well. The other kids had already done their interviews and finished quickly– they seemed to have had little to no trouble with the questions, so surely they had breezed over this one. He’d had those hours to think of his own answer, since he’d already heard the question four times.

The interviews had been split into two parts: one member on his own, answering each question about himself– and how he thought the others would answer on his behalf. Then, on the couches in the other room: the remaining members gave their own answers.

It had taken Chan less than five seconds to answer for everyone besides himself. Now, Chan had been sitting in front of the camera for five full minutes, yet still hadn’t uttered a word. The staff behind the camera were getting impatient– they had things to do, footage to edit, places to be. Chan hated being a burden like this. He liked being on stage, all those eyes on him– but this? This was too much.

"Channie is..." he started, trailing off as he stared past the camera lens. He had to say something. Anything.

"Lost." No, that's not enough. Sure, it was true, but it wasn’t… satisfactory. More.

"Channie is… complicated." That wasn’t it. Anyone could say that about themselves. More.

"Channie has got a long way to go." Getting there. It was fine to give up on just one word, Chan thought. One word wouldn’t work. Think deeper. More.

"Channie needs to work harder." Almost. More.

"Channie doesn't even take care of himself. He only takes care of the members."

There it was.

The last interview, his own, concluded with that line. Chan headed out to the lobby with his heart heavy, walking to where the others were all sitting together. To no surprise, they were all joking amongst themselves, playfully poking fun at one another. Chan leaned against the doorframe with a chuckle and let them mess around, his heart lifting in his chest. He knew to set aside his perfectionist tendencies with them, to privately bask in that discomfort as long as they had their fun. It would sour the mood, to tell them to keep it down so the staff could work and pack up for the day. So he stayed quiet.

It was worth the anxiety to see them happy. It was worth the uneasiness to be loved by them. It was worth the stress to be a family. That was all he wanted: “I want to be loved by all the members,” he had said earlier in the interview, the first line out of his mouth as soon as he’d sat down. Everything was for them. Everything.

“You mind if I sit in?” Chan pulled a chair up behind the editor’s desk. He was met with a hum– she didn’t talk much. She never did. Chan liked it, a lot, actually. He didn’t feel pressured to fill the silence with her.

He settled in behind her, watching the muted clips as she worked. On the screen: his members, his brothers, his family. They looked so happy, so carefree. Warm smiles spread across each of their faces– laughing, pushing one another, curled up on the couch. They looked like home. Chan’s home.

“They all love you a lot,” the editor slipped her headset off one ear. Chan had been watching for over twenty minutes, letting her work in silence. “Even when they didn’t say particularly sweet things, their love for you is so obvious.”

Chan felt his ears burning. “Oh,” he whispered, chewing his bottom lip as he looked over her shoulder. She’d paused the video on a frame where two of the members were cuddling. They had never properly learned what personal space was. “Do you mind if I listen?”

“Here,” she took off her headset and placed it on the desk. “Go crazy. I’m basically done.”

Chan took her place at the desk as she went to take her break. He smiled at how they were all over each other, the way Felix was sprawled out across Jeongin’s legs. He was always happy to see Felix happy. Any of them happy, obviously– but Felix, particularly. Felix brought Chan out of that dark, dark place. Felix deserved to be happy the most.

“Chan used to be so scary,” Jisung shivered. Chan figured this was in response to the question asked about first impressions– he didn’t want to rewind and potentially mess up the editor’s progress. 

“I could rarely ever approach him,” Jisung continued. “He had this kind of shadow around him– everyone was scared of him.”

Chan hated thinking about that period of his life. Training was brutal, and the members had only seen the end of it. Seven years. Seven years he’d trained, and Jisung had been the first to join him– but that wasn’t until five years in. He hadn’t seen the worst of it.

“We couldn’t even use his name,” Changbin added. “Even though I’m so close in age to him, he only responded to honorifics.”

Chan had never been one to make people use honorifics for him. But since moving to Korea, and learning how important age dynamics were, and how he was seen as lesser than anyone who was even a day older– it had gotten to him. He had made sure everyone younger than him treated him with respect. The respect he was owed for having trained so long.

“He let me call him ‘Chris’ from day one,” Felix whispered, tugging at his earlobe. “He was always so sweet to me, ever since we met.”

“That’s because you’re from the same hometown,” Jeongin added. “I think you reminded him of home.”

“Maybe,” Felix picked at his fingernails. “He kinda was my new home, in a way. I hope I did. Remind him of home, that is.”

Chan’s heart ached. Did Felix really not know how much he meant to Chan? He tugged at the neckline of his shirt, suddenly unable to breathe in enough air.

“You definitely did,” Jisung smiled, assuring Felix. “He was so ready to debut with just us. Then you came along, and he pulled so many strings to get you in the final lineup for the show. You have no idea how long he fought the managers to let you join.”

Suddenly, Felix poked his head into the room. Chan lifted his head and smiled his way– Felix’s face lit up. “Recording tomorrow, right?” Felix shouted loud enough to be heard over the headphones; Chan took them off swiftly and smiled back.

“Yeah. Just one song. Shouldn’t be too much of a hassle.”

It was, indeed, a hassle– At least for Chan.

The recording took three full hours, despite there only being the one song to record. Usually, the others would leave after they’d finished their parts. It was a blessing for Chan most recording sessions, because that meant he could get right to polishing the track. He loved being around them more than anything, but it was nearly impossible to get any work done with seven young men bickering while he was focusing on the fine details of a song.

For some reason unbeknownst to Chan, they all stayed behind this time. Maybe out of spite– but Chan couldn’t think of a reason why they would want to upset him. Maybe he’d done something wrong, and this was his punishment. Maybe they knew how long he’d held up production the day before and were upset. Maybe the staff had said something, told them to make the recording session a living nightmare, told them to torture Chan to the best of their abilites.

Jisung claimed to have missed Chan’s company, since he was always cooped up in the studio without them– but Chan saw them every single day. Jisung’s excuse for all of them hanging around didn’t feel genuine. To cope, Chan blasted the track at a bleedingly high volume through his overpriced headphones, trying his best to drown out the chatter from the couches behind him.

To his despair, his headset had reached the max volume, and the guys behind him would not let up. They likely weren’t talking too loud, but Chan was used to absolute silence. Even a whisper outside the door would throw him off. Taking a sharp breath through his teeth, he decided to get some fresh air. He yanked off his headset and set it down on the table– just slightly harder than he intended. Chan froze, his breath catching in his chest as the room fell silent, the sound of the headphones against the table instantly dying against the soundproofed walls. He looked back to the couches and was met with four pairs of wide eyes, staring back in silence.

“Ah–” Chan panicked, lifting the headset and waving it like a white flag, surrendering. “Sorry, I… there was a part I... didn’t like. I’m okay, sorry, you guys are fine, it’s–” he rambled on, stammering out excuse after excuse, but they knew him too well. They knew they had upset him, and one after one they left the studio with hushed apologies.

“Good work today,” each of them whispered before leaving. Chan’s heart sank into his stomach. He couldn’t take a compliment to save his life, so the only way they could compliment him was to commend him for his work. Telling him that he sang well, that he performed well, that he looked good? Too far. All he could handle was a quick “good work.” Nothing more. And that’s exactly what they did.

But for the first time in his life, Chan was starved of a compliment. He had put up with so much the last three hours, and every single one of them had just taken him for granted. When Jeongin had complained about each of his lines, Chan had swiftly assigned him one of Changbin’s parts. When Jisung had felt unsatisfied with the fifty takes he’d done, Chan had stepped into the studio and physically supported him through it. When it had been two and half hours and was Changbin’s turn to record in the booth, Changbin had kept cracking jokes and messing up his lines on purpose. Usually, Chan would have just laughed along, but he hadn’t left the room in four hours and exhaustion had already set in. He had just wanted to go home by that point.

Was it too much to ask for praise every now and then? Chan squeezed his eyes shut, leaning as far back in his chair as he could. Sure, he melted every time someone gave him a compliment or praise. Sure, he’d instantly brush it off with some sort of self-deprecating joke, or flip it to the person saying it and praise them instead. He knew it was frustrating for anyone around him to try to show him love, but… alone, in his studio, after the members had all left, Chan started to feel like nobody was trying.

If Chan put in so much effort to make the others feel comfortable, to build up their confidence, to make them feel loved, was it really so much to ask for them to do the same for him? He may be the leader, the oldest, but he was still human. He still needed that support from those closest to him. But Chan would rather die than admit that himself. It would kill him to admit weakness.

Was he not worth the energy? They had all given up a long time ago when it came to praising Chan, but even so– a lot of the other members were like him, too, and that didn’t hinder Chan’s affection. If anything, he was more affectionate with the ones who shied away from it. Jeongin especially, who he lived with now, had always hated any sort of affection– but after being under the same roof as Chan for just a couple months, he’d warmed up to it. ‘Exposure therapy,’ Chan would giggle out as he had hugged Jeongin from behind at any possible chance.

It had taken so long for him to be this comfortable with them. With anyone. He’d lost so many people, lost so many friends, so many people he considered family– he hadn’t been able to trust anyone for years. Hadn’t let anyone in for years. He couldn’t get hurt again, wouldn’t let himself get hurt again.

The track glared through cheap speakers overhead and Chan held his breath. It wasn’t his best work– but Somi had slammed his door open at 2am in hysterics. Chan had just started getting into bed and hadn’t slept in 40 hours before that, but he stayed up all night making the perfect track for Somi for the monthly evaluation. It hurt his own performance the next day, running on two hours of sleep, sure– but she was more important. He couldn’t lose anyone else. Especially not someone who had also taken the same leap: moving to Korea at such a young age, following their dreams. He’d do anything to help someone the way he hadn’t been helped when he first arrived. He needed her to make it. He needed her to stay.

His heart sank when he looked over to the staff as soon as Somi brought the microphone to her lips. Their faces soured listening to her performance, and Chan prayed to gods he didn’t believe in that Somi didn’t see their expressions. She was too sensitive. She couldn’t handle that like he could. She hadn’t been training for as long. She didn’t have his tough skin yet.

Somi finished her song perfectly. Just like she always did. Chan smiled up at her as soon as she sang the last note, her eyes meeting his. He gave her a thumbs-up, nodding– ‘you did well,’ he mouthed, hoping she’d be able to read his lips. Somi smiled in response, sending back a half-heart with her hand.

Microphone feedback buzzed over the speakers and they both winced. Looking back to the front of the practice room, the head trainer started speaking. “Sit down.” His voice pained Chan’s ears. “Next.”

They let her go the next day. No explanation. She was kicked out of the program in the blink of an eye. 

He couldn’t say a word to her as she was packing her bags. Somi asked for him to help, but his hands were shaking too badly to carry any of the boxes. He tried, though– but immediately dropped one. Chan almost cried as soon as the package hit the floor, but Somi assured him: it was only plushies, she promised. It was okay, she promised.

Chan let her hug him, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t wrap his arms around her. He couldn’t comfort her. His muscles had turned to concrete. His bones couldn’t handle the weight on his shoulders as Somi turned to leave.

It was his song that got her eliminated. It was him.

It was his fault.

He walked back to his dorm alone, collapsed onto the bottom bunk, stared up at the railing holding the top bunk in place. It was his fault.

Chan rotted for hours in his bed. He didn’t get up when his roommate, Jisung at the time, called him down for lunch. He didn’t get up when one of the managers knocked on his door to get him down for practice. He didn’t get up when Jisung threatened to sit on his chest if he didn’t get out of bed for dinner. He didn’t get up until the next day, a little after breakfast was served.

Jisung knocked on the wood of the bed frame, Chan’s eyes shooting open after he’d dozed off for a bit. Jisung frowned, wiped a stray tear from Chan’s cheek with his thumb, and spoke: “There’s a new trainee. I don’t think his Korean is too great. Can you come down to help?”

Jisung knew Chan loved to feel needed. He loved to be of use. Chan got up within seconds.

Though Chan’s head was spinning from sitting up too quickly, he made his way down to the lobby.

The head trainer was talking to someone right outside the elevators– a boy, slightly taller than Chan. Freckles adorned his cheeks, his shoulder-length hair a golden blonde. He looked like an angel. He looked as if when he spoke, a choir would sing.

Chan approached the two and smiled up at the trainer. The trainer patted Chan on the back, pushing him towards the boy– probably around 16, at the oldest. Years older than Chan was when he joined the company. He was 20, now. Seven years of training.

‘Hello,’ Chan choked out in English. His voice was shot after nearly a day of not speaking. ‘I’m Chris.’

‘Hi,’ the boy spoke, his voice octaves lower than Chan was expecting. He was Australian, just like Chan. Chan was hearing home for the first time in years. ‘I’m Felix.’

By the time the studio door opened again, Chan had moved to the couch. Sitting where the members had sat, he curled up as small as he could, keeping his head buried between his knees. He didn’t need to open his eyes or lift his head to know who had entered the room, anyway.

“Chan.” His throat closed up and it suddenly felt twenty degrees hotter in the studio. Why did it have to be him? “You usually come out by now,” Felix continued. “Are you okay?”

Chan couldn’t choke out a single word. He tried, but nothing would come out. Every inch of his skin ached the more he heard Felix speak. The more he felt at home from Felix’s voice– smelling the Sydney beaches, hearing his dog Berry, tasting the shawarma from his favorite restaurant, seeing his brother and sister every time he closed his eyes, feeling his parents hug him after years of being abroad.

He wasn’t allowed to be mad at Felix. He wasn’t allowed to be mad at any of them. They’d saved him. He wouldn’t even be around if they hadn’t come along. If Felix hadn’t come along, especially. This was silly. It was silly to be upset at them. He wasn’t allowed to–

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Felix whispered. “You know that, right?” Chan felt the couch sink next to him. He curled up tighter, trying to get smaller, if possible. His skin burned red hot. “You don’t always have to be perfect.”

Chan took a shallow breath, the air burning his lungs. The muscles under his skin tensed, tightened, strained. He gripped his left arm tightly, as if the pain would stop if he squeezed hard enough. As if he could stop the ringing in his ears, the ache in his chest.

“Chris?” Felix checked in again and Chan felt a hand on his thigh. Suddenly– one part of his skin wasn’t burning. Felix’s hand was cold, not uncomfortably so, but colder than the lava running through Chan’s veins.

Chan hugged his legs to his chest. “I do, though,” he started. “To be perfect. I need to be perfect, I can’t make mistakes, I need to do everything right.” He felt his heart race fast enough to be heard over his stuttering. “If I mess up, you all won’t rely on me anymore, or I’ll ruin everything for all of us. I need to be perfect, or I’ll lose you, I’ll lose everyone, I’ll lose everything.”

Felix sighed, leaning his head on Chan’s shoulder. Chan froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. Felix’s hair on Chan’s bare shoulder worked as a cooling agent on his burning skin. “You don’t know us at all if you really think we’d stop looking up to you if you made a mistake,” Felix softly caressed Chan’s arm, unknowingly healing his aching skin. “We gave you space after what happened earlier because you clearly couldn’t focus. We should’ve known to give you peace and quiet, like we usually do. We’re the ones who messed up, not you.”

Chan huffed, wiping a tear that had barely escaped. “No, I’m too sensitive, I shouldn’t have–”

“You’re not too sensitive,” Felix interrupted, squeezing Chan’s shoulder. “And we know you. We should have known we would get on your nerves by staying in the studio with you. That’s on us, not you. I’m sorry, Chan. We all are.” Chan sniffled, his head still between his knees, staring down at the couch beneath him.

“I just…” he started, trying to explain. “I’m so scared. I can’t…” Chan steadied his breathing, lifting his head to look Felix in the eye. “If I mess up, I’ll stop being useful. I can’t bear the thought of any of you not needing me anymore.” Felix chuckled in response.

“That’s never going to happen,” Felix turned to face Chan fully and pinched his cheek. “I’ll always need a duo for League,” Felix whispered, wrapping his arms around Chan’s neck to hold him close. “Changbin will always need a gym buddy or someone to cook for him. Jeongin will always need someone to baby the shit out of him. Jisung will always need someone to tell him his lyrics are way too crass. Don’t even get me started on everyone else. You’re always going to be our oldest brother, our leader. You’re always going to be needed. Even if you’re the one needing help sometimes.”

Chan laughed, burying his face in Felix’s shoulder. The aching of Chan’s skin had morphed into a comfortable coolness, spreading from every spot Felix touched. Chan was usually the one initiating any physical contact, so it felt… intense. Now that Felix had initiated it this time. Now that Felix had come to him first, to hold Chan in his arms, to assure him. Now that, for the first time in his life, he was the one being taken care of. It was an unfamiliar feeling: being held instead of holding, being comforted instead of comforting.

He could get used to this.

[lisbetadair]

So, in the UK the 7-10 year old girls' scouting group is called Brownies, and their leader is usually called "Brown Owl" and other assistant troop leaders are also named after owls. And I've been thinking that there might be mileage in this, if, say, through a comedy of errors, a Brownie six (like the SAS, the large Brownie troop is split into patrol sized units led by the most senior child, called sixes) find themselves lost, and accidentally wander into the middle of a large, special operations exercise in the Brecon Beacons.

Needless to say, the girls are not immediately reassured by the apperance of two burly men in camoflague gear burdened with all the accoutrements of war, particulary when one has a skull for a face.

"Who are you?" squeaks the bravest Brownie, courageously threatening them with a stick.

"Well done for getting here!" reassures Soap, who is familiar with the concept of Girl Guiding "We're here to help you with your…. er…. Special Operations badge!"

"There isn't a Special Operations badge!" counters the Brownie, still brandishing her stick.

"If you knew about the Special Operations badge," says Soap, patiently "It wouldn't be special now, would it?"

She frowns at him, and the stick lowers a little as she considers this, but another dissenting voice pipes up.

"You're an owl?"

"Yes! I'm Soap Owl and this is Ghost Owl!" says Soap. He winces, sensing that Ghost is looking at him extremely sarcastically.

There is muttering amongst the Brownies, and then they turn, as one, to the tallest, gangliest Brownie bringing up the rear, who pulls out a birdwatchers guide and confirms that whilst there is a Ghost Owl, Soap Owls do not exist.

Ghost sighs "Bathed Owl was taken" he growls, and the girls fall silent. Then crounching down, he brings himself level with the assembled children, "Now, how many of you have handled a bayonet before?"

Many hours later, because calling off a major military exercise in stealth and guerilla warfare at short notice is quite hard, especially when everyone is off comms, lying low and set a bunch of traps with blank landmines, a helicopter finally lands nearby.

Several army medics, and three middle-aged women in Brownie Leader uniforms jump out to find two SAS operatives, six extremely smug little Brownies in matching skull-printed balaclavas, their uniforms covered with cam cream twigs and moss, and four trussed up paratroopers looking extremely forlorn at their circumstances.

A few months later, six hand sewn, dagger-themed badges arrive at the church hall where the 4th West Malvern Brownie Troop meets, and in Aldershot, the paratroop regiment swear never to speak of Exercise Joint Warrior 2024 ever again.

[j-k-writes]

Soulmates!au with Jaime lannister x stark male (benjen's twin brother) reader pretty please?🥺

With prompts: you're a demanding little thing, aren't you? And i will never be able to carve you from my heart. you are embedded too deep.

Summary - Jamie Lannister does not remember much of the first night he spent with Y/N Stark, but the night still haunts him for years after he stormed out of the younger man's chambers.

Warnings - General GOT warnings, implied sexual content, drinking

Jamie scarcely recognized Winterfell as he rode through the open gates. 

The castle he had spent weeks in all those years ago was loud and full of life, but the one he took in now was on its last breaths. The people who bustled around the keep had no life in their eyes, their posture and eyes giving away the impending doom that was coming their way. 

Jamie made himself scarce amongst the Northerners, sticking mostly to his brother’s side as war plans were made and the castle was fortified. It was during one of the war councils, that Tyrion was welcome at but Jamie was not, that he saw him. 

If someone asked, Jamie forgot about Y/N Stark the moment the door slammed behind his back in a fit of rage all those years ago. But the truth of the matter was that Y/N Stark had plagued Jamie’s every waking thought and dream for the last three and half years. Jamie remembered next to nothing about his last night in Winterfell, but the feel of Y/N rough stubble against his skin and teeth against his neck were forever burned into his mind. The Northerner’s chest was impossibly warm pressed against Jamie’s skin, and his lips had tasted like the very same wine that got Jamie into his bed in the first place.  

Jamie made eye contact with him across the yard, the gooseflesh that crawled down his arms had nothing to do with the cold when Y/N’s eyes lit up in recognition. From the look of him it was clear to the ex-kingsguard that he was not the only one of them to have a rough few years. His face which had been rough from labor at the wall yet still full of life and humor was scarred and lacking the warmth that Jamie remembered. All of the life that Y/N’s presence had brought to Winterfell's halls all the years ago was dead; it seemed as Jamie watched him from afar for days. 

Y/N spent his days moving almost mindlessly, preparing Winterfell for siege and talking in hushed whispers to Jon and the other commanders. He didn’t join the rest of them for meals or training, and the time he did spend out of his chambers he spent with the Wildlings, comfortable enough with them that Jamie could tell there was a story there. It wasn’t until the night before the Long Night, possibly their last night, that Jamie worked up the balls to track him down and talk. 

“Jon I alre-” The door the chambers opened with a clang as Y/N threw the door open, he paused at the sight of Jamie standing there, a pitcher of wine in his hand. “Jamie?” 

“I brought wine.” 

Y/N shook his head, letting out a short laugh, “Come in.” 

They ended up splitting four pitchers of wine between them before Y/N cut them both off, “We’re fighting a war tomorrow. We’ll be no use drunk.” 

Y/N leaned over to place the empty pitcher back on the table and Jamie could smell the wine on his breath as the man entered his space. The smell of wine and the sudden closeness brought Jamie back to the last time they’d been left alone drunk with each other. 

Jamie could never figure out just exactly how Y/N had convinced him into his bed, but he remembers the moment where Jamie decided that it was what he wanted. 

‘You’re a demanding little thing, aren’t you?’  The man had whispered in his ear, pressing up against the door and pushing the breath out of Jamie's lungs. Jamie had been drunk, arrogant, and controlling throughout their journey up to the room, making snide comments about Y/N’s vows that Y/N had returned tenfold with taunts of Jamie and Cersei’s relationship that he had been too drunk to deny. As soon as Y/N’s rough laugh and taunting words had reached Jamie’s ears his resolve had broken and his knees had gone weak. 

“Jamie?” Y/N said cautiously, snapping the man out of his memories. 

“I still think about that night.” The words tumbled out of Jamie’s mouth before he could stop them and Y/N froze. Before the wine induced bravery could leave him, Jamie continued. “It’s been three years since and you still plague my dreams. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to speak to you since I arrived, can you imagine? The Kingslayer, scared of a conversation.” 

Y/N laughed, “You’re drunk.” 

“No.” Jamie shook his head. “If being drunk is what makes me think of you this way, I've been drunk every waking moment for the last three years. I know what I said to you all those years ago, but I was wrong. I will never be able to carve you from my heart. you are embedded too deep.” 

Y/N’s breath caught, but before Jamie could regret opening his big mouth Y/N surged forward. He grabbed Jamie’s face, bringing their mouths together. Nothing about the way Y/N was claiming his lips was sweet, it was rough bitten kisses and rough hands grabbing his hair and bringing him closer to him. It was so familiar to the way that Y/N had claimed him all those years ago that Jamie couldn’t do anything but smile and melt into the man as he dragged him toward the bed. 

Jamie was hyper-aware of the war looming over them as Y/N undressed him, lips trailing down his body with each new piece of skin that was revealed. But he couldn’t find it in himself to be too upset by the deadline, content to finally take something for himself even if it was just going to be one last time. 

[nancyheart11]

Hotsprings are just what the doctor ordered

Twilight always felt more at ease when they were in his era. He wasn’t sure what it was in the air, but when he was in any time other than his own; there was a feeling like he didn’t quite fit in itching at his bones. The latest doorway they followed the shadow through led them to Twilight’s time, the deep gorges surrounding Kakariko distinctive enough to give him a pretty good idea of where they were.

They made their way to the town the next morning, having to stop and camp since they arrived well past sunset. The sight of open gates and even some bustle amongst the townspeople set Twilight at ease, since it was a sign there wasn’t any immediate disaster happening. With that established, the group stopped at the Goron by the side of the road selling potion, then got more bombs before heading over to the sanctuary, hoping Renado would have information for them. 

“Link! It’s a relief to see you right now. Monsters have been gathering in numbers not seen since the invasion.” Renado’s face was shadowed with stress that hadn’t been there the last time he visited.

Twilight nodded, not surprised to hear this was happening but glad there was information to be had so he wasn’t stuck going in circles. There were three groups of monsters gathering it seemed, all about equidistant from the town. Dodongos, fire keese, chus, and strange frog-like creatures which spit fire were gathering within the Goron mines. When Sky perked up at the description of the frog-like creatures, Twilight figured it would be a long day, since monsters he wasn’t familiar with were involved. Then he heard about bokoblins, Deku babas, and a strange horse-lion-like creature gathering on Kakariko’s side of North Hyrule Field. And in the South Field, guay, kargarocks, and araflos seemed to be gathering. 

Renado asked if they had booked rooms in the Elde Inn for the night, and upon finding out they hadn’t stopped by yet, left to make arrangements, dodging any talk of payment with his calm, quiet refusal to talk about it until they gave in and went back to planning out how to deal with the monsters. Sky said the creatures new to Twilight in the mines were called froaks. Legend pulled out his ice rod and called first shot at the fire monsters, Four and Warriors both opting to join in with Legend’s group. Wild insisted he be in charge of the Lynel on the northern field portion and Hyrule was quick to join him, with Wind joining in after learning that the northern field was the biggest battlefield of the three. Twilight reminded him not to hurt vital infrastructure, but winked after to let him know he wouldn’t complain about a little burnt grass.

Which left Sky, Time and himself to tackle the southern field portion. They agreed to meet back at the town when they were finished and split off so they weren’t burning daylight. Twilight left Epona in the inn’s stable, making sure to give her a sugarcube before he left, since she clearly deserved a treat for dealing with the others in the group. They moved on past the narrow canyon opening that acted as a bottleneck into and out of the town, and soon arrived in Southern Hyrule Field.

“So, how many rupees ya wanna bet we can be done first?” Twilight threw his arms back behind his head at the words, wondering if the others would take the bait.

Time and Sky didn’t answer with words, but the sudden gleam he could see in both their eyes told him they were in on the game. With that said, they soon figured out a system where Time would use his hookshot and Twilight his boomerang to bring down airborne enemies for Sky to unleash that glowy sword beam on. With this method of taking down half a dozen in a shot, they’d finished by lunch time and were making their way back to Kakariko, Twilight being able to delightedly point out places he’d found a golden bug or two along the way to Sky, who’d gotten out a ridiculously huge bug net.They entered town and the sounds of the sacred spring gave Twilight an idea.

“Say, have either of you fellas ever been to a hot spring?” He could feel a smile trying tug at his list and stubbornly kept it at bay.

 Time’s eye lit up, and his ears perked ever so slightly, while Sky put a finger to his chin, thinking for a moment.

“Is that like a hot bath?” 

Twilight grinned at the confusion radiating from the Skyloftian knight. “You, my friend, are about to be in for a treat.”

“So Kakariko has hot springs in your time? That’s a far cry from what they had in my day, and I haven’t had a chance to visit hot springs since my return to Hyrule.”

“You’re probably thinking of old Kakariko— wait what do you mean return to Hyrule?” 

Time simply smiled in that purposefully frustrating way of his, choosing to act like a skull kid and say nothing else on the matter. But Twilight couldn’t bring himself to be angry, not when they had hot springs to enjoy!

They walked into the Elde Inn and the innkeeper perked up upon seeing Twilight, letting him know that the top floor was theirs for the night and Renado had already taken care of it. Twilight asked about towels and was told they were waiting in the rooms. He took his companions upstairs and they chose a room to drop their stuff inside, each of them stripping down to just pants and grabbing a towel on the way out. Quick rinses to get off the remaining monster blood and grime were done at the indoor bath area.They got to the dirt path outside the inn that lead to the hot spring up top and Twilight couldn’t help the grin that split his face at the prospect of getting to spend some quality time in the delightful spring, sharing the relaxing experience with his ancestor, and particularly at watching Sky’s reaction.

They finally made it to the shallow dip that made up the inn’s hot springs. The Gorons that usually spent the day in the hotspring were nowhere to be found. The stones that curved and sloped gently from years of people sitting on them looked oh so inviting, and oh there was a layer of gravel lining the bottom of the spring, that was new. He shucked his pants off, setting them in a pile by his towel, before eagerly stepping into the water, knowing it was going to be warm and yet still a little surprised at just how warm the water was. He began walking across the bottom of the pool, finding the shifting gravel under his bare feet felt strangely soft in the hot water, the sensation new and not unwelcome.

“C’mon in! The water’s perfect.” 

Time was already putting his neatly folded towel and pants off to the side, making his way into the water, closing his eye and sighing in appreciation as he did so. “Oh how I’ve missed this. Getting to soak these bones is quite the unexpected treat.”

 Twilight beamed at his ancestor though his eye was still closed, happy that his suggestion was going over well, then turned to look at Sky, who was staring at the pool with wide eyes.

“Woah! There's steam coming off the water! It’s so hard to get that at the academy. Karene always uses all the hot water.” despite his grumbles Sky now had a smile on his face as he cautiously dipped a toe in the water, letting out a little gasp of surprise at the temperature, before slowly shuffling into the water a little bit at a time, stopping between each gradual descent.

As for himself, Twilight found the spot on the ledge where the shadows from the surrounding cliffs fell juuuust so, leaving him able to lean back, with his arms on the side behind him, sunshine pooling over the bit of his chest not in the water, yet his face staying in cool shadow. He let a sigh of contentment leave him once he settled. This was a welcome change from the constant fights and stress and secrets. Here, he could simply let his worries melt away for a bit, sharing this small treat with people he couldn’t help but admire after the time they’d spent in battle together.

There was a swish next to him in the water, and he peeked from under his lashes to find Sky settling in next to him, still wiggling his hands in the water as though he could barely believe that this entire pool was delightfully warm and would continue to remain so. Time had adopted a similar position to Twilight, though he’d simply turned his head so that his good eye was facing away from the sun, his prominent nose probably helping to offer shade from the angle he was at. Twilight laughed a little internally at the thought, then shifted to be a little deeper in the water, letting the warmth and weightless feeling wash away even his thoughts.

—

The sun moved in the sky, a breeze came and went, and the sunlight was in Twilight’s face now, yet he didn’t move because his current position was so comfortable. Then a shadow crossed his vision, along with the sounds of leather tapping on stone. 

He looked up, only to meet the scowling face of Legend. Sky was snoring softly next to him, head slumped against the stone behind them. He lifted an arm that felt as though it was filled with Chu jelly, giving Legend a lazy wave.

“Really! That’s all you have to say after leaving us to do all the work, Rancher?” 

He could practically see the steam pouring out of Legend’s ears. He quirked a quizzical brow in response.

“We’ve been fighting stupid monster reinforcements all day! And we finally get back only to find out you’ve been up here relaxing for hours!”

“T’wern’t any reinforcem’ts in the group we ‘ad,” Twilight forced out past sleepy lips.

Legend got red in the face, his foot tapping faster and faster in irritation, before he seemed to deflate, and Twilight’s mind couldn’t help comparing him to a bunny who had flopped over after his stomping didn’t get him more food.

“Why don’t you shower off an’ come join us, vet?” 

Legend paused, then nearly ran back down the stone path towards the inn, and soon enough there was a fourth body sliding into the water, Legend’s hair pulled back into a small tail to keep it from touching the liquidr.

Soon enough there were nine boys in the hotspring, all too tired from a day of protecting the kingdom they held dear to talk, but enjoying the break and the presence of the others all the same.

Twilight heaved an internal sigh and pulled himself away from the sweet call of the water, toweling off and putting on pants, moving towards the inn to see about getting dinner sorted, so that Wild would be able to take a break as well.

[iamthekaijuking]

My phylogeny of frog monsters as of the release of wilds

The toxin toads: The most basal of this family of monstrous amphibians, these creatures can be found in a variety of habitats and take the chemical defenses common among frogs to the next level. Of the four species known, three can spew an aerosolized concoction from their mouths in self-defense, with the fourth regurgitating an explosive chyme. These toxins are potent enough to affect creatures hundreds of times their size upon contact, making them a handy species for hunters to use. It’s currently thought that these toxins are synthesized from their diet of bugs.

These creatures are, despite their basal position, already very distinct from other frogs. The genus has two sails supported by bony extensions of the ribs, a feature unique to them, which supports a dense network of blood vessels that can be constricted. This feature can be used to thermoregulate in the wide variety of environments they can be found in, constricting and reducing blood flow in cold environments to retain heat and flushing with blood to vent heat in hot environments.

The toxin toads also have very short tails, which is a feature common amongst this family. This is actually very weird for a frog as ordinarily they re-absorb their tails when transitioning from a tadpole to an adult, and genes responsible for the particular shape of the hip bones in frogs is also intrinsically linked with the re-absorption of the tail in their tadpole stage. The re-absorption of the tail allows for the specialized muscles and unique hip structure that allows frogs to jump to be present. Because of this, you can only really have one or the other.

It could be possible that the tails of the monster frogs could be extensions of the colon like the Tailed Frog, but we don’t see them squash or stretch like a boneless appendage and instead move like they have a rigid support structure. This doesn’t necessarily mean that they have vertebrae in their tails, but this is the logical conclusion. And if they are true tails then that implies that this family either descend from very early frogs or stem-frogs, splitting off before the loss of the tail as adults became hard baked into the genome of other frogs. This would also imply that their hips, and by extension how they leap, is very different from other frogs.

Armored frogs

Thorntoad: Amphibians native to the citadel and by extension the mega-forest it once was, in self defense they vomit noxious chemicals into the faces of attackers. This isn’t all too different from the toxin toads, implying that this could be an ancestral trait to the family.

Two defining features of this species are their long flexible tongues and armor.

Despite what is seen in media, frog tongues are not long or especially flexible. They are actually short and situated at the front of the mouth folded backwards, and when a frog opens its mouth to grab something the tongue flips forward into a more normal position to slap the prey item with its stickiness. So for a frog to have a long flexible tongue like that of say an anteater is rather fascinating, and could imply a diet specializing in animals that make small burrows. Unable to dig prey up, it simply sends its tongue down to probe for it.

The osteoderms, which are common among the monster frogs, is also strange as frogs famously lack scales. But that isn’t to say that they are unfamiliar with doing strange things with their skin, as many species have hard bony skin around the face and shoulders, and Leptobrachium boringii males can grow a mustache of keratinous spines during mating season. In a land with dragons and dinosaurs, large frogs might be pressured into dermal protection.

Chatacabra: Monstrous frogs with long tongues and upright limbs native to deserts. Chatacabra are perhaps most unique for their body plan that has converged with the cursorial old world monkeys such as Blagonga and Rajang, and they seem to have near similar range of movement in their limbs and can even knuckle walk. What could have possibly caused such an adaptation in a frog is unclear. While a more upright body posture would keep the underside off the hot sand, the arms are subject to guesswork. The unique range of arm movements in primates is a result of their arboreality and brachiation movements, so it could be possible that the ancestors of Chatacabra were arboreal.

The long tongue of Chatacabra seems to be a holdover from more basal armored frogs, and while still used for prey capture, is also used to smear the forelimbs with sticky mucus. This same mucus is used to attach rocks to their forelimbs to make their attacks more damaging to anything willing to attack them.

Three features present in Chatacabra are common to the rest of the monstrous frogs and is worth bringing up here. Teeth on the mandibles, claws, and supporting the organs without a ribcage.

Frogs lack teeth on their bottom jaws as they lost the genes for them 200 million years ago, but it is not impossible for the monstrous frogs to have re-evolved them. The frog Gastrotheca guentheri managed to do it, likely because the genes that tell teeth were to grow are tied to the genes for gums. Claws are also not impossible for a frog when faced with the right pressure, as the African Clawed Frog has keratinous extensions on three of its toes it uses for prey processing.

Frogs also don’t have a rib cage, and ordinarily this limits how big they can get as past a certain size their organs might threaten to fall out of their body or get jostled around. But the monstrous frogs get around this with very well developed obliquus externus and rectus abdominis muscles with a high amount of elastin to prevent damage when getting jostled around. They also have hypertrophied procoracoids, sternums, and xiphisternums to further mimic a proper ribcage.

In the desert there is rarely large long lasting water bodies for tadpoles, so Chatacabra had to develop a work-around. Much like Rain Frogs, Chatacabra mothers will dig a hole for her to lay eggs in, and these eggs will give birth to miniature fully formed Chatas via a process called direct development.

Tetranadon: Amphibians that can be found in river systems in more eastern parts of the world, Tetras are unique for their hard turtle-like shell and beak.

The species spends most time submerged and inactive for long stretches of time, as long wisps of algae are commonly seen growing off their bodies. They occasionally experience periods of activity where they forage along the bottom of water bodies, shuffling through the muck with their fleshy bill. This bill is lined with electroreceptors like a platypus, and they use it to detect prey, particularly a species of freshwater slug called Goocumbers, which is their preferred prey. Upon detection a Tetranadon then ravenously scarfs down its meal, along with the surrounding water and dirt.

The shell of a Tetranadon is composed of many large fused osteoderms, but unlike a turtle shell it is completely separate from the ribs and vertebrae. Tetranadon are also capable of standing and moving upright, and can even pick up objects with their forelimbs.

Tetsucabra: Possibly the most famous genus within this froggy family, Tetsucabra are a common sight in habitats with rocky terrain.

The species is fossorial, and creates elaborate dens and tunnels with their large claws and massive tusks. Their skulls are notoriously robust and their tusks and brows give them an intimidating appearence. They are equipped with rather flat peg shaped teeth, and this coupled with the fact they are capable of eating grains and rice indicates an omnivorous diet. Tetsu are also smart enough to be trained and tamed individuals exist, although they are very food motivated creatures.

If their powerful legs and massive jumps are unable to carry them to safety, their tough hide and powerful bite can deter attackers. They can even manipulate boulders with their mouths and toss them as well as spit a noxious substance much like the Thorn Toad and Toxin Toads.

During the breeding season male Tetsucabra fight violently for females like African Bullfrogs. A successful male will then dig out a nursery for his offspring that he maintains diligently.

Inflatable frogs

Zamitrios: Arctic amphibians known for their striking appearance, massive maw, and rapid metamorphic lifecycle.

The primary species is found around the polar seaway and its surrounding environments, and deals with the temperatures through antifreeze compounds in the blood and gigantothermy. The species is aquatic, swimming with powerful webbed feet and a fluked tail after prey which they dispatch via shark-like jaws and teeth. But they need to be careful not to fall prey to other monsters such as the massive parave Ukanlos.

They drink seawater, and their specialized kidneys can filter out the salt. In self defense they can spray some of their water reserves along with bits of liquid nitrogen from groves along their hide. In the freezing temperatures of their habitat this instantly freezes over their body to form ice armor. If that fails they can suck in a bunch of air to inflate themselves and make themselves look bigger.

Zamtrios tadpoles are already born with forelimbs and have large jagged cranial horns. They target large animals and drill into their hides to eat them alive from the inside, and then rapidly metabolize their meals to grow into subadults. Subadults are very similar to juveniles but have proper hind limbs. This rapid growth is a defensive mechanism, as without parental care it is in a juvenile’s best interest to grow big quickly since in such harsh arctic environments any predator is willing to make a quick snack of them.

There exists a desert dwelling subspecies that, as a water retention adaptation, has lost the ability to create ice armor.

Tricktoad: A small member of the family that takes the inflatable abilities of Zamtrios to the next level. Lighter than air gases are retained from their digestive system and used to float. They then use various fins to (clumsily) propel themselves. In self defense they can secrete a substance that smells good to large predators before making a hasty getaway in hopes of eliminating a would-be predator.

Yama Tsukami: Traditionally put in the slight wastebasket taxon that is the elder dragon class, its placement here is controversial. Not much is known about the species.

Yama spend very long periods of time on the forest floor of the forests and jungles they call home, long enough that flora grows on their skin and adds a layer of camouflage. Occasionally they experience periods of activity where they then proceed to quite literally inhale plants and any animals not fast enough to escape its massive maw, which is equipped with massive human-like teeth perfect for processing woody material. Great Thunderbugs also live symbiotically within their mouths where they keep it mostly clean of debris, plaque, and cavities.

They accomplish flight via the same way as Tricktoads, but instead of using fins for propulsion they use gas and inhaled air that is vented from “gills” on their underside. So reliant are Yama on floating for movement that the muscles in their limbs have atrophied and their skeleton isn’t ossified outside of their jaws as a weight saving adaptation. If they ever find themselves grounded they are incapable of movement until able to re-inflate.

As the species is very poorly understood, their reproductive habits are a mystery. But Mezeporta hunters have reported a variation of the monster called Yama Kurai, although these are likely just very old Yamas.

Other notes

Gelidron: A recently discovered species of giant salamander native to the oilwell basin. They live their lives in the slow lane in groups, lazily foraging for various endemic crustaceans. To navigate rough terrain they are equipped with claws and gecko-like foot pads.

They’re able to gradually shift their color to be darker when in oilslits and their iridescent mucus further aids in this camouflage. If threatened they open their mouths as a threat display, but are otherwise easy and nutritious meals. They primarily rely on their explosive reproduction for defense.

Yes I know I wouldn’t have needed to make various workarounds for these guys if I just made them Temnospondyls instead of frogs but shhhh let me have some fun and talk about weird frogs and frog anatomy.

[bludovebunny]

✧ ✫ . Where the ✩ .

✧ weasel goes ♡︎ .

. ✧ trouble follows ☾ ✫

A touch in the Dark

pairing ღ Lex Luthor x fem! oc/reader ღ Ao3 link

chapter one . chapter two . chapter three . chapter four .

ღ Summary ღ After suffering through a few personal troubles in the City of Metropolis, Niah Foxx ventures to live with her grandparents at their homestead within the warm, quaint town that is Smallville. Although instinctively a sweet, warm-hearted woman who frolics in the realm of dreams way too often, whisked away between the pages of books and poetry to escape reality, there presents a cynical point of view towards society as a whole as she struggles to find a place of belonging and people to rely on. Her reserved nature is quite apparent, as is the wisdom gained in the quietness of solitude and mere observation. And, unbeknownst to her, catches the attentive eye of the young heir of LuthorCorp with an infamous reputation. It only begs the question: In what way does a dove break loose from the coils of a snake? If it wants to escape at all? ღ Themes ღ emotional vulnerability obsession unrequited feelings slow burn friends to lovers height difference loyalty angst fluff poetry opposites attract romance loneliness survival of the fittest strength vs weakness anxiety

ღ words 5.3k . ღ

a/n: A tad on the darker side this time around. This scene was meant to be in the last chapter but I had to split it because it was getting longer than I planned, so this Lex scene get its own chapter. YAY. As continued from the last chapter, it's meant to carry the theme of false appearances. Hope you enjoy!

The mansion was quiet this evening. Almost dead and vacant, enshrouded in darkness of nights bloom. Lex sat in his study on his brown leather armchair, his eyes hollow and blue akin to the emptiness of a glass orb with nothing in them, eyelids set low where they stare pass into the core of walking flames inside the hearth.

There’s an ethereal kind of beauty in its destruction, its swift ability to leave a trail of desolation across anything it touches, destroying life in its path in a frantic frenzy to carry through living. He was like that once – he probably still is even now. He can’t tell. But the destiny that lay about in front of him had developed a unique turnaround in those final moments where he nearly brushed the fringes of calamity. Whereas he believed his soul would be extinguished amongst fiery blaze and smoky haze, he suddenly rose up from the ashes, in remarkable glory like a phoenix with its wings spread out and wide. In blinding white light too great to see.

That fateful day, he realized that even a predetermined construct such as destiny can possess an uncanny sense of humor.

Plunged into the river at sixty-five miles per hour, he fell asleep on the riverbed. His blood ran cold and blue, lifeless as the frigid water melted pass his skin and clung onto his bones. Unconscious. Dead. Laying dormant in the destruction of his own debris he created with his own bare hands. Banished from Metropolis by his father who cast him out into the vicinity of this country bumpkin of a town as a sick form of punishment. Recklessness and arrogance built as the foundation where all his failures had accumulated throughout his juvenile years till it all got washed away, soon as he burst through the railing, diving into the awaiting arms of the watery deep as his breath rushed out of him. Cradling him towards death.

All under five seconds.

Live fast, die young. Was the popular phrase amongst youth with nothing to lose and nothing to gain. Lex didn’t think he had anything to lose at the time. Not really. As a wild youth who constantly partied and hooked up with girls, delving into a number of drugs with other fellow delinquents, trying while failing simultaneously to gain his father’s attention. To look at him. To care. To show for once that he gave a crap about his son. His supposed future heir.

Apparently, that lifestyle didn’t fit the case for Lex’ benefit as he once believed. Because when his lungs tasted that crisp, sweet air once again as the breath of life splintered painfully through his veins, spirit whisked back from the clutching arms of death, he witnessed the grand birth of a second chance looming over the horizon. Right within his reach.

A new beginning. The very prospect was alluring. Its taste utterly sweet and promising where a new dawn approaches to start anew.

The fire crackled, popping in a burst of orange sparks, the bark peeling off with deliberate slowness. Lex held the tumbler loosely in his hand, tipped at an angle and propped on the armrest. Three thick stacks of bills sat on the table beside him right next to the big glass bottle, halfway filled with scotch that he poured in his own tumbler glass. The cash amassed to $100,000 dollars. The same amount of funds stolen from the bank that puzzling day when someone decided to slip on his face to wear as a mask. How ironic that someone would target and use his identity out of all the citizens in town. Guess the culprit found it easier to place blame on a man whom everyone already suspects to possess maleficent intentions, further inflaming the invisible rift between him and the community.

He expelled a sigh through his nostrils and took a sip by a tiny amount. The liquid burns as it slides down his throat. Lex relished in the burn. With every gulp taken, that tiny inflict of pain reminded him that he is still capable of feeling, not made out of stone, his flesh not as hardhearted as his father strives for his son to become. And it doesn’t count as a surprise that people tend to share the same sentiment that he’s a carbon copy of his old man, especially in light of the recent tale of events that had the town talking for the past three days.

Since relocating to Smallville, the unfavorable opinions amongst the locals didn’t escape his notice; he knew well how they all felt about him. Can see it on their faces, the coldness in their body language, the way they watch him with high discretion as if he were a wild animal who might bite their hand – how they smile widely out of feign politeness that just barely concealed the discomfort in their expression. And the tabloids will continue to do a good job in cementing their opinions into stone without much difficulty, since the majority of the sheep-like masses are so easily swayed and moved by anything critical regarding his family name.

It bothered him. He wished their opinions didn’t matter, but they did. Their hard, judgmental stares pressed heavily on his crippling self-worth. But he can endure it, he always has and always will. Alone. A burden he must bear while they pick him apart piece by piece, lying in wait for him to stumble and make a mistake. There was no point in denying this truth. Especially with the plan he already set into motion in his next course of action to combat this recurring problem.

The phone on the table began to ring, emitting a vibrating sound against the African blackwood, dull noise filling the empty space of the study. Lex doesn’t bother as he lets it ring for one moment, eyes dark as they are empty, yet mesmerized, watches the flames carry on through its performance as it dances graceful with its lover on a small stage, consumes the wood alive who offers itself willingly to its demise. Passion. Obsession. Unrelenting. In one instinctual desire to burn and devour out of everlasting desperation, driven to love – to be loved. ‘Less it may perish entirely from existence.

This was his story it seems. Beauty and terror.

The phone still rings. He set the glass down on the table before picking up the device. Without looking at the caller I.D, he flips it open and presses it to his ear.

“Luthor.” He clipped.

“There’s a Roger Nixon waiting at the gate,” spoke the guard, “should I grant him permission to– ”

“Let him in.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, licking his chops, so to speak. “We don’t want our special guest waiting too long now, do we?”

“Yes, Mr. Luthor.”

The call ended. Lex angles his head away from the device, removes the phone from his ear, slowly clicking it shut.

Alas, the reporter has made his appearance. Roger Nixon. Lex had been waiting patiently in expectation of him. The fun was close to starting. The money on the table, duffle bag resting at his feet; two props set in their proper places for the show. His very own performance would no doubt take Nixon by surprise. Unguarded and unprepared for the raining hail looming ahead that will soon come crashing down on his head, knock him off his high horse. Strike a lance through the intestines of his pathetic being.

Roger was entering enemy territory by even considering to inhale the same air as him in his own home, having crossed a dangerous line in a boldface attempt to blackmail him with secrets his father would much rather not come to light, contributing more to the recent buzz that would further smear his image in the public eye. Lex couldn’t fathom the audacity and level of stupidity in which would incite a man to come after him. Riding on that same high horse when Lex found the bastard with his arms folded and leaning on his Porsche presumptuously, as if he owned it. Owned him.

Lex will show him what it means to cross a Luthor.

All this to say, though, that Lex haven’t coined the thought of how the Kent boy would react to this side of his character. How he might respond to what darkness that creeps deep in the trenches of his mind every now and then; even now, that darkness is steadily pooling into his consciousness like a black mist, feeding his heart a spoonful of loathsome desires he could only envision in his mind. The things he could do – no, would do to make Roger suffer, if he wasn’t trying to make an effort to start over, be a better man than he was before being forced out in exile from city limits. Reborn a new man.

And there was Niah. The only other person other than Clark who displays an active interest in him with some measure of dignity that Lex can appreciate, amongst the rest in the flock who treat him with contempt. Honestly, the kindness she grants is deeply infectious for a man who has been deprived of it for most of his life, seeking it out like a dried-up flower whose roots been ripped out the ground, in need to quench its thirst. And that smile of hers, small and subdued, comparable to moonshine falling gently upon a rose in a garden on a quiet, lonely night. Even now, he can see it clearly in the darkness behind closed eyes. If only he could capture her smile in a jar and place it on his desk so he may marvel at her quiescent beauty in secret.

Is that a normal feeling? It probably makes him seem weird or creepy. Selfish, yeah, that sounds about right. But he doesn’t care, it’s a pleasant thought. Every human who ever walked this earth held selfish tendencies about a person in one way or another. Lex can’t seem to recall if he ever mused over sappy thoughts of that sort with anyone in the past. One, maybe, once upon a time.

A nice girl she is. Nothing like the ones he associated with back in Metropolis who always had their hand stuck out and palm up, expecting something he could give to them and use him for their own purposes while he in turn used them. Whereas they thought they could parade around him like a pawn in their little games, he would outmaneuver them as he kept his piece one step ahead on the chess board.

But in regard to Niah…he cognized nowhere in her encounters insinuated anything other than what’s presented in front of him. No hidden agenda or false pretenses he could detect between the cracks in her expression. No games. From what he observed thus far, she conveys the likeness of a closed book filled with prose and poetry, one he’d like to spend hours reading to decipher her rhymes if only she’d let him. The wholesome ambience that follows her around tastes like honeydew in his mouth in the spring, her voice a breeze that flutters business affairs and hard glares away from his mind for a time being. Different. Reserved whom holds deep sentiments of her own she carries around like a diary close to her heart.

He would like to take the time peer into her head, carefully split her skull open to analyze the reasons for which she often shrinks into herself, and what vile soul induced the false belief that her words, abstract and fanciful as a midnight dream, were inconsequential to be worth ones’ attention.

Her analogy alone left an impression on him that got stuck in his head long after their last departure, unable to separate from the concept of himself being that wolf, wandering alone on the outskirts of a town that practically loathed his nearness. Ignoring his howls for closeness. It was an eye opener in a way, a truth he faces every single day. He wasn’t aware how high the mortality rate was for lone wolves until he looked it up since he couldn’t stop thinking about it, to confirm for himself the credibility of such misfortune that befalls upon the animal. And the bodeful chances he had of being laid to rest in ‘death’, leaving his soul emptier and lonelier than it already is.

Lex was not sure what to make of it, what she saw in him that prompted her to share the allegory that alluded to his circumstances that was his life – the things he lives without and yearns for at a distance. Suppose she recognized his loneliness underneath the façade following the theft and felt an impulse to reach out in the best way she knew how – in the form of comfort. To comfort him.

That would be a first, he thought with a disgruntled upturn of his lips, dissatisfied by the memory. Lex believes he did nothing to deserve the consolation she gives so easily, even though he wanted nothing more than that at the time and was surprised she gave it to him. He’s lived – No. Survived without comfort for so long, could never get scraps of it off the table from his own father, he could barely process it appropriately when she dropped him a sample of it.

How could a woman with such thought-provoking insight fall into oneself as often as she does? She has a quiet disposition, unassuming, at least around people unfamiliar to her, comfortable in her own company. But there’s something profound in the center of those deep brown eyes –  any deep knowledge and philosophies she may possess is kept hidden inside a well, unless he can draw her out in the same way she draws up wisdom out of it, her hand holding a water jug held high atop her head that may at times spill water at her feet, and he’ll gladly cup his palms to catch what drips over the rim so it never goes to waste. Never fall on deaf ears. Metaphors and symbolism, passionate ideas make up a subtle portion of the way she communicates. It’s romantical as it is captivating. After all, as the saying goes: Still waters run deep.

Perhaps that is why she might find it difficult to express the things most important to her, to translate what she visualizes into words in a way that could be understood for people mentally inadequate to grasp the meaning of it, if they could grasp any of it at all because if that wasn’t the case, it’ll be as if throwing pearls before swine.

Lex was merely casting guesses as he pondered in this silence of fire and destruction. He lazily lifts his hand to wrap around his glass once more, presses the rim to his lips and takes another slow swallow. It burns as it always does, but his heart feels steady. Calm. That’s an interesting development; he reckons that reflecting upon her might have that effect on him, and the occasional skip in his heartbeat he has little control over when he’s near her. Overall, Niah’s cognition capabilities fascinate him.

Not only that, but he senses something a little odd, a strange feeling that there’s more to her than what she lets on. Similar in the way he suspects Clark to be withholding some fundamental factors about the car crash.

Whatever they are, whatever secrets are lying hidden in this town, he’ll find out in time. Things kept hidden in the dark always come into the light.

Which is all the more reason why Lex must reign control over this tight predicament that Roger forced him into. He must protect his name. Protect his image. And as slow as it grows, protect the friendship he’s so certain is developing between him and Niah. Niah and Clark. They were… good people for him; their positive influence will make him a better person of character. But he can’t fully be reborn a new man if there’s a journalist lurking in the shadows ready to cause him ruin, threatening to wreck his life and foil any future relationships by exposing his juvenile records to the public in a column of the Inquisitor.

Lex Luthor can’t have it. No. If there’s one thing in the world he won’t tolerate or accept is blackmail.

A breathy sigh flew pass his mouth after downing another sip, and he peers into what remains left of the liquor in the glass. The right double-sided door suddenly creaks wide open, casting a soft ray of light to fall on Lex and into the dark void of the office.

There he was. The man of the hour: Roger Nixon. The arrival of the last performer finally makes his grand entrance into the Luthor den.

Lex’s gaze followed his figure as he strutted into the room, the man engulfed with a sense of sureness that he’s got it in the bag. How terribly wrong Nixon is if he sincerely believes he got any type of hold on him.

Lex raised his glass, his tone infused with hospitality in blatant mockery of his guest as he asked lightly, “Can I fix you a drink?”

Roger, not wanting to meddle in any games, got down to business. “If it’s all the same to you I’d just soon get my money and get out.” His intentions were clear as to where his priorities laid. And the quick way he spoke suggested his impatience to wait any longer in the Luthor residence than was required of him.

“Of course.” Lex gestured with the glass in his hand to the wads of cash on the table.

“I assume I don’t have to count it?” The reporter inquired anxiously, his protruding gaze darting from him to focus solely on the money.

The greedy bastard.

Lex reached down, “I’ve even supplied the bag.” grabbed the duffle bag and tossed it over to him. Roger snatched it in the air and slunk closer to the table, kneeling on the opposite side as he remained mindful to keep a large portion of distance between him and Lex.

While Roger began stuffing the bag, a harsh quietness attached itself along the four walls of the room, slipping into every dark corner where no light could possibly reach. The glow of the fire bounces and flickers across the expanse of Lex’s countenance where steel blues fixate on the journalist with deliberate intent, a lopsided smirk slithered crookedly over his lips. Calmness hovered on the surface as he sat there, watching, although ire dispels in ripples from his darkened heart where it smolders underneath his skin.

“You’re feeling pretty good about yourself right now, aren’t you?” Lex surmised in amusement, depicting the man as a nothing but a rodent ready to devour a block of cheese he set out for him in the open, notices how Rogers hands itch with eagerness to grab ahold of all the cash and be done with it.

Roger doesn’t comment. Doesn’t take the bait.

Lex carries on. “You’d think with all the money my father spent… he can make things disappear…”

This, however, provokes a response out of Roger with a dig at his dad. “Maybe he’s not as smart as he thinks.”

Lex arched his eyebrows. “Oh, so, that gives a commendable reporter such as yourself the liberty to initiate a background check on me. Didn’t realize that’s all it took to get a free cash grab with a minimum amount of effort.”

“You should consider yourself thankful that it was a guy like me before some other chum could come in and ask for a higher demand than what I bargained for.”

“Mhm…” his throat lets loose a steady hum, observing the amber liquid as he swirls it around in his glass, “and here I’m supposed to be grateful to you.” The corners of his lips curved up in disdain, smiling down into the glass before tilting it and sucking the scotch in a single gulp. His teeth are kissed and exhales a low hiss, savoring in the spicy sensation as he deposited the empty glass on the table. “Not to mention that you’re confusing the word bargain for coercion. I would’ve thought an editorialist of your…highly, lexicon stature would know the difference between the two.”

Roger shoots him a bland expression as he swipes up the last wad. And in return for Lex’ service, he dropped the record file on the table. “The original.” He assured, zipping the bag shut before rising to his feet. “Have a nice life.”

Lex centered his stare on the floor as Nixon turned his back to walk towards the door. Not even a couple steps away from going around the corner, Lex’s voice penetrates through the dimly lit room, the air stagnant and forbidding as his next few words.

“If you walk out that door, I will make you disappear.”

It’s all he says. Nothing more or nothing less – it’s left on a cryptic note.

Nixon swirls back around immediately, slightly bewildered, but not shook enough to take the threat at face value. “What are you gonna do?” And just like that, he crept back over to him. “You’re gonna have me killed?”

In one flow of breath, Lex chuckled to himself. “No, you’ll be very much alive.” He said, rising to his feet and maneuvering around the table. “But there won’t be any evidence of your existence.” Confidence was worn like one of the many suits he donned for a board meeting, assertiveness coursed in his relaxed gait as he brushed past the journalist to reach for a cue on the wall, casually preparing for a solo game of billiards.

The man. The journalist. The scroungy weasel where Lex had picked up by its tail who was busy snooping in places it don’t belong, stood frozen on spot, now raptured in a state of pause as he digested his words. Finally, he asks, “What are you talking about.”

The plot thickens as much as the tension in the air.

Not missing a single beat, Lex shares a list of vital information pertaining to the identity of his wonderful guest. “Driver’s license, passport, social security number, bank account will all be erased,” cue stick in hand, he prowls as does a tiger in its cage to the opposite side of the pool table, “with one call, I can ensure that there will be no record that you actually walked this earth.” Smugness blends into the smirk that tugged at his lips, indicating the inevitable guarantee of misfortune that will befall upon the journalist’s crummy life.

Roger doesn’t say anything. His lips are sealed as he only stare while Lex leans over to grab hold of the solid white ball before aligning it up for a shot. It’s as if Roger miraculously lost the ability of locomotion with the way how still his body he had become in the span of ten seconds.

Roger utters, voice faltering, though he tries to keep his voice leveled, “You’re bluffing…”

Lex looks at him with a feign hint of surprise that Roger couldn’t possibly believe him. “Go ahead. Call your bank and see if your account still exists.”

With his eyes still fixed on Lex, Roger quickly swipes his phone out of his pocket, tensed, his thumb tapping the number to his bank of choice.

Lex, ever a man of strategy, then followed up his words with the element of surprise.

“That is if your cellphone hasn’t already been disconnected.” Lex then pulls the cue back and struck the ball. CLINK-CLACK ! Knocks a solid into a corner pocket.

Unpredicted. Startling. The journalist didn’t see it coming a mile away.

Little beeps of the phone are the only sounds that fill the suffocating space of the study, quiet enough Lex could hear Roger’s breathing. And a few more beeps indicated Lex was true to his word. It’s already been disconnected, way long before the weasel could even get wind of it.

“What did you do?” Roger asks, voice suddenly gone all soft and weak. And a sickening satisfaction grew in Lex’ chest at the sight of worry in his eyes. The confusion. Fear. The sweat starting to form pellets on his forehead. The mask he tried to keep together was finally starting to crumble with each passing second in his presence.

Amused, Lex winked at him. “Don’t worry, Roger. I’m gonna give you a new identity.” He grabbed the white ball, tossed it up and caught it. “One that’s a little less upstanding.” Lex pauses as Roger put his phone in his pocket, his words hanging in the air as he thinks of all the wonderful possibilities he could do to ruin his life. “Maybe a murderer. Maybe a drug dealer. Either way you lose your job, your house, and your family.” The ball is set back on the table before he draws the cue back and strikes it again.

“Look…” Roger tries in a dire moment of plea, holding the duffle bag in both hands that trembles as he step forward, “I’ll give the money back,” and throws it on the pool table, interrupting Lex’ solo game, “then we’ll be even.”

Lex stood up straight, the end of the cue stick planted on the ground as both hands grip it at the top, cocky smirk also still planted on his face. “No, we won’t. Because I also know your brother works for Juvenile Court.” Ah, this was so sweet. He has never felt so pleased to see the way Roger diverts his gaze as it finally dawned on him that Lex knew he had cooperated with his brother to unearth the records.

“What did you tell him? ‘Steal the records, and you can make some quick cash?’ He could do time for that.”

And wow, how bold of Roger to suddenly grow a backbone, taking a single step forward in an attempt to exclude his fellow weasel kin out of the box equation he tossed him in to begin with. “Leave him out of this.” He glared.

In the blink of an eye, a light switched off in Lex. The smirk was gone in an instant, the air that circled around him dropping cold as his tone settled on a low, threatening growl from deep in his chest. “I didn’t get him involved, Roger. You did.” His death glare pierced through him, blue eyes glinting cold and dark in a way that resembled black ice as it sliced right through Roger like a knife. Too stunned to move or respond in any way shape or form, he stood there like a deer in headlights, baffled by the foreboding twist that gripped Lex’s demeanor.

And Lex wasn’t finished. No. Lex pointed the cue stick at him, brandishing it as he stalked over to where Roger stood frozen in fear, only backing away when Lex pushed into his personal space. “You came into my life, thinking you could shake me down because I was some spoiled rich brat who needed his daddy’s protection?” He sneered, words sharp as razors and dripping with vile venom, his voice softly echoing in the room. With Lex all up in his face, Roger could barely look him in the eye, revealing the pathetic little weasel Lex knew him to be when trapped in a corner.

It goes to show how quickly people are to underrate his capabilities and intellect, believing they can walk all over him without suffering through the repercussions. It happens every time. What do they expect from a son who grew up in the merciless shadow of his father? A man of ruthlessness with a superiority complex. Lex was no child, nor was he no fool as people may think him to be. That spoiled rich brat persona he wore during his self-destructive phase had been buried, gone and done away with.

Face cast in half-shadow, Lex avows with words that left nothing for anyone to doubt his legitimacy. “Trust me, when I make things disappear, they stay buried.”

The journalist heard the message loud and clear, knowing he couldn’t squeeze himself out of this hole he dug for himself – oh, how grave of a mistake he made to allow a greed for money to lead him astray nearly to a nonexistent life. “What do you want from me?” Roger asked meekly, offering up his autonomy in Lex’s hands, to do anything he’ll bid him to do if it’ll mean his existence won’t be erased at his command.

Roger’s submittal seems to have gained the young mogul’s favor. It’s interesting how people are quick to stoop low and humble themselves when threats are forced upon them. A faint smile stretches at one corner of his lip. “Your help.” The way Lex said it was innocent enough, but there underneath lurks something sinister if Roger doesn’t follow through on what he requests of him.

“My father’s obsessed with the Daily Planet,” Lex shares as he drops the cue on the pool table before sauntering over to his desk, grabbing a copy of the Inquisitor newspaper, “but I know the Inquisitor’s read by the people. They’re the ones I’m interested in. I will feed you stories, and you will print them. Any negative stories about me, you will kill.” He orders, smacking the paper into Roger’s hands as he walked past him in the direction of the door. “You will be at my disposal twenty-four seven. Now, follow me.” Lex finds it unnecessary to look back as he exits out of the room and into the hallway, as he can already hear Roger’s footsteps following close behind.

If only he could manifest the stolidity to brush off the opinions of others and go on his merry way, dismiss the falsehoods, lies, and rumors journalists spread in their columns meant to deceive and be easily absorbed by the common people. Lex can’t separate himself from the influence of the man who bore him; Lionel Luthor, in fact, was apathetic towards public opinion because he considers his own verdict as higher than anyone else – the man has never known what it means to embrace humility.

But if they want to write stories to indicate his downfall for profit, this will be his way of gaining some ounce of control over the flow and distribution of them – kill all the ones who bring reproach on his name while glorifying his triumphs. And not to create false stories of his own, of course, but to underline his achievements and goals he has planned for the Smallville Plant and anything else that may benefit the small town, himself included.

One by one, four spotlights blasted on in succession, illuminating the once large, dark room that Lex had led Roger into. In the middle stood a wrecked Porsche as a centerpiece where the lights shined all their attentions upon. The two men approached the vehicle, their footsteps echoing around the silent interior space.

“What happened to your car?” Roger asked, clearly puzzled by the wreckage as he gently tilted up the crushed hood.

“I drove it off a bridge at 60 miles an hour.”

Roger looked at him in with quiet amazement, and even more puzzled at this information. Lex could see his mind reeling as he tried to determine the chances of him surviving the accident. “Then how are you still alive?”

The truth of the matter was that he shouldn’t be alive. It was close to none that he came out the accident alive. Impossible that he survived such a catastrophic ordeal at all.

The rouse of interest and curiosity in Roger’s expression pleased Lex, and he gave a small slender of a smile. “That’s the mystery I need your help solving…”

With Roger’s resources now at his disposal, he’ll finally have the opportunity to get down to the bottom line of this mystery that is Clark Kent.

Taglist: @infinitie

[siriusblackloml]

just for me - george weasley x reader smut (PART 3)

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: george weasley x fem!reader

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 11.7k

𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩: “i was wondering if you could maybe write anything abt virgin killer!george weasley?? like im sorry hes the finest mf around ik he gets MAD hoes so when he finally acknowledges this preppy, nice and innocent mc he jus knows he has to ruin her"

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: he fucked up. quite horribly, too. george swooped in, made his move, and tried to get on his life like he always does after he's finished with a random hookup. now you were avoiding him and pretty much making him live in agony as a result of his shitty actions. george will soon come to realize you had a much larger impact on his life than he would ever imagine.

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: swearing, a LOT of angst

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚: i’m still not done with this series but instead of keeping it three parts, i decided to add a fourth :) i hope you all enjoy this and please forgive me for the very long wait. i’ve had so much going on irl. part four is coming soon!

part one ┊ part two ┊part three ┊pt. 4 coming soon!

George had a funny little hop in his step as he walked through the grass. Not that it was truly intentional. He was just…very, very happy. There was too much adrenaline fogging his brain to really comprehend anything in this moment of time. He was acting as though he hadn’t just fucked you senseless in the field of grass outside the school. 

He felt proud of himself. He thought that this moment was worth all the celebrating in the world. All of his hard work had built up towards this moment and it paid off so much. You were absolutely amazing. Actually, he wondered to himself, was it possible to say that you were perfect? If he had to be honest with himself, you were everything he wanted in a girl. 

Physically, of course. It’s not like he was looking to start a relationship or anything. Sure, he just told you that he would see you around, but he had to use that more as a lie to try and leave the precious moment between you two on a positive note. False hope, deception, bullshit, call it anything you want, George didn’t regret it. He knew that if he just walked away he probably would have left you crying right there on the spot. He’s not sure he would ever be able to forgive himself if he did that. 

At the end of the day, George knew better than to actually see you again. That’s why from here on out, it would be nothing more than talking in class. If he even brought himself to do that. 

George couldn’t shake the smile from his face as he walked into the Gryffindor common room. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, contrasting the chilly breeze outside. Not that he was cold; the boy was still quite feverish from how hard he had just fucked you. Students were chatting amongst one another about their day and what was to come for the rest of the night. George noticed some students who were admirably trying to complete homework in the midst of the constant chatter. He thought of you for a split second. Remembering all the time you spend studying for homework and exams. He literally interrupted you studying earlier, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

Those thoughts of you were immediately discarded once he noticed a familiar duo in the corner of the room arguing with one another. It was George’s younger brother, Ron, and his friend Hermoine. What the two of them were arguing about was unbeknownst to him, but George caught the eye of someone sitting in a chair eating candy, watching the scene unfold like it was a drama. It was Fred, his fiery-red haired twin, who was popping the sweet treats into his mouth like he was eating popcorn at the movie theater. It must have been very entertaining watching Ron and Hermoine argue, as Fred couldn’t seem to pry his eyes off the show in front of him. 

George walks up to Fred and snaps his fingers. He immediately catches the attention of Fred, who boggles at him as if to ask, what the hell do you want? George motions for the boy to follow him. Fred gets up from his seat and follows George up the flight of stairs towards the empty dormitories. George seemingly couldn’t break the smile on his face so Fred immediately knew what was going on.

As soon as they were out of earshot of other people, Fred asked George, “So? Did it finally happen?”

George nods his head excitedly and eagerly answers, “Yes! It did!”

The twin embraces his brother with a cheeky clap of hand that morphed into a side hug. He was obviously very proud of George for his achievement. It’s not every day you take your classmate's virginity in the middle of a grassy field. Not that Fred really needed to know that last small detail. 

“I can’t believe you popped her cherry. I didn’t think she was ever going to budge.” Fred shakes his head in disbelief. The brother was referring to the fact he knew of your innocence. George remembers back to the day his twin told him about how you were positively a virgin. He could have sworn he melted on the spot from the newfound information. It was at that moment he knew he needed to be the one to ruin your innocence. 

And innocent you were. Well, for the most part, anyway. Your mouth depicted otherwise given all the profanity you were throwing at George. He couldn’t get over how mouthy you were during the entire session. The pathetic begging, the whining, the swearing. It was like heaven to his ears. It only made him want to drill his cock inside your pretty pussy even harder. Which he did, of course, and he loved watching the way your face would contort into pleasure at every thrust. 

Fred clapped his brother’s shoulder, pulling George from his daydreaming. He said in a cheerful tone, “Good for you, mate. So when are you seeing her again?” 

Fred’s brother immediately scoffs at the question. George thinks to himself, as if that’s happening. He had a very set rule for himself which was so straightforward it would take an absolute idiot to not understand. This easy rule was simple to follow; he didn’t give any of his hookups a second chance. They were a one and one time only situation. George was afraid that if he were to consistently see the same girl, he would give the impression that he wanted things to develop into something more. Of course he did like the girls, but it was more so for their physical appearance over their personality. Not that yours was bad, he actually quite enjoyed talking to you. 

Maybe even a little more than any other girl. You did leave his heart fluttering every now and then, which was strange for George to understand because it had never happened before. The boy shakes his head. He can’t keep thinking about you. No girl had ever left him so flustered before and he was not about to let that ruin his night of celebration. Celebrating you, of course. Or more so, the dirty act you two shared. 

To avoid giving you any kind of false hope, George plans to keep to himself from here on out. George tells his brother, “No, I don’t want her to think I’m, like, into her, know what I mean?” 

Fred shrugs out of confusion and raises an eyebrow, immediately striking back with, “Well, I kinda figured that’s what you wanted.” 

George’s heart stops beating for just a split second. As if something shocked his entire body. What was Fred implying? Why would he assume that of his brother knowing his reputation? Hell, Fred has encouraged George in the past to avoid being with a girl more than one time to avoid the start of a relationship. Fred must know deep down that you weren’t any different from the rest of the girls George had been with…right? 

George narrows his eyes at Fred and asks, “What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you like her? I thought…well, I guess I was wrong.” Fred trails off as he notices George seemed very tense. 

He was tense, and for good reason. George was nearly offended that his brother would ever assume that of him. He never broke the cycle in the past to see a girl more than once, why would he do it now? 

But then again, why would Fred figure that in the first place? Was George doing something specific that would have implied that idea? Other than frequently talking to Y/N in class, calling her cute, and….no, any guy can do that and it doesn’t mean he wants to drop everything and date the girl right that second. Plus, George only hung out with you to get closer…obviously. Nothing more than just that. Fred was just jumping to conclusions. Conclusions he had no business assuming in the first place.

George stays silent and avoids the lingering gaze of his twin. He turns away from Fred as an indication that he no longer wanted to talk, to which his brother complied almost immediately. Fred left the room without much of anything else to say. Once George heard the door shut close, he walked across the bedroom towards a long floor length mirror to look at his disheveled appearance. 

His clothes were untidy from the aftermath that was you. George rather liked this sight of his unkempt appearance knowing it was because of your bloody sex. He smirked to himself as he adjusted his clothes, tucking his shirt into his trousers and fixing his tie. Just looking at his clothes reminded him of everything with you. 

The sweetness of your moans, the tightness of your wet cunt, the way your face looked underneath his power. In the midst of him reminiscing, he thought back to the first time he ever saw you in class. That pretty girl was so far gone now. The girl he first met was completely different from the girl he just saw in the field. Her innocence was gone, stolen from her, in a way that was rough and possibly even catastrophic. 

The girl George knew first was too sweet for her own good. He almost…missed it. The way you blushed so easily from any of his flirty comments, or the little gasps that escaped your mouth from every tiny brush of his hand. 

These memories started to flash across the boy’s mind before he could even process them all. The countless times he would flirt with you behind Snape’s back, your sneaky giggles to avoid catching attention from the professor, all the times you would have to help him with his homework because he was absolutely clueless. The way he would glance at your hair because you always styled them in the cutest clips…or the way he would stare at your face because you were absolutely beautiful.

Then again, George loved staring at your face when you were underneath him, writhing in pleasure from the force of his cock. He needed to remind himself that whatever innocent girl he first met was far gone now. He destroyed her, deflowered her, anything he could think of, he did it. And shouldn’t he be proud of himself for that? 

At this moment, George heard his stomach start to grumble. He realized that he had not eaten anything since earlier this morning and was quite hungry. George finishes fixing his clothes and grabs his robe, trying to ignore the thoughts flooding his mind of how he tied a robe to a fucking tree just an hour earlier. 

Within minutes, he found himself going downstairs into the common room and finding a group of his friends and brothers already planning to march towards the Great Hall for dinner. George immediately tags along, jumping into conversation as if he had been there the whole time. As the group of boys wandered down hallways and waltzed around cold corridors, they would joke about anything and everything possible. George loves these nights with his friends where nothing else matters but how much fun they’re having. His mind had barely any focus on you anymore.

However, that did not last very long. Once George arrived at the Great Hall, he couldn’t help but steal a glance towards the table you would typically sit for meals. Your seat was vacant, though. Completely empty while the remainder of your friends sat in their own respective spots, chatting as if nothing was wrong. Clearly there was something wrong; you weren’t here for dinner. 

George thought of this as strange. He assumed that enough time had passed that you would have already come back to the school, gotten cleaned up, and would be coming downstairs for your meal. Maybe you were running late, he thought to himself. 

He shrugs his shoulders and turns back towards his friends, cracking joke after joke that erupted the entire group of boys into massive fits of laughter. Even though George was having a good time, his mind couldn’t stay focused on his friends for long. 

Every few minutes he’d get the urge to see if you were walking in the room. He’d frequently look towards the grand doors, walking students flood in and out, but never would he spot your cute hairclips amongst the crowd of people. He would even look back at your spot at the table. Ten minutes had passed, then it was twenty, now it was nearing thirty, George still couldn’t find you. 

Was it possible that you just stayed in the field after George left? He wondered this to himself, biting his lip in frustration because all he wanted to know was that you were okay. Why? He didn’t have the answer for that. But as long as he was able to see you, that’s all that mattered to George. Where on earth had you gone? There were multiple questions scattered across the boy’s mind and he hated not knowing anything. 

Sitting in the Great Hall trying to chase for an answer in his mind was giving George enough frustration to leave the group of friends early. He complained of being tired, to which his friends all chuckled deeply knowing why he would have been so exhausted (Fred’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor when he realized his brother had sex in a field). 

The boy left his group of friends to wander the hallways of Hogwarts. He flew up a flight of stairs to get to the second floor, maneuvering his way through a crowd of people to try and find a very particular window. It was one that overlooked the territory surrounding Hogwarts. It was an important window to him as it was pointed in the direction of the same tree you would have been sitting under. George secretly hoped he would be able to see a tiny, black dot under this tree, indicating that you had never left your spot after all.

Upon arrival at this windowsill that George had been desperately trying to look for, he peered outside only to see nothing. There was not one black speck amongst the green grass that would have implied you were still studying your materials. This meant you left the tree long ago, that you were probably wandering the school now doing Godric knows what. 

Why did this leave George feeling…uneasy? His heart dropped when he realized that you were no longer outside. He hated this feeling because it was completely new to him. It also brought on an array of questions, the most common one that crossed his mind being, why on earth does he care so much about a girl he hooked up with? Why was he so worried? Why did he hope to find you so desperately? It wasn’t like he was planning on talking to you, or anything more than that really.

George went to sleep that night with you on his mind. It was hard to fall asleep in the first place, however. He was tossing and turning for an hour straight trying not to worry about your current whereabouts. Unfortunately, George didn’t sleep long either. 

He’d wake up just a few hours into the night from a nightmare. It was a dream in which he lost you forever. 

»——•——«

The next day…

»——•——«

George felt a massive shift in the atmosphere the moment he woke up. He had a weird gut feeling about today, mostly because he was worried about where you’d gone last night. However, his worries would only worsen upon his first period class. 

You didn’t show up. To be more specific, you didn’t show up to Professor Snape’s class, which is a huge no-no in not only the professor’s book, but your own as well. You’d never missed class before as far as George was aware. Having to miss any kind of class nearly disgusted you, and you were for sure always present in Snape’s class given the consequences that would likely follow. The professor was keen on giving detention just for missing one class period. Not that you would probably earn one since you were his star student.

What on earth would have caused you to miss class? George wondered if there was a sort of emergency that you had to attend to, but his gut told him otherwise. His stomach felt like there was a knot in it the moment he walked into the room and didn’t see you. He had already felt uneasy just during the walk to the classroom. 

George didn’t see you in the hallway like he usually would in the mornings. He silently hoped and wished it was only because you had already arrived to class early, or maybe it was because you happened to be running late. Even if that was the case, he still felt weird about it because you were always to arrive at class at a very particular time. 

The boy started catching on that you would try and time your walk in the hallway so that the two of you would arrive at the doorway nearly at the exact same time. George never made a comment about this to you; he secretly thought it was adorable that you were so head over heels for him that you would go to such lengths to be sure you both arrived at the same time. 

And here he was, reminiscing those memories. They all felt lightyears away now. He took advantage of those days. The ones where he could admire you walking down the hallway in your cute skirt and hairclips, then he got to wink at you during class at random intervals. A million questions raced through his mind. So much so, that he couldn’t focus on a single word that came out of Snape’s mouth. Not that he usually paid much attention anyway. He would always be too distracted by your beauty. 

Amongst the million questions that ran through his head, one question continued to linger on George’s mind while he sat in class; had he ruined things between you two?

He never asked himself this kind of question before because it has never been an issue in the past. He moved on easily every single time he had been with a girl, why couldn’t he let you go? 

What caused this to start? His infatuation with you, that is. Was it just because you guys talked frequently during class? Well that couldn’t be all, there had been times George hooked up with girls he knew for years and never felt this way before. Was it only because he knew you were a virgin? While that factor going into sex with you was very exciting, it wouldn’t be enough for him to be this obsessed with your unknown whereabouts. 

George tried finding something that would have sparked his sudden interest in you, when his heart dropped in the middle of a thought. The realization hits him like a brick and his breath is immediately knocked out of his lungs. The past day has been spent worrying not only about where you were, but just you in general. Absolutely nothing else mattered in the world but you. 

While George wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, he didn’t need a genius to tell him that he was falling for you. That realization alone was enough to shake him to his core. It was as though everything in his brain had shut off completely, all except that circuit that left his mind running on loop thinking about you and you only. And maybe it wasn’t exactly love that he was feeling, but it was definitely…something. It was the sort of “something” that made George want to drop everything he was doing just to be with you. Because even if it wasn’t love that he was experiencing, the boy knew he was feeling something intense for you and needed to share that with you as soon as possible. 

Given he was in quite possibly the most boring classroom of all, George didn’t even give his plan a second thought. He collected his belongings and shoved them into his bag, got up from his desk, and exited the room without a word. The only thing on his mind was finding you. 

With a rapidly beating heart and sweaty palms, George started to pace the hallways in hopes he would randomly catch sight of you around a corridor. When that plan failed, he stood still for a few minutes to try and pinpoint exactly where you could have been. While it was possible that you were simply hiding in your house dormitory from the rest of the world, George played with the idea that you were possibly hiding in the library. The only reason he could think of such a place was not only because he knew how studious you were, it was the only other location that you two shared. 

It was really only that, the classroom, and that damn field. Having to think about the field burned a massive hole in George’s heart. He knew now, after some reflection, that what he did was awfully wrong. How he didn’t realize it before was beyond him. He was too caught up with his ego and so used to dropping a girl as quick as he saw her, he assumed everything would be the same when it came to you. 

You were different though. George knew that now. And having to think back to the way he used you in that field yesterday made him gulp hard. He wondered, why did he put you through that? He felt like complete shit now. 

All he could think about was you. How you must have felt about all this. Surely enough, you must have felt used. You didn’t deserve that. George stormed down the hallway, ears ringing with anticipation to find you as soon as possible. 

»——•——«

You had been sitting in the library by yourself. Well, obviously you had been. Everyone else was in their respective classes at the time. Not you, though. It was just too much to bear right now with how fresh yesterday’s situation was. 

The fact that you were skipping class made you feel so beyond guilty. For a second, you thought you must have been insane to even consider the idea in the first place. You’d never skipped class before, so going through with the last minute plan was enough to make you bite your nails out of anxiety. However, nothing could compare to the feeling that would have hit you if you had to sit through class next to George Weasley.

Just that thought alone made you sick to your stomach. It would have been a million times worse than what you were feeling now. You knew that you couldn’t skip the next class period with him, however even if you got a chance to skip today, you’d take it. You couldn’t bear looking at his face…as if nothing ever happened between you two. 

Was this what you were made for? To be used by men? That’s all you felt right now; used.

If you had the chance, you would have gone back in time and changed the narrative entirely. You would have stolen that freaking time-turner from Professor McGonagall just to stop yourself from getting hypnotized by his charm. George Weasley was reckless and it affected you too much. 

You were careful before you met the boy. Very cautious, you kept to yourself. Never once did you ever consider lusting after a boy the way you did for George, dreaming up a fantasy where the two of you were happily ever after. And now everything in your life is crashing down all around you. As if you’ve lost complete control. 

You were as reckless as he was. 

He sucked you into this kind of void and it left you unable to breathe, unable to move, unable to think straight. That’s why you were hiding in the library. If the thought of George was making you feel this uneasy, you couldn’t even fathom what would have happened today if you walked into class and sat right next to him.

As if nothing had happened. 

You wondered if you would have been able to contain yourself if you did end up going to class anyway. You’re not sure if you would have cried, screamed at him, or just stayed silent. You were not one to really stand up for yourself, but then again, so much has changed about yourself in the last few weeks you weren’t sure if that was so true anymore. 

The library was dead silent besides your occasional turn of the pages in your book. You busied yourself by catching up on some reading you were meant to read yesterday. While you did your best to read the book last night in bed, it was quite difficult to focus with the amount of tears that welled up in your eyes. Thankfully, you were a bit more composed today and felt confident enough to tackle a couple chapters during this quiet time. 

As you sat silently, taking in the information about an aging potion, you could hear a door open in the distance of the library. The noise was followed by footsteps that increased in volume, indicating that someone was definitely walking in your direction. You can’t help but look up at the noise, half expecting to see either one of your girlfriends or even Snape himself wondering why you weren’t in class.

However, nothing could have prepared you for the boy who was walking towards you. It was George, of course. Because who else would it be at this time of day?

Immediately your eyes widen as your stomach sinks. It felt like the entire world was falling apart around you in an instant. You could have sworn that your heart skipped multiple beats in a row. Just the sight of George was nearly giving you a heart attack. What on earth did he have to say? Better yet, what were you going to say? Was he even worth the talk?

Gulping silently, you just watch as he approaches you in the dead silent room. He seemed to slow down his pace the moment you two made eye contact. As much as you wished it would have been enough to stop him dead in his tracks, he kept walking towards you. He adjusts his tie and clears his throat as casually as possible.

Without asking for permission, George pulls out the chair to your right and seats himself. He jumps right into a sort of interrogation, asking you, “Why weren’t you in class?”

You have to tell yourself to act like you don’t care that he’s here. Obviously he didn’t care about you enough yesterday to stay with you in that field, or even talk to you in general about what you two were. You were just a toy for him to fuck and get over in a matter of minutes. Keeping this in mind, and partially taking notice of the anger that was clearly bubbling inside you, you sneer at George and mutter under your breath, “I didn’t feel like it.”

Not your strongest moment, but it was blunt and rude. You figured it would get the point across that you weren’t very happy with him. So much for not letting it seem like it bothered you. You realized it was a bit harder to hold back your emotion than you originally thought. That doesn’t mean you’re going to beat yourself up over this, though. You would much rather seem angry in front of George than sad or depressed. The last thing you want to do is bawl in front of him.

Did he really deserve to even know that you were angry with him though? You started to regret even talking to him in the first place. Too many questions were swirling around your mind for you to find focus. It made your head pound with pain.

“I need to ask you something.” George tells you while awkwardly biting his lip and shifting uncomfortably in his chair. He starts to pull hair away from his face and run his fingers through his hair. It takes a lot of power to try not to notice how attractive he looked whenever he played with his hair like that.

Your back straightens and you instinctively lean in towards him, eager to hear what he has to say. You respond in a dry tone, “What is it?”

Suddenly, George is leaning forward and grabbing you by the chin with his fingers, forcing your eyes to take in his weary face. You gasp quietly, heart feeling like it was being stabbed, it was throbbing so hard.

He asks you in a frantic voice, “Things feel different for you, too, don’t they?”

You raise an eyebrow, confused. Things? Between the two of you? Well…of course they were different. Before yesterday, you two were just classmates that would flirt. Now, you didn’t even know whatever “this” was. It was disgusting, that’s what you thought to yourself. It left you feeling used.

So what the hell was he implying? You let him hold your chin a while longer and ask softly, “What do you mean?”

George blinks once, twice, three times before he gulps hard.

“I-Well-…I don’t know…” He starts to sputter out anything that comes to mind. He can’t seem to explain himself fast enough, or find the words in general.

You pull away from his grasp, narrowing your eyes as you pick apart his act. This was all fake, wasn’t it? Just another fucking plan to woo you? He would act all pitiful and sad to express how much he didn’t mean it, all just to see you naked again. That’s exactly what this was.

“You’re just trying to get in my pants again, aren’t you?” You snap at George with a nasty tone. You stand up from your chair dramatically, hearing the scrape of wood against stone echo throughout the empty library.

George stands up nearly as quick as you do the moment the words are leaving your mouth. He tries to extend his arms out to grasp you, but misses as you take a step back. Throwing everything in your backpack as fast as you possibly can, you notice George in the corner of your eye starting to inch closer to you again with a nervous voice, “W-What?! No! Y/N, I swear-”

You throw all your books in your bag and slam the chair into the desk, snapping at George with a newfound fury you hadn’t realized was inside you all this time. You tell him, “Do me a favor George; leave me the FUCK alone.”

It was obvious that the sentence alone was enough of a threat to the boy. The anger laced in your tongue hits George like a million knives, putting him in his place immediately. He falls silent immediately, watching you walk away from the scene without another word.

However, what he didn’t see was the tears building up along your lash line. As much as you hated his guts, you were still falling madly in love with the idiot. You hated yourself as much as you hated him.

»——•——«

Two days later…

»——•——«

George knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, but he didn’t realize just how damn sneaky you could really be. After the horrific interaction in the library just days before, the boy wouldn’t see you again until the next session in Professor Snape’s potion class. He no longer saw you in the hallways or the Great Hall. You obviously made a substantial deal to be sure that there would be little to no chance of ever seeing you outside of class again.

Not seeing you for days straight made George feel even worse. He wasn’t sure if he should have looked forward to potions or not, assuming that you would be there of course. Sure enough, you were present in class, but it did not make the situation any better. When George walked into the room, he immediately spotted you at the front of the classroom speaking to Professor Snape in hushed whispers. Whatever was being discussed, Snape looked very concerned.

Such an indication did not stop George from calling out your name. In a loud voice, he said across the room, “Hey, Y/N!”

He wasn’t even quite sure why he said your name, if he had to be honest with himself. It kind of slipped out before he had time to process it all. Maybe his gut thought that trying to talk to you in class was going to go better than how the discussion went down in the library a couple days prior. Perhaps the crowd surrounding you two would force you to act a bit nicer; allow him to get his words out and express his feelings about everything.

Both you and Snape turn to look at George, who is awkwardly waving and sheepishly smiling. But in an instant you shoot him a glare. Even Professor Snape was scowling at him. While this was a normal occurrence for George in front of just about any teacher, it seemed that Snape was going out of his way to make his scowl even deeper and nastier than usual.

Right away, you had seated yourself in a chair closest to the professor’s desk. Keeping your back to George, he was forced to position his gaze back on his professor. Snape’s dirty look did not go away as he gave out instructions. “George, you’ll be sitting in this seat for the rest of the year.”

The teacher walked George to his new spot, which was the furthest point from your new seat at the front of the classroom. He was all the way in the back. This kind of seating chart is a great opportunity for a prankster like George to unleash his full potential on the entire class, but he couldn’t even relish in this once in a lifetime lucky chance he’d been granted. The boy felt everything opposite of that expected feeling.

George’s stomach felt like it had dropped to the floor. He realized very quickly that you had purposely asked for this separation from him. Whatever you told Snape, it was to avoid having any further conversation with George during class.

He was convinced he was going to lose his mind over you. He had to get a hold of you, and soon.

»——•——«

Many weeks later...

»——•——«

You thought you were going to lose your mind having to avoid the boy like this, day in and out. At this point, it was becoming a routine. One that you had to follow religiously in order to avoid any kind of possible conflict with George.

Of course, deep down you want to listen to what he has to say. You know it might be valuable in a sense…but at the same time, he deceived you once, he could easily do it again. How were you supposed to know he wasn’t trying to apologize just to appeal to your sensitive side, only to try and slide into your pants once again? Something like this was too difficult to decipher. Therefore, you were much more comfortable just glancing at George from a far distance. He didn’t deserve to talk to you…as much as you wanted to talk to him.

One night, as you are exiting the Great Hall after eating a delicious meal, you begin to make your way to the dormitories. Your mind is too preoccupied on the immense amount of homework you have later tonight to hear the sound of footsteps following close behind you. It’s not until the fiery-red haired boy is in your peripheral vision that you realize someone was near you.

In a matter of seconds, your heart drops into your stomach without even having to look George directly in the face. He had your full attention now without even having to try, let alone look at him.

While your heart was pounding out of your chest, you tried your best to focus more on how annoying it was becoming that George wasn’t going to let you go so easily. Why did he want to talk to you so badly anyway? Just to have sex again? With an eye roll, you pick up the pace and start to walk faster down the hallway. You had hoped that the silent treatment would work enough to scare him away.

George attaches himself to your side immediately and says, “Y/N, stop, please. I want to talk to you.”

Keeping your head forward, he is only met with silence. Obviously angered by your immature attitude, he scoffs under his breath and reveals a nasty look on his face; as if that was meant to make you feel bad for him.

It was amusing to see him get his knickers in a twist just from not speaking. It was almost hard to hold back from smirking in front of the boy. However, deep down you were still just as scared of talking to George as you were most days since everything occurred. He just had this kind of effect on you where it felt like no matter how angry you acted around him, your heart was still soft for his stupid antics.

You didn’t dare reveal that to him; you were still recovering from the massive damage he had done to your emotional state. You shuffle past George as fast as possible, still refusing to make any sort of eye contact with him.

Eventually, he jumps right in front of you, preventing you from moving anymore. You jump from the action and immediately snap, “What on earth do you want with me, George?”

He takes a step forward to close the gap, his eyes staring deeply into your own. He starts to stumble over his words, “G-Godric, Y/N, I didn’t think you’d ever…I just wanted to…bloody hell, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

“Then don’t bother, okay?” You tell him, moving around his figure to get away from the conversation. It’s hard to believe he has anything worthwhile to tell you in the first place. However, there’s still a small sliver of hope that resides in your being, and it’s just enough to tell George, “I’ll see you around.”

You’re not sure what you mean when you say this. You figure that maybe it’s enough to keep you two on good terms. He didn’t really deserve more than that though. He was an ass and literally used you. But your heart ached for him nonetheless. You were always going to miss him, so why bother keeping up this anger front for the rest of the school year? It was killing you just to do it right now.

The boy doesn’t take long to get the hint. He stands still and merely watches you walk away. You can practically feel his eyes bearing a hole through the back of your skull from how hard he was staring.

Later that night, while you are lying in bed struggling to sleep thanks to all that was on your mind, you thought back to earlier. What was it he wanted to say to you? Why was it so urgent?

Curiosity would eventually kill the cat.

»——•——«

It's been months since that day in the field. You would still go out of your way to avoid George, and he has slowly stopped trying to make conversation with you entirely. Your heart ached for him each and every day, though. You missed having those silly conversations in class, waving to him in the Great Hall, and so much more. Part of you was even missing all those times he would desperately try to get your attention only for you to ignore it. You thought of it for the better, but looking back on it all, had that really been the best choice?

You can hear his little friend group whisper among themselves whenever you and George are ever in the same room with one another. There was no doubt they knew about everything that happened. Which only made you feel more like shit; how dare they know you lost your virginity to a classmate you had fallen so deeply for. Not once had you ever felt so humiliated before. This was not how you expected your last year at Hogwarts to go. You anticipated much more out of this year. Laughing, studying, maybe some crying here and there, but not over a boy who used you for sex. That was the last thing you ever considered to happen to you.

In a weird sort of way, George felt much like the yin to your yang. The way the two of you could come together and have so much fun despite your differing personalities always blew you away. He completed the missing pieces within you. It was an act that you didn’t think was possible, especially knowing it was someone you met so recently. That being said, you can’t help but miss those moments of bliss with one another.

Just the thought of him makes you shudder. Not out of disgust, but due to the ache in your heart that desired more from him. If anything, it was likely to be from the immense guilt and shame that clouded your every being since the day everything happened with George. Why on earth would you miss someone like him when he was so mean?

It is winter break now. A large majority of students had left to go home, but you were staying at Hogwarts. The last few days were spent reading books you meant to catch up on ages ago. You had to occasionally flit around the hallways in order to avoid the Weasleys. It was so convenient that they happened to be here during the holidays at the same time as you. But at this point in the year, you had started to grow used to it all. It’s all you could do in order to “cope” with the sadness that hung heavy in your heart.

You were in the library again, turning page after page in your book. You were slowly catching yourself starting to space out. Rightly so, as it had been a couple hours of sitting here and you were slowly growing hungry. You could barely focus when your stomach continuously growls.

As you start to put away your book in your bag, alongside anything else you had pulled out, you could hear footsteps walking past you. You didn’t think much of it until you heard a familiar voice.

“Hello, Y/N.” George says.

A chill runs up your spin, hair standing up on the back of your neck. Goosebumps trail up and down your arms as your throat runs dry. If it wasn’t obvious you were nervous before, it was now. Your eyes shot up towards the boy, watching him stand near you with a soft smile and blushed cheeks. This hadn’t been how you anticipated the night to go at all, but you couldn’t bear to embarrass yourself any longer.

You muster up enough courage to respond back. “Hey, George.”

“How are you doing?” He replies, watching you closely as you continue to put away your belongings into your bag at a slow pace. Your hands were shaking slightly from the anxiety coursing through your veins. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d wager that George was in the exact same boat as you were.

He was clutching a couple books tight to his chest, finger tapping anxiously along the spines. He kept swaying back and forth, biting his lip and avoiding eye contact on occasion.

It had been so long since the two of you last spoke. You knew deep down you had been wanting this for ages, missing these small conversations. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to be civil, at least this once, you wondered to yourself. You had never held a grudge for so long before, and you weren’t about to let it continue. Maybe this was your chance to let bygones be bygones and let George know that you’ve moved on (that’s a big lie, but what he doesn’t have to know won’t hurt him).

So, you decide to interact with him some more. You tell him, “I’ve been doing fine.”

George cracks that gorgeous smile of his and nods his head. He chimes in, “Good, good, I’m happy to hear that.”

You decide not to comment on that. However, there is no denying that little explosion of butterflies in your stomach. Well, that and the loud rumble that follows.

Your stomach growls out of hunger once again, clearly indicating between both parties that you were getting hungrier by the second. Cheeks red from embarrassment, you try to save yourself by saying, “I’m heading to the Great Hall. Just wanted to get in some light reading before supper.”

“Can I walk with you?” George asks as soon as you’re finished speaking.

His voice was soft despite the request filling you with fear in an instant. You did want to walk with him, but what were his intentions? The prospect of having to venture anywhere with George at your side was slightly concerning since you hadn’t done so since…well, before everything.

You shoot him a slight glare, immediately questionable about why he wanted to. He picked up on this, placing his hands in a defensive position and exclaiming, “I’m going there already! I was just about to leave for supper myself. I figured if you were going, maybe we could walk together. That’s all I wanted.”

Maybe it’s the innocence of his request, or those stupid puppy dog eyes, but you’re not entirely opposed to the idea. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to walk with him if that’s all that would come out of it in the end. Nothing more, nothing less. You knew eventually this would likely happen anyway. You couldn’t avoid him forever.

Simultaneously, you found yourself wondering if you were being foolish to even entertain the possibility of this. Only an idiot would want to walk with the same man who used her for sex; but here you were, being as foolish as ever. Due to his undeniable appeal and practically begging to walk with you, you’re giving him permission to be in your company. While your eyes were darting around anywhere in the room but George, you tell him, “That’s fine, you can join me.”

Walking out of the library with George next to your side feels strange. At the same time, you feel even weirder for thinking that. At some point during the school year, this felt so completely normal to you. Now it was all just an out of body experience. As if the two of you were strangers all over again. Your heart was beating so rapidly out of your chest you thought you were going to have a heart attack.

The hallways leading to the Great Hall were completely empty. It was likely that whatever remaining students that were on campus were eating at the moment. The echo of your and George’s footsteps, alongside the dim lighting, made the situation all the more stressful for you. It was like you were stuck in place despite moving closer and closer to your destination.

After a minute of walking and absolutely no words spoken, George breaks the silence. He asks, “Can I speak to you for just a moment?”

“Is it about all that happened between us?” You wonder, your throat constricts the more you talk. You’re sure you are on the verge of tears just from the thought of it all. However, maybe this was the closure that you needed. Maybe this is what you needed to move forward and get on with your life without worrying about some red-haired boy running amuck in the school hallways and classrooms.

He clears his throat, “Yeah, it’s about that. I have something really important I want to tell you, Y/N.”

You internally go back and forth about whether or not you want to hear it, wondering if what he has to say will truly have any meaning at all. George dislikes the long pause it takes for you to say anything. He steps in front of you and blocks your path. He places his hands on your shoulders to prevent you from being able to walk away.

You huff and puff out of annoyance, sneering at him to say, “Let go of me, George.”

“Y/N, please, I just-” He tightens his grip on your shoulders. This causes you to shake from his hold, just barely escaping and nearly dropping your bag in the process. You’re growing more and more irritated by the way he was acting. Why was he being so handsy with you?

You snap at him out of annoyance, “Why the fuck do you need to touch me to tell me something? Just get on with it already-”

George stomps his foot on the ground, the loud sound echoing the walls of the empty hallway. He yells, “Listen to me!”

For the first time in a while, you finally stare into his eyes. Genuinely taking in his appearance and the emotion that has struck his face. It was at this moment you realized just how…damaged he was. He was on the verge of tears and his frail body was shaking from fighting back the floodgates in his eyes. Your heart feels like it’s breaking in two just from the sight. As much as he frustrates you, seeing this side of him makes your stomach sink.

George frustratingly runs his fingers through his hair as if to try and get a better grip on the reality that was taking place before him. He frowns deeply and tries to find his words. He stumbles over his words multiple times, “I-I just felt like…I didn’t think…you-you have to believe me, Y/N, I-I would never-”

You take this as an opportunity to reverse the roles, softly placing a hand on his shoulder as if to silently offer his support. Obviously his words and frustrations were weighing him down, and if there was anything you could do to encourage him to get his worries off his chest, maybe this was it. Just a small act of kindness. He was so desperately trying to hold you in place before this, he must have not realized he was really the one who needed to be weighed down in the first place. Otherwise his mind was going to run a million miles an hour and he would get nowhere with his speech.

You want him to know you’re willing to listen now, to give him a chance. All he wants is to be heard. In your own way, you wanted that too.

You wished you had been able to go back in time to just take things slower with George, to have been able to say no to his lust and just try to take things slower with him…if that was even possible. You wondered if George would have stopped talking to you if he realized you weren’t so easy to crack. Then again, you always felt that there was a spark between the two of you. Maybe at the time, if you had given yourself a moment to really speak your mind, he would have respected your wishes and things would have remained the same between you two. There is no way of knowing now. All you can do to make up for the horrible experience is to hear what he has to say.

The act gives George a chance to catch his breath. You watch his chest rise and fall multiple times, listening to the way he calms himself with a simple breathing exercise. He sighs and drops his shoulders, and you mimic his actions to try and ease your own anxieties. This was not going to be an easy conversation by any means, but it was about time it happened.

Seeing him slowly grow more comfortable seemed to ease the tension. George found himself breathing properly again and nodding his head, as if slowly trying to get back to the point he was originally trying to make in the first place.

You’re growing anxious to hear what he has to say. You pull your hand away from his shoulder and cross your arms, watching the way he shifts his body weight back and forth on the balls of his feet.

After what feels like a million years, he finally confesses. “I am so, so sorry for the way I treated you earlier this year. You didn’t deserve that at all. I have no excuse for my behavior. I don’t know why, but for such a long time now I have gone through girl after girl and never felt anything quite nearly the same as I do for you. You had such an impact on me…Godric, I sound so cringey saying that, but it’s the truth. I really do like you, Y/N. Everything about you and not just your body. I am so sorry for all that I did.”

The moment he finishes with his speech, your ears start to ring. You feel as though his words have stunned you. He liked you…for you? Then why did he do the things that he did?

You raise an eyebrow and look him up and down, as if you were a predator sizing up your meal. You ask him, “Then why did you do it? You always knew I was a virgin, isn’t that why you started talking to me in the first place?”

The question made your stomach drop. Having to talk to George about this makes you feel extremely queasy. George’s tears start to well even larger than before. He bites his bottom lip and looks down at his feet. He tells you, “At first, I saw you as just another girl. I thought you would be the same as the rest of the girls I have been with. Obviously I came to develop feelings for you, but I thought that if I just went about things like I usually do, the feelings would go away and I’d be on my way. But I realized afterwards that wasn’t the case with you. You were so different from the rest.”

Your heart sank hearing him admit to it all. You knew deep down this had always been his plan, you knew that he literally only saw you as an object from the start. However, there was an odd sense of relief that washed over you when he finally admitted to it all. Even though these were all your suspicions, hearing George confirm it all felt like you were finally coming to terms with everything. If anything, you actually had more respect for him.

You appreciate that he told you all of this. Looking back on the last couple months, you wished that you had allowed him to talk previously. This entire time he had tried desperately to tell you all of this and you just shot him down.

Not that you really regret it, though. At the time, you were very unstable with your emotions and you’re not too sure how the conversation would have gone down if he spoke with you weeks prior to today. Not only are you appreciative of the fact he was so honest, but hearing him say that he liked you back…it was like a dream come true. Never did you think he would ever like you the same way you did him.

You stayed silent, and apparently it was too long. George spoke again out of fear that he had scared you, frantically saying, “Please say something. I know you’re not happy with me, but I just need to hear-”

“I forgive you.” You blurt out.

It’s George's turn to fall silent now. Neither of you spoke for a period of time; how long exactly was unclear to you, but it felt too long. Assuming it’s your chance to try and save the conversation, you continue, “I know I’m probably crazy for this, but I forgive you. It takes a lot of courage to go up to a girl and admit that you screwed her over. I like that you were upfront with me about it all.”

Without missing a beat, George smiles harder and harder hearing you admit to your forgiveness. He takes a step forward with his arms open for a hug, but you immediately shoot him down. Placing a hand on his chest, you halt all movement. His entire face is struck with worry, and his mouth opens to apologize. You cut him off and say, “Just because I forgive, doesn’t mean I forget. You hurt me George. It absolutely crushed my soul when the person I thought was becoming my best friend used me and stole my virginity without a second glance. It sucked. That’s why I couldn’t even stand to look at you in the hallways or the classroom, let alone talk to you.”

Tears are welling in your eyes now. Your throat contracts the more you speak, and you have to stop because you know if you go any further it would just develop in a crying session. George nods his head and chokes back more tears, unable to prevent the shakiness in his voice.

“I-I feel like shit, Y/N. Every single day since I realized I fucked up, all I’ve wanted to do was talk to you about this. Like I said before, you deserve so much better. Thank you for forgiving me, though. I feel…better, now that I’ve talked to you about this.”

You smile and shove George’s shoulder in a playful manner, trying to ignore the burning in your eyes from all the tears. “No problem. Can we go eat now? I’m starving.”

George eyes you carefully as if he couldn’t believe what you had just said to him. If you had to be honest with yourself, you couldn’t either. However, now that the niceties were done and over with, you figured maybe starting over wouldn’t be such a bad idea with George. You can tell he’s genuinely sorry for all that he has done, and that he’s clearly changed drastically as a person (which you thought impossible for both Weasley twins).

Maybe dinner wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. You definitely weren’t going to do anything else with George. It would be too soon for that. Maybe a quick bite to eat while catching up on one another's lives would be enough for you tonight. Enough closure after this mess of a conversation. After this, you can go back to just being yourself and not have to worry about him anymore.

“W-We? You want to have dinner with me?” George asks you carefully.

You shrug your shoulders and start to slowly walk towards the Great Hall, George trailing behind you like a lost puppy. You tell him, “I don’t think it would hurt. Just for tonight, though. I figure we have a little catching up to do.”

George can’t stop smiling like an idiot, and you can’t either. Your heart was beating rapidly again, but this time it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of happiness. You’re beyond excited that the two of you were talking again. Not that you planned on staying best of friends, but a mutual likeness should be enough to get you through the remainder of the school year. However, that is quite the opposite of what happens.

The rest of the winter, you and George started to say hi to one another in the hallway again. That transitioned into sitting with one another in the Great Hall, maybe only once or twice a week but it happened nonetheless. Eventually, you and George were talking on a daily basis. Your relationship was slowly reversing back to its old ways, except there was minimal flirting and absolutely no touching. You made sure to lay some ground rules with him once you realized you and George were getting close again.

He promised to respect your wishes, and he has listened graciously so far. Your boundaries were quite simple to follow, but given George’s track record, it was surprising to see him listen so well. All that you asked was to keep everything between the two of your friends only and nothing more. You felt that after all that had happened, it would be best for the both of you to strictly keep things “professional” and not try to rush into anything so soon.

There was no denying you still had feelings for him, and knowing that George liked you back made it hard to not flirt with him in any way. But deep down, you knew that this was for the better. You’d rushed into something with him once before and it had a horrible ending, therefore you couldn’t risk that again. However, things were definitely changing to say the least.

It was obvious in the way your conversations started to last longer than just a minute or so. When you and George graduated from the casual “hello” while in passing and began to have full length conversations again, you quickly realized he was just as whimsical as you had known him from the beginning of the year.

You could never lose a sense of wonder while in his presence. He always had something to tell you, or a funny story that kept you on the edge of your seat. It first occurred to you that you were definitely falling for him once again in the midst of watching George play a prank on Professor Snape during class (the poor guy did not expect his pants to catch on fire. For a split second he almost convinced himself it was the doing of Peeves once again, but realized by the smirk on George’s face that it was no other than the evil twin himself).

That prank could have gone so horribly wrong if Professor Snape hadn’t noticed the flame among his dress pants. And even with the understanding that George’s actions were devastatingly brutal and just downright mean, your stomach felt as though it might explode with laughter (that died very quickly thanks to the glare Snape shot at you).

Even when he used magic in wrongful ways, had a track record with girls a mile long, and had even used you for sex, there was something too forgiving in your nature to just let George go entirely. You realized that you wanted him in your life, either as a best friend or something more. There was something about him that brought you to life. The spark that was lit in your heart was only alive when he was around. You never wanted it to go out, and so you soon realized you never wanted to let him go again.

In your eyes, even with all the mistakes he has made, George enclosed you in a space that left you wanting more. It wasn’t like you were trapped; you weren’t drowning in insufferable conversations or anything of the sort, you absolutely loved his company. You didn’t realize just how much you actually missed it until he started coming around again.

On top of all this realization, there was the fact he had changed considerably as a dear friend. He was much more careful in the way he spoke or acted around you. He wanted to respect your boundaries and never put your relationship at risk again. This is what made you appreciate him so much.

However, there was an obvious change in the atmosphere amongst you two during the springtime.

Winter had come and gone, your conversations were still lively as ever though. Just a couple weeks prior, he had begun walking you to your next class after potions together. It was during one particular day that sparked a sudden change in both your demeanors.

After class, you and George were walking down the corridors together just talking about the upcoming assignments and what you thought would be the best strategy for studying (George needed the advice given his history of failing horribly). While walking, a group of first-years were running amuck in the hallways, nearly trampling over you in the process of it all. Loud yells and feet clamoring against the stone floors filled your ears, your eyes barely having time to process how to avoid all the commotion.

George, however, had thought far ahead of you and made sure to wrap his arm around your shoulder and shield you from the upcoming blows of young, immature eleven-year-olds. He pulled your body in towards his own, protecting you for that brief moment of chaos.

Your body felt like it was exploding from his touch, immediately sobering you up and pulling you from your crazy thoughts. You looked up at George as soon as all the commotion had died down, and he looked down at you. Your mouth felt like it was going slack as you stood there completely frozen under his arm. George bores holes in your eyes, staring at you as if silently asking if this kind of action was allowed within your boundaries.

Without having to hear him say anything, you say, “It’s fine.”

The two of you continued walking down the hallway, talking as though nothing had happened. However, something did happen. It was the start of something new.

For the remainder of that walk to your next period, George kept his arm wrapped around your body as though you were his girl. It struck you as an extraordinary situation that left you dumbfounded for days on end.

First, you couldn’t get over the fact that he did it in the first place. Second, you couldn’t get over the fact that you let it happen. Now would not be a great time to fall back into old habits. You weren’t ready for anything explicit with George just yet. However, at the same time, you liked how protective he was being. You enjoyed having his arm around you. In a weird way, you felt safer. You craved…more.

That strange shift in the air between you two never really left. It only lingered, and continued to emphasize the more the two of you hung out. After that fateful day in the beginning of March, the day that really started to change your relationship with George once again, each week there was a designated day where the two of you just spent time with one another.

While you didn’t know for sure if this meant your relationship with George was developing outside of a friendship, you knew in your heart that it was probably a good sign of something heading towards that direction. If you were able to tolerate his conversations in the hallways from time to time, you had enough courage to be with him in a more secluded setting. This is what began the scheduled meetings once every week where the two of you would simply do homework or sit around and read books.

That same feeling of rapid heartbeats and butterflies in your stomach always came back in full swing the moment you two were together. It gave you flashbacks to that day out in the meadow where he swept you off your feet in an instant. While that memory used to leave you frustrated beyond belief, you could now thankfully say that you don’t fully regret doing what you did with George. You could now tell yourself that it was all just a lesson you had to come and learn the hard way.

The lesson in question? Don’t rush.

George’s arm always found its way around you while the two of you hung out, but it never furthered past that. It would happen at any given point. If there was an opportunity that arose, he would do anything to make sure he could place his arm around you in a protective manner. And it would stay there the remainder of the time you two hung out.

No one ever commented on the matter, not even you, which led George to believe that it was okay to continue doing so. It definitely was, in your book.

It’s late April now, months since you and George finally reconnected again and were practically best of friends. The two of you were sitting on a bench in a random hallway somewhere in Hogwarts. Being in different houses meant you could not be in one another’s common rooms. This was the best you could get, but it was comfortable enough.

You sat next to George while his arm was wrapped around your shoulders. You leaned into his touch, reading from your book about fantastic beasts and where to find them. George had just finished making a joke about the appearance of this one animal in the book, and it had you giggling beyond belief. You look up at George, eyes full of happiness and excitement. He looks back down at you, smiling hard.

George enjoys taking you by surprise. He leaves you wanting more from him and fills your chest with warmth. You weren't sure precisely what it was that you wanted more of, but you were certain that you didn't want this moment to stop. The expression caught in his eyes was pure protectiveness. You felt protected not just by his arm enveloping you, but also by the expression on his face as he gazed back at you. You felt comfortable and secure with him because of the way he looked at you. It was as if he was silently telling you that he genuinely wanted you for you.

Suddenly, while taking a glance at your lips, he's asking you, “Can I take you out on a date, Y/N? Like, a proper one. I feel like I owe that to you after all I’ve done.”

In an instant, you’re blushing like mad. Your heart is beating so fast, you’re smiling before you even realize it. You just nod your head, telling him, “Yes, I’d really like that, George. Thank you.”

He doesn’t respond with words, merely gives you a quick squeeze and looks back at the book you were reading, silently encouraging you to finish the chapter you started earlier.

~

TAGLIST: @calmspencer, @baddiebbarbietngz, @slytherclaw1978, @serendipitous-fernweh, @pandanation24, @rachelreallyroars, @tinafuentes, @chvmpion-jack, @ethereallovr, @godknows-shetried, @waggoth, @ellieswhor3, @wildestdreamers-tv, @faefaes-world, @hahahafucku, @delusional-13s-blog

[glaciermoth]

18+ MDNI

. ݁₊☁️. ݁˖ .

I Love You, I Hate You | The Worst is You and I 𖦹 Part Four

Reverse AU Timebomb | Ekko/Powder

. ݁₊☁️. ݁˖ .

Content tags: Alternate universe — role reversal, Angst, Enemies with benefits, Enemies with feelings, Semi-public sex, Heavy petting, Making out, Penis in vagina sex, Unsafe sex, Rough sex, Desperate sex, Hate sex, Vaginal fingering, (Brief) Spanking, Marking, Biting, Dacryphilia, Praise kink, Dirty talk, Begging, Multiple orgasms, Sexual overstimulation, Squirting and vaginal ejaculation, Mental health issues, Canon-typical violence, Jinx goes by Powder, No beta reader

Word count: 10457

Notes: less heavy on the kink for this one but this fic makes sense by itself if you don't feel like reading the others!!!:3

. ݁₊☁️. ݁˖ .

Smoke and the stingingly sweet smell of shimmer makes for an interesting morning. The sun blazes in the sky and yet the air has a distinct summer morning’s chill to it anyway. Powder doesn’t let herself get lost in the nostalgia of the warm weather beating down on her shoulders as the cool air lashes past her face. Everything is going just fine. Just the usual chaos. It’s just the same as every other mission they had been on.

Except…for him.

Sure, they had had their encounters but this was different. Everything seemed to go silent as she stood there amongst her friends, watching the sickly purple smoke clear just enough to get a glimpse of the figure ghosting through it with an eerie kind of grace. His steps fall softly, slowly— dissipating the fog with each tread.

"Hey," Him. Smug, confident, and dangerous.

Shit—

She whips her head to the side, her trance broken, and finds two of her friends thrown overboard by the force of whatever he had hurled at them. The rest is a blur— tiny, handmade explosives thrown, explosives she knows were inspired by her own childish ambition from years past. Don’t think about that. Her own people zip back and forth on their hoverboards, leaving trails of dizzying green that spot her vision, bringing her right back into the havoc of the scene before her.

Focus. Stay focused.

In amongst the chaos she tips barrels full of shimmer to the floor, ready to set everything alight. She whistles to one of her team. Eve. A quick signal to let her know it's time.

She nods quickly and sparks up a flare, holding it over the puddle of liquid addiction on the ground. So close. So, so close. And it's not even a split second before Powder hears a crack and the pink-haired girl’s mask is knocked off her face.

Shit. 

He's got her. His hand wrapped tightly around her wrist, his grip iron, his fingers digging into her flesh so hard Powder swears she hears the soft crack of her bones crumbling underneath.

He could kill her right there. He should kill her.

But he freezes— his expression completely wiped with shock.

Powder doesn't even have time to react before the flare is dropped to the ground and he strikes her in the back of her head— right as she's scrambling to get away. The whole scene plays out behind her eyes like a movie— slow, yet unrelenting, the passage of time displaying its cruel and brutal nature. She can't ever make herself fast enough or strong enough to go back and make it okay again. She's dead. And it's just another thorn in his side gone. All for Silco.

Blood rushes past Powder's ears, pounding in her head and blurring her vision as she leans over Eve's lifeless form.

How could he? 

How dare he?

She raises her gun to him, blind rage clouding the reality of the scene unfolding before her. She doesn't care that it's him. She doesn't care about what they used to be. She can’t even find the sense to care about the scarcity of the bullets she's about to use. Her chest heaves and she lets out an almost animalistic growl, forcing her body to lurch forward and point the barrel of her gun directly at his head.

Her finger shakily begins to squeeze the trigger and she gets knocked completely off her feet, startling her out of the fog that wraps around her brain. He's firing blindly at them— at everyone— and she didn't even notice. Didn't notice the way he screamed. Didn't notice the way his head whipped around like he could see something nobody else could. All she could focus on was taking him down.

She feels like she's been flipped upside down as strong arms wrap around her waist and carry her away. She realises it's Scar— her friend, a real friend— saving her from making yet another stupid mistake and getting herself and everyone else killed.

. ݁₊⊹. ݁˖ . 

He storms through the winding alleyways with a kind of quiet rage— sticking to the shadows, keeping out of sight. Of course he had to see her today. It's exactly what he needed, the memory of his childhood best friend coming back to haunt him in real time. 

And to top it all off?

That pink-haired girl he could've sworn was Vi when he knocked that mask off her stupid face.

He froze up. He fucked up.

"Today's screw-up will set us back weeks,"

He knows. He already knows. Way to rub it in, right? 

His face twitches in indignation thinking about it. His head clouds over, anxieties and insecurities pushing down on him and choking him out as he marches forward.

"Take some time,"

"I don't need time,"

"Take it anyhow,"

He had to prove to him somehow that he could do this. He wasn't the same helpless child Silco picked up amongst the wreckage of his dead and broken friends anymore…right?

Things were easier with Benzo. He didn't feel the need to prove himself constantly. Of course, he hadn't fucked up yet when he was still under Benzo's wing. Makes a difference, doesn't it? 

Silco just wants him to be strong. 

Silco loves him. 

Silco glued all the broken pieces of him back together.

And yet he finds himself tearing towards Benzo's old shop anyway, wanting to breathe in the comfort of his old mentor— wanting to wrap himself in the past so hard he suffocates in it.

"Fuck…"

. ݁₊⊹. ݁˖ . 

The wind whips past her face— cold, ruthless— a cruel reminder of this morning's encounter. Powder made sure that everyone got back to base just fine before she all but shoved past Scar and got back on her board. She just needs…time. She thinks she just needs time.

The thought of him swirls around in her head as she rides the wind. How cruel fate had been to drive her best friend away from her like this. How cruel for fate— no— how cruel for Silco to warp him into a machine whose only use is to kill and destroy when she knows he could very well have brought life into people with his creations.

She doesn't know where she's going exactly, not until she's actually there. 

She stands in front of Benzo's abandoned shop and thinks to herself that it looks exactly the same as the last time she saw it— minus the cobwebs. She traces her fingertips over the door handle, breathing out softly as she does. Of course she'd end up here with him on her mind.

She looks over her shoulder as she cracks the door open; it's completely dead in this area with no evidence of a single soul having walked down this part of the Lanes in months. As she shuffles inside the smell of old liquor and dust slaps her in the face. It's tidier than she expected if she's being completely honest. She trails her fingers over the countertop slowly, reminiscing about what used to be, and she lands on a little pocket watch tucked under a piece of parchment.

He had a thing about clocks and she always found that strangely endearing.

How had things gotten so fucked up?

Powder stares at the little piece of machinery and clutches it tighter in her hand. She glances around the room slowly, walking towards the back, and she slides down against the wall, bringing the little clock close to her chest.

She wishes it didn't have to be like this. She wishes it so badly that it hurts— the pain inching its way through her body and striking every nerve and vessel like it's trying to kill her. Tears roll down her face— hot, searing into her skin— and she finds herself screaming, slamming her hands down next to her as her chest heaves in and out.

Why?

She throws the damn watch, just waiting for the noise of it cracking and shattering into little tiny pieces just like her past— just like her relationship with her best friend, the man who could've been her soulmate.

Nothing.

"Huh, I wondered where that went,"

Her head snaps up— mouth gaped open in shock— and he's just standing there, turning the little pocket watch over in his hand, studying it like this was something he did every day and not like he had just stumbled across the leader of the fucking Firelights, the very reason he had fucked Silco’s so carefully laid plans up.

She stands up, drawing her knife out, and she points it straight towards his throat.

He huffs a low, snarky laugh, "You wanna stab me? Do it,"

"What are you doing here, Ekko? Go back to Silco," she snarls, her voice dripping in barely restrained rage.

"This was my home, I could ask you the same thing. Aren't you a little far from all your bugs, huh?" He takes a step towards her, fire lighting up his deep brown eyes.

"Fuck you," she seethes, tears streaming down her face, tracking blue paint and mascara down her cheeks, "Fuck you for choosing him. He's got you killing people— my people,"

"You don't get it," he breathes, "He picked me up when nobody else would. You ran, Powder. You just ran away,"

"I didn't know you were there! I came back for you and you pushed me away!" Her fingers shake as they dig into the handle of the knife.

"I hurt people. I hurt you. You think you would've ended up in this mess if it weren't for me giving you guys that tip?"

He steps closer, pinning her under his cold, brutal gaze. 

Her chest rises faster as she realises she has nowhere to go, and she stares at him with wide-eyed desperation as he keeps talking.

"You think any of it would've happened if I never said anything about Vander's deal with the enforcers? If I hadn't told Vi about the old cannery? Huh?"

And he's mere inches away from her— so close she can nearly feel the heat of his body radiating from him— and her knife is pressed right into his chest as he crowds over her. 

She doesn't answer for a second, just looking at him, panicked, and he's never seemed so damn calm and collected in his life.

He sure loves to play with fire.

She drops the knife to the floor and grabs his face and her lips are on his in one heated, stupidly impulsive second. 

He stumbles back in shock, almost breaking the contact between them, but he reaches up and tangles his fingers into her hair, kissing her right back as a low, soft whine escapes his throat.

She shocks herself with her own rash spontaneity but something about the way he looked at her— the love and conflict at war in his once warm eyes— has her desperate to just have him. A sort of primal urge overtakes her and all of the grief and anguish disappears against his soft, full lips.

It's not soft or gentle. They meet each other with fire and passion— all teeth and tongue— stumbling backwards with each other, hands in each other's hair, tugging one another closer, closer, closer, until the only space left between them is the fabric of their clothes. 

Ekko moves back with each step, pulling her along with him, despite not really knowing where his end goal is. He can't fucking think about that. Not when he's finally got her in his grips. Not when she's finally real and tangible against his skin, against his lips, on his tongue, in his mouth. God, he could never have imagined how sweet she'd taste— all fury and lust bundled into one. He could fucking drown in this moment, stumbling backwards through this old shop, this old memory until—

They trip on something left on the ground behind the counter— the abrupt clattering noise it makes startles them both and he reaches out to catch her, pulling her up and steadying her against him.

"Shit—" She balls her fists up against his chest, bunching his top up in her hands, putting all her weight on him as she takes a second to recover.

"Powder—" He cups her face in his hand, bringing her gaze back toward him as he leans back against the counter, keeping them both upright, "Powder,"

"Shit!" Her mouth falls open in realisation of what she just did, "We— We can't be doing this—"

"No? That was all you, sweetheart,"

She feels her face heat up a little at his immediate comeback but it’s not hard to notice how off-balance he really is— fully shaken by her impulsivity.

"Don't— Don't be fucking smooth with me," she pants.

His hand creeps towards the back of her head once more, putting a tiny bit of pressure there. Do it again. Please do it again.

She raises her eyes to meet his and suddenly there's nothing in the world she wants more than to fucking kiss his stupid, beautiful face again. So she does. She squeezes her eyes shut and grabs onto him so tight she's surprised he doesn't fall apart beneath her. 

She hates him. She hates him so fucking much. She hates every single little part of him and even more she fucking hates the way he makes her want him, the way he makes her need him. She feels like she's lost all higher brain function as she slips her tongue over his, as she trails a hand down his ridiculously defined pecs and yanks his head as close to hers as physically possible. 

God, why is he so perfect? 

His hand pulls at her lower back as he kisses her, and he just knows she feels the heat rising between them the same way he does. He can feel her damn legs trembling as she pushes herself onto his thigh like he wouldn't fucking notice. Fuck, this isn't fair. He pushes off the countertop and shoves her up against the wall, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head in one large, calloused hand. 

He feels her breathing grow ragged, like she's becoming fucking feral as they make out. The way their lips mash together is almost violent— years of pent up need and frustration coming out in hurried, urgent, almost animalistic movements. He trails his hand down her back— possessive, needy— and grabs the firm plush of her ass, shoving his knee between her legs as he does, making her pull back with a short gasp before he closes the distance between them again, his lips claiming hers with such ferocity it could almost bruise.

"Powder— Powder—" He repeats her name in between kisses, a desperate mantra breathed into her mouth like he needs a reminder of exactly who he's toying with.

She arches her back off the wall as he moves away from her lips, his own pressing hot kisses into the skin of her face, her jaw. He pulls down the fabric of her top that covers her neck and his lips are on her immediately.

He guides her hips to grind against him as he works rough, bruising kisses into her pale flesh. He needs her to remember. He needs to make sure that he'll be burned into the back of her head just the same as she is for him. 

Blood sears hot and low in her belly as he claims every part of her available like he'll never have the chance to again. 

That's the thing isn't it? Maybe he won't. 

She strains against the grip he has on her wrists and he immediately drops them, using his hand to tip her chin up instead, granting him better access to the sensitive skin of her neck. Soft moans tumble from her lips and she reaches forward to grab his arms, to anchor her shaking body as he leaves yet another deep, purple mark in her flesh.

"Fuck—" she whispers, putting the back of her wrist against her mouth to muffle a small whine, not quite ready to admit to how much he's working her up.

She feels like she's lost in a drunken haze as she pulls him up, listening to his mouth unlatching from her neck with a soft pop. She takes a split second to admire his face— eyes wild and filled with desperation, his lips plump and wet with the soft light shining against the spit that glazes them— before she's kissing him again, stealing the very breath from his lungs as her lips melt into his.

Tiny little moans vibrate through the air around them and Powder finds herself yanking him by his hips. Closer. Please get closer. Her body begs for him, yearns for him in a way she didn’t even know it could. He’s like a fucking drug— sweet and perfect on her lips. The feeling of his hands could brand themselves into her body forever. She won’t forget. She’ll never forget this. How could she? He’s danger and temptation thrown haphazardly into a little parcel and tied off with a pretty little bow.

He threads his fingers through her wild, blue hair, not caring about messing up her plaits, just needing her. God, his Powder is so beautiful. His wild, ever graceful, blue disaster. All he can think of is blue, blue, blue as she drags him down under the depths with her. He wants her so badly. Wants her to be his. How long had he felt like this? He had shoved her to the back of his head over and over, unsuccessfully putting her back on that shelf of old memories that collected dust in his mind, and yet she worked her way to the forefront of his thoughts again and again. And now? She’s everywhere. She’s tangled up in his fingers and panting into his mouth and he couldn’t be more obsessed if he fucking tried.

God.

Fuck.

He slows his pace, just a little, licking into her mouth, savouring the sweet, sweet taste of his favourite girl. He drags one hand down— slow, torturous— and palms at her breast over the top of her heavy clothes. Fuck, he couldn’t want to rip her damn clothes off her body more if he tried. Does she want it? Does she need him as much as he needs her? He kisses the corner of her mouth gently, moving back to her jawline, waiting to hear the soft little whimpers that carry out on her breath as he reduces her into a perfect little mess for him.

He fumbles with the buckle on the front of her one-piece and she gasps, her hand shooting out to grab his wrist.

"W-we shouldn’t—"

He pauses, biting his lip, and he looks up at her with his brows furrowed in concentration, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.

"You don’t want it?"

"I didn’t say that—"

He glances down to her chest where his hand still hovers and then back up to her face, "Don’t mess with me, Powder. Are you in or out?"

He straightens himself up so he can get a better look at her, he’s so close he can feel her breath fanning out over his face each time she breathes out. He studies her hesitation, the way she chews on her lip as she fights over whether or not she wants to sleep with her old best friend and more importantly her worst enemy. 

He runs the tips of his fingers over the base of her scalp softly, watching as she shudders out a short gasp and looks right back up to him, her eyes wide with an urgent, primal need.

"Ekko—"

He smiles— dark, dangerous. He’s got her all figured out. He brings his forehead against hers as he pushes his thigh into her harder, right between her legs, pressing straight into that delicate, neglected part of her that so desperately craves his attention. Her lips part exquisitely as a soft yelp escapes her. 

She grabs onto his top, biting into her trembling lip as she looks back at him, "Fuck— Fuck you—"

He huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, "Yeah, okay,"

"Make it hurt," she says suddenly.

What?

"What?" he asks— completely bewildered— her words almost snapping him out of his lust-filled haze.

"I want it," She grips onto him tighter, her fists shaking slightly, "I want it— Just— Make it hurt—"

He trails a path from her hair to her chin with the tips of his fingers, and lifts her face gently in his hand. She vaguely thinks to herself that she could die happy here, with his face full of a mix of concern, lust, and a little confusion— his fucking perfect lips pursed into a soft frown as he mulls over her words— being the last thing she ever sees.

"What do you want?" he asks, his voice low, edging on ruinous.

"I don’t wanna…feel—" She pulls him closer, grinding down against his thigh, "I just— You can take it out on me— Everything— Make it hurt, make it rough—"

He smiles and god, does he look absolutely wrecked with the realisation of what she’s asking for.

"Say please," He runs his thumb over her chin.

She lets out a tiny noise of protest, her voice cracked and broken, "P-please—"

"Fuck," he says, grabbing the buckle again, "Take your damn clothes off. Right now,"

Her hands join his, and in an awkward flurry of movements they manage to get her far-too-thick one-piece off, along with her heavy boots and dark, thermal leggings that come to just below her knees. 

She stands there with her hands on his shoulders, suddenly a little nervous as the cold air wraps around her. He brings his hand up to his mouth, the other resting gently on her hip as his eyes rake over her slim frame in barely contained desire. 

God, she’s trying to kill him. 

"You looked like that under there this whole time?"

‘That’ referring to the black panties that ride high on her waist and hips— the amount of fabric just bordering on daring— and the fishnet stockings that cling to her legs like a second skin— the bands digging into the plush, milky skin of her thighs. She’s just begging him to take her at this point.

She nods slowly, biting into her lip, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she takes in his almost devastated expression.

"Fuck—" He grabs her hips, "Fuck, Powder, you have no idea what you do to me—"

Her back hits the wall again and he’s shoving her top up over her tits, his hand immediately finding her breast and the other pulling her against him harshly by her ass as he presses his lips to her throat once more. He works fast, rough kisses into her neck as he rolls the sensitive little bud of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, drowning in her tiny wails of desperation.

"Plea— Please, Ekko— Fucking— Fucking get on with it—"

"Oh, you need it, huh?"

She nods, gripping his hair, impatient, just wanting him. She bucks her hips into him as he traces his fingers over her body— slowly, slowly ripping a path into her flesh everywhere he touches. Finally, fucking finally, his fingertips tease at the waistband of her panties and there’s no way in this moment she could want him more. He dips his fingers underneath, quickly finding the hot, wet pool of arousal between her legs, and he gasps.

"Fuck— You’re— You're so fucking wet, Pow—" He looks up at her in pure disbelief, watching the way she shuts her eyes and tips her head back against the wall, rutting herself against his hand— so fucking needy.

He grabs her leg with his free hand and hooks it over his forearm, slowly slipping a finger into her as he does. He feels her long, sharp nails dig into the back of his neck as he curls his finger along the hot, sensitive walls of her cunt. He breathes out— soft and wrecked— and he can't help imagining bending her over the damn counter and shoving his cock inside her right now. 

Patience. 

He shuts his eyes briefly, pumping his finger in and out slowly, savouring the tiny, breathy moans she lets out as she drags her nails across the back of his neck and down his shoulders. Gently, he slips his ring finger into her along with his middle and she gasps, hitting her head back against the wall as she tries to hold herself upright. 

He chuckles lowly, "So damn responsive…"

And all he's met with is a protesting whine as she pulls at the back of his head, closing the distance between her neck and his lips once more. She'll run out of room for him to mark her up soon but it doesn't stop how addictive it is to have his breath wash over the delicate skin there as he licks and soothes and bites.

"Fuck, Powder—" he mumbles into her skin.

"Ekko! Ekko—"

"Yeah, that's my name, baby. Don't you forget,"

He runs his thumb over her aching, neglected clit as he murmurs low and deep against her throat. She sounds a ragged, high-pitched moan and drops her head down onto his shoulder, her arms yanking him close, closer. He feels her cunt pulse around his fingers and he finds himself clinging onto his self restraint harder than he has ever had to in his damn life. God, she feels so warm and wet and tight—

He's fucked. He comes to the conclusion that he's absolutely fucked in about point two seconds. She's so damn pliant and helpless in his arms— a perfect little mess around his fingers— and all he can think is how fucking desperately he wants to bury his fucking dick inside her and pound into her until the only thing floating around in that pretty little head is him, him, him.

"Powder— Powder, please— God, please, I wanna fuck you so bad—" he begs, his voice almost cracking in desperation as he pleads into her ear.

She nods and nods, shakily kissing the junction between his neck and shoulder. She whimpers ever-so-softly as he pulls his fingers out of her, her lips coming apart in silent protest.

He fast in undoing his trousers, barely even pulling them and his tight, black boxers down before he's pulling his cock out and lifting her leg up higher, brushing the tip over the wet fucking mess he's made of her panties. She lets a tiny little sob slip past her lips at the brief contact with her clothed clit. 

She won't tell him, but she needs it just as bad, if not more than him.

"Ekko—"

"Shhh, baby, just one second…" he says, his voice low and sweet as he kisses her cheek.

His brows knit together in concentration as he slides the damp fabric of her panties to the side. He inches forward, slowly pressing the head of his cock into her wet heat. He edges in slowly, groaning at the way she stretches to accommodate him. A tiny, high-pitched whimper falls from her lips as he pushes inside, and she clings to his neck so hard she almost knocks the air out of him. He fucking stops breathing anyway, his breath hitching as he slides in a little further. She's so fucking tight around him— hot, wet, velvet walls gripping him like her body can't decide whether it wants to drag him in further or to stop him right where he is.

"F— Fu— Ekk-o—" She claws at his back, nails scraping over him as she whines pathetically into his skin.

"Can you take it? Can you take it, Pow?" he asks, just waiting for her to confirm so he can finally throw all self control out the fucking window.

She just barely manages to nod and whimper a quiet ‘yes’ before he's grabbing her ass and pulling her all the way onto him, making her squeak quietly and dig her fingers in harder, trailing her lips up his neck messily as she does. God, she feels full, so fucking full— his cock pressing into every tender, sensitive part of her so goddamn deliciously. It’s so much. Too much. But not fucking enough.

She lets out a soft pant, her lips parted against his neck. She mouths emptily over his skin as he stills for a second— worry slipping into his expression. She moans lightly, her voice carrying vibrations into his flesh as she opens her mouth onto him and bites the salty, sensitive skin beneath her lips. 

"Do it— Do it—" she whispers, "Take it all out on me and don’t fucking hold back—"

She latches back onto his neck, earning a low, broken groan from him. He curses under his breath and draws back slow, agonisingly slow before he thrusts all the way back into her, listening to the schlick noise her cunt makes as it pulls him back in. He motions his hips into her again, lifting her leg up as high as he can get it, wanting to get deeper.

"Mhhfm— Ekko—" She squeezes her eyes shut as he presses her harder against the wall, splitting her legs until her damn thighs ache all so he can drive his cock into her deeper, deeper.

"What? You backing out now?" he teases.

She shakes her head, her hair falling into her face as she does.

They both know damn well she won’t back out. Not with the way he stretches her out so fully, so completely. She gives herself over to him so willingly— she’d fucking beg for it if he asked.

"I hate you— I-I hate you—" she mumbles through a cascade of soft little moans.

"Yeah, that’s it, pretty girl, take my fuckin’ dick," He kisses the side of her head gently as he drives his hips into her again.

Her head lolls on his shoulder as he fucks into her, her whole body almost going limp against him as he presses into her g-spot over and over, his cock repeatedly hitting that soft, gooey bundle of nerves inside her with each thrust. Every inch of her skin trembles, her grip on him starting to become lazy as waves of pleasure course through her and twist deep in her gut.

He reaches up and tangles his fingers into her hair, pulling her head back gently to get a good look at her. He admires her face— her cheeks flushed bright pink, tear tracks streaking down her skin in blues and blacks, her lips swollen and shiny with spit— and he kisses her. He’s soft and furious all at once, gripping the back of her head firmly as he ruts his hips into her again and again. She can hardly keep up with him, kissing him back sloppily, her tongue and her moans filling his mouth all at once. 

When he pulls back she looks completely wrecked. He thought he had fully given into desperation and bliss but, god, does she look completely fucking gone. He groans— low and deep— and he lurches forward, pressing his lips to her neck and kissing up and down the column of her throat, listening to the cracked moans that vibrate through the air. He moves his hand down, brushing his thumb over her swollen, sensitive clit and she lets out a loud, uneven cry, her hands immediately jumping to grab onto his arms— bracing herself against the overwhelming heat pooling low in her belly.

"E-Ekko— I—" She finds the words completely lost on her tongue as he swipes his thumb over the sensitive little bud yet again.

"That feel good, Pow?" he asks, his voice low as he scrapes his teeth over her neck.

She nods and whines— all high and broken— as he pushes into her over and over, thumbing over her clit in a tandem with each thrust. She feels like she can hardly keep herself up as he completely ruins her from both inside and out.

She lets out a couple short pants, her chest heaving, "Mmhn— I— I—"

And with one particularly brutal thrust she feels wet, slick warmth begin to trickle from her cunt before it spurts out onto him, painting his hand and lower abdomen in her release.

"Did— Did you just—?" He glances down, his face a picture of complete shock.

"Shut up— Shut up, Ekko— Just fuck me—" she whines, digging her nails into his arms so hard she almost breaks skin.

"Fuck," He thrusts in again, keeping his thumb pressed firmly to her clit, "Holy fucking shit—"

She feels like she's on fucking fire as he keeps going— so close she can feel all the blood rushing straight to her hot, slicked cunt. Each thrust begins to force little droplets of clear liquid from her and she hears him fucking laugh under his breath. She doesn't care. She really doesn't fucking care as long as he keeps pounding his cock into her— stretching her out impossibly and forever. 

Every motion of his hips sends her reeling, pushing her closer and closer to the edge, helplessly dragging her towards the release she needs so desperately. She feels like she's fully lost control of her body with the way he fucks her— every rough, urgent thrust twisting and tangling the knot that forms in her gut. 

She glances down to where their bodies are joined and she eyes his drenched, dripping hand— covered in her own fluids— furiously working around her clit as his thick length plunges into her soaked cunt again and again. She bites her lip, looking back to him with wide, shiny eyes— her breath catching in her throat. He meets her gaze with half-lidded eyes, his lips lazily pressed against her neck still. He looks so fucking vulnerable like this— his pupils blown huge, his brows knitted together in concentration, his face flushed a deep red with tiny beads of sweat forming around his hairline in his exertion. 

Fuck.

Her nails bite into his arms as her body begins to shake, her limbs growing pathetically heavy as the heat stirs and blooms inside her, almost completely relying on him to hold her up.

"Mmh— I— Fu—" She shuts her eyes tight, shaking her head, wanting to avoid the way he raises his eyebrow cockily because he fucking knows he's got her.

And then it hits her. 

Hard. 

Fast. 

Devastating. 

And she cries out— loud, wrecked— before biting into his shoulder, muffling the fucking pathetic noises that come from her mouth as her cunt pulses and flutters around him.

He lets out a deep, prolonged groan against her neck, shutting his eyes and savouring the sweet, delicious feeling of her clenching down around his fucking sensitive cock, the pressure forcing him to slow his pace.

"Fuck— Fuck— That's a good girl, coming on my fucking cock—"

"Wh— What—?" she says, her voice high and unsteady, "What did you just call me—?"

His jaw drops, snapping his head up to look at her, panic washing over his face, "Shit— Fuck— I— I'm sorry, it just happened—"

She grabs his face, her fingers trembling as they dig into his hot, damp skin, "Say it again," she says, her voice almost a growl— every syllable crackling with wild urgency, "Fucking say it again—"

His eyes darken and his lips part in a silent whine, his breath stopping for a second as he takes in her wicked, desperate expression. 

"Fuck—" He shoves his cock all the way into her, stilling himself, gripping her ass and her waist harshly, "That's a good girl, that's a good fucking girl, coming on my cock,"

She wraps her arms around his neck, moaning softly into his ear as he presses her against the wall, "Fuck, Ekko—"

He kisses the side of her head, taking a second to breathe as he pins her, his cock still buried deep inside her. He's not done. God, he's nowhere near fucking done. But she—

"More—" she whispers, "Give me more—"

Oh.

Oh, he's fucked.

"Fuck, baby, you want more?" He barely gets the damn words out, every emotion coursing through him at once, the thrill overtaking his whole being, making his heart race as he grips her shaking body.

She nods, scraping her nails across his back under his shirt as he holds her up. 

He breathes out— sharp, unsteady— and he looks down over her body, looking at the way her leg shakes with the effort of holding herself upright with his fucking cock still inside her.

"Not like this," he murmurs, slipping out of her and letting her leg drop to the floor.

He takes her hand and guides her to the ground carefully. He runs his hand up her back, slowly directing her to lay with her face pressed against the discarded bundle of her clothes on the floor. She lets him, laying her flushed cheek on top of the soft fabric.

"That's it…" He caresses her waist gently, "Now, ass up for me," he says, pulling at her hips.

"Plea— Please—" she mumbles, her voice muffled as she arches her back for him.

"Patience…" he says, digging his fingers into the fat of her hips as he positions himself behind her.

He runs his finger under her panties that he so hurriedly shoved to the side earlier, teasing her, smiling to himself at the way she bucks her hips back into him. He looks at the way she watches him with her eyes half closed, her gaze lazy, almost sultry, and she knits her brows together in confusion and impatience. He grabs her panties in both hands and pulls them up, ripping them apart until he can just peel them off of her and throw them over his fucking shoulder. 

"Ekko—!"

He grins to himself— a stupid, cocky smirk that has Powder seething. He leans forward, brushing her hair away from her cheek, snickering to himself at the way she glares back at him— her face bright red with a light sheen of sweat plastering it— her arousal incredibly apparent despite how fucking outraged she is.

"Fuck, you look good like this," he groans.

He pulls her a little closer, grabbing her ass and spreading it apart, taking a good look at her puffy, stretched-out hole, still dripping in wet, hot slick. She shakes slightly in anticipation, wishing he'd just fucking get on with it. But he takes his time, fully admiring the wetness streaking through her thighs as he slides two fingers over her cunt, adoring the way he can see it pulse and flutter around nothing, just waiting for him to fill her again. She almost feels embarrassed with the way he looks at her— so intently studying the mess he's made of her already like she's just one of his little projects that he's been working on.

"Fuck— Ekko— Please—" she begs, curling her fists up next to her face, swaying her hips in front of him.

He raises his eyebrows, looking down at the furious, blue-haired girl beneath him. He strokes his hand over her ass softly before he raises it into the air just a little.

"Can I…?" He pauses hesitantly, dipping his head forward to get a better look at her expression.

She nods quickly, squeezing her eyes shut, gritting her teeth.

He grins and a sharp smack cracks through the air as his palm strikes her skin, "I said patience,"

She whimpers softly, nodding, digging her nails into her palms.

"Fuck— Look at you, Pow—" he marvels, his voice rough, nearly breaking in strained excitement as he holds her open for his prying, hungry eyes.

"Please—" she sobs.

"Didn't know you were so needy, Pow," he laughs as he lines himself up with her slick pussy, "Let me take care of that…"

And he pushes in in one smooth, complete thrust, not bothering to ease in this time. She can take it. He knows she can take it.

Short, laboured breaths pass her lips as he begins to rock his hips into her. He starts slow, deep— each thrust languid, relaxed. He can't get enough of the sound of her drenched pussy sucking him in, struggling to fit him inside, especially with how much deeper he can get in this position. But she takes it. She takes with her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her thighs trembling helplessly, her fingers scratching at the floor as the feeling of him pushing into her soaked, oversensitive cunt threads itself through her entire body— embedding itself into every little nerve and fibre of her.

He digs his fingers into her hips and yanks her onto him roughly, making her cry out and bite down on her lip. She tastes blood on her tongue as he fucks her, the metallic taste washing through her mouth as he keeps going.

"Hhmmfh— Mhhhfm— F-fu—" She claws at the floor, her nails scratching into the hard surface uselessly as his cock presses into the soft, tender walls of her cunt again and again.

He snickers to himself, leaning forward to cup her face in his hand gently, pressing his thumb against her chin, making sure she's looking back at him, "What, sweetheart? What is it?"

"Hhmh— F-fuck you— F-fuck you—" she growls, shoving her face into the bundle of fabric below her, muffling the ragged moans spilling from her throat.

"Yeah, Pow? Fuck you too," 

"H-harder— Harder— Do it h-harder—"

He chuckles— twisted, dark— loving to watch as she takes him so willingly, so eagerly, despite how furious she is. He picks up the pace, his skin slapping against hers— forcing broken, punched-out little moans from her every single time his cock slams into her.

He slides his hand up her bare back, and up and up until he can tangle his fingers into her knotted hair, holding her head down against the hard, unyielding surface beneath them. She cries out, eyeing him shakily, tears beginning to pool in her eyes as her body jerks forward with each thrust. He uses the leverage he has on her head to ram into her harder, faster, rougher, pushing down on her back with one hand to make sure all she can do is take it as he ruins her.

"Fuck, baby— Look at you taking this cock so well—"

She whines— loud and high— digging her nails into her own palms so hard she'll see little red divots for days afterwards. She feels like she's being split in half with the force of his thrusts combined with how achingly thick his fucking cock is. A slow, unsteady stream of her own juices trickle from her cunt every time he slams into her g-spot from behind, each brutal thrust forcing her to squirt out onto him and herself the same.

"I-I'm— F— Gonna fu— Mhnnh—!"

"Yeah, that's it, Pow," he says, running his thumb across her tear-stained cheek, "This pretty pussy gonna come all over my fucking cock again, huh?" He laughs tauntingly, his breath starting to get lost amid his strained, drawn out moans, "Don't even h-have to touch you, hm? Fuck— Look at you taking it, what a good fucking girl,"

Tears start to spill down her cheeks as he teases her— rage, lust, and desperation coming out all at once and streaming down her face, tracking blues and blacks messily into her skin.

"I h-ha— I-I h-hate y—" She gets cut off as his pelvis drives into her ass— hard and fucking relentless— and the noise she makes is closer to a scream than anything, her voice breaking as he forces the knot inside her to twist impossibly tight.

She's so close to tipping right over the edge— white-hot pleasure pooling and searing low in her body as he winds his fingers into her hair tighter, tugging it, his fingertips finding purchase against her scalp and using it to drill into her so hard her vision starts to blur.

And she's falling, feeling like she's been flung from a ledge and she's plummeting straight towards the ground. She could swear she died for a second, her vision going completely black as fire licks through her entire body, scorching the painful pleasure into every nerve and cell of her being.

He bites into his lip as he watches the way she suddenly stops breathing, her chest heaving in and out emptily, her fists slamming hard against the ground before they unfurl and scratch at the floor weakly, her back arching as she shakes and convulses underneath him. Her eyes are stuck in the back of her head and he keeps going. Her lips part softly, a trail of drool beginning to drip down her face as she starts to heave in gasp after gasp, trying to catch her breath again after stopping for so long her face started to turn red. 

He groans— long and deep— the noise nearly turning into a whine as her cunt clamps down onto him. He strokes her hair— the gesture gentle, loving— as he slows his pace, still fucking her, still pushing past the resistance her pussy continues to give him. 

He looks down, running his hand over her ass, taking a look at the puddle that's formed underneath her shaky knees from her release, taking a look at the white ring of cum that's formed at the base of his dick, slicking her cunt even more as it pulses around him. He runs his thumb around his cock where they're joined together, where she's pulled taut around him, and he curses under his breath.

"Good girl, that's a good girl," he whispers, breathless.

"Ekko-o," she whimpers, her voice sweet and a little pathetic.

"It’s okay— It’s okay—"

"No— Keep going—" she says, shakily pushing back into him, fucking herself on his cock, "Please— Please, Ekko—"

"Powder— Fuck— Are you sure—?"

"Told you to take it out on me— I told you— So do it— Do it, please—"

He huffs a low laugh, shaking his head, "Baby…you want it that bad?"

She nods, her lip trembling as tears still trickle down her face.

"Take it, then. C'mon, baby, fuck yourself on my cock," he says, running his large hands over her back and landing them on her waist, admiring how easily she fits into his hold, "Show me how much you hate me, hm?"

She moans quietly, pressing her face into the floor as she slowly starts to rock her hips back into him. Quiet, desperate sobs escape her lips— mingling with the soft, wet noises of her cunt squeezing down around his dick with each backwards motion of her body. Every inch of her skin trembles, her brain getting foggy at the dizzying feeling of him slowly pushing into her g-spot again and again. Her legs quiver, her knees threatening to give way under her as she fucks herself back onto him, and she's slow, painfully slow— barely managing to move herself because of how sensitive she's become after each orgasm tore through her body and left her dazed and hazy. Her motions start to become lazy, unsteady, weak— going so slow she almost comes to a stop.

He slaps her ass, making her body jerk forward with the force of it, "C'mon, Pow, you can do better than that. I've seen you fight, you don't back down like this,"

She cries out, forcing her eyes shut as she gasps for air, "Plea— Please— I can't—"

"Too much for you? You want me to take over, baby?" he asks, his tone sickly sweet and perhaps a little condescending.

She nods, her face still buried in the little puddle of clothes beneath her, her fingers clawing at the surface below as if it could help brace her against the overwhelming, almost painful pleasure that courses under her skin like a live wire in water.

She lets out a soft whimper as he pulls out and grabs her leg, swinging it over his shoulder, the momentum turning her to the side suddenly, "I wanna see you— Wanna see your face,"

She looks back at him with wide eyes— the soft blue of her irises shimmering in the light of the dusty old shop. She reaches out for his hand, lacing her fingers into his, gripping his hand tight as he slips into her again.

"God…look at you…" he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles, "Such a mess for me…"

Then he draws back and slams into her, forcing a broken sob from her— her mouth gaped open as her breath hitches and she chokes on the air. He lets go of her hand, instead reaching down to grab her tits as he starts pounding into her— each stroke fast, deep, merciless.

Powder begins to break down into quiet, wrecked sobs, bringing her hand up to rest over her eyes as she moans out. He digs his fingers into her thigh as he drills into her, holding her steady, holding her legs spread wide just for him. She feels herself beginning to climb again, heat swirling deep in her gut with the way he hits that soft, swollen little bundle of nerves inside her just right each time. He’s fucking addicted to her, she’s more powerful than any drug ever could be and he fucking suffocates just in her presence, drowning being inside her, and honestly, he wouldn’t mind dying like this.

He pinches and twists the soft bud of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, marvelling to himself at how pretty she looks laid out so pliant and helpless for him, taking it like she was fucking made for it as he pummels his cock into her over and over. She peeks out from under her hand, biting down on her trembling lip as she watches the way his muscles move under his skin, watches the way he shimmers as the light bounces off his damp body.

Powder thinks to herself that she can't last much longer— her whole body aching and oversensitive as he splits her open, fire crackling and reverberating under her skin with each smack of his skin against hers.

Truthfully, Ekko could've come so many times already, but he holds himself back, wanting to watch her completely fall apart for him, wanting to unravel her and make her just as addicted to him as he is to her. They’ll crave each other’s bodies endlessly by tomorrow, by next month, for forever. How painful to get such a beautiful taste of what’s meant to be, of what they’re not supposed to have. He wants to take time to enjoy it. Just for a little bit. Just for a few more moments. Just a little more time with her. The longer he can shove his feelings down the better. And what better way to do that than to have the very reason for the feelings he pushes down so painstakingly, crying and whimpering on his cock? He lets himself indulge in this fantasy just a little longer. While he still can. While he still gets to have her.

"You think you can come again?" he asks.

She bites down on her lip, nodding hesitantly. Her heart flutters in her chest nervously as he traces his fingers over the clouds etched into her skin and slowly down her body, his fingertips teasing over every inch of hot, flushed skin until he finds the soaked little bud of her clit, nestled just above where she's wrapped so tightly around him. She flinches as the rough skin of his thumb swipes over it. It’s painful, almost, feeling like icy-hot fire rips through the very threads of her body, and she adores the way it hurts— thinking that this is her sweetest punishment for giving herself over to him like this.

He kisses along the soft fabric clinging to her leg as he ruts his hips into her. He could never have imagined how perfect this moment could be. He had never let himself dream that he could ever have her again. He's not worthy of her attention. Except he is. Except he very much is. And it’s fucking sinful that he is.

He circles his thumb around her clit slowly, carefully— aware of how overstimulated she's starting to become. He loves the way she whines so pitifully as he fucks her— quiet, desperate little noises spilling from her mouth as she climbs and climbs. She sobs softly as he plunges into her; the combination of his cock hitting her g-spot over and over and his thumb slipping over her clit at the same time has her seeing stars. He grunts softly, quiet huffs leaving his mouth with each thrust— her cunt fluttering and gushing around him as he turns her into a perfect fucking mess beneath him.

"Fuck…this pussy…" he groans, feeling his self control slipping further and further with every second that goes by, "Tell me…has anyone else had you like this?"

Her fingers shake as they scrape across her forehead, trying to ground herself enough to comprehend what he's saying to her, "Jus— Mmhhn— J-just once—" she stutters out before letting out a loud cry as he slams himself into her harder, "I was— I was thinking of you the whole time—" Her thighs tremble as he puts more pressure on her clit— his expression almost unreadable through the blinding haze of ecstasy that blurs the line between pain and pleasure so deliciously, "Ekko, I— I can't stop thinking of you—"

He bites his lip as he looks down at her. Why can't she be all his? He drives his hips into her hard, making her whimper and mewl helplessly.

"Same— Fuck— Me too—" And he slows a little, changing his rhythm to fuck her rough, deep, and torturously slow— making sure she feels every single fucking inch of him while he's still inside her.

"Fuck, baby, I'm— Fuck, I'm close—" He bites into the soft flesh of her thigh, muffling his voice as wretched moans spill from his mouth at the way his cock starts to become impossibly sensitive as the heated walls of her cunt suck him in so greedily.

She cries out pitifully, arching her back as he swipes his thumb over the hot, wet nub of her clit again. Before she even knows what hit her she's coming hard, the feeling of it twisting and reverberating deep in her gut and making her cunt twitch and pulse around him, drawing him impossibly deep as he strokes into her. She covers her face in her hands, moaning helplessly as he spears her on his cock.

"Look at me, Powder," He lurches forward, knocking her wrists to the side before grasping her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her gaze towards him, "Look at me while I'm fucking you,"

"Uhnhfnm— I hate you, I hate you—" she sobs as she feels the pressure growing, her tender, oversensitive clit twitching and making her whole body quiver as he thumbs over it roughly.

She clamps her thighs together— the action automatic— but all she's met with is his sturdy body getting in the way. Shockwave after shockwave ripples through her lower abdomen as she tries to ride out her orgasm, and she can feel her poor, abused cunt quiver and throb as she squirts out onto him weakly one last time.

"Fuck— Fuck—" It's too much for him, the way she clenches around him, and as much as he wants to hold on he knows he's going to be forced to finish with the way she's gripping him so tightly, "Powder, fuck— I'm— I’m gonna come—" He starts to draw out—

"Inside— I-inside— Please—" she gasps, grabbing onto his arm and shutting her eyes tight— willing herself to keep taking him despite how overwhelming it is. 

Because she needs it. She needs all of him.

"Yeah, Pow? Shit, baby—" he groans.

And he makes it through the last rough, urgent thrusts— drowning in her tiny, pathetic wails of desperation as he spills thick, hot cum deep inside her. He staggers to a stop, his hips stuttering as he groans and leans into her, caressing her face in his hand as he finally reaches his high. He breathes out— sharp and uneven— every intake of air catching in his throat as he comes down.

"Ekko…" she whispers, stroking his hand softly.

He kisses her thigh, letting his lips linger for a second before he picks her other leg up and puts it over his shoulder, turning her onto her back. He keeps himself inside her as he leans forward and kisses her, holding either side of her face in his big, rough hands. He shudders a little, slowly dropping down from his orgasm. 

He wipes away her tears with his thumbs, pulling back until his nose touches hers and he can feel her breath mingling with his as they pant into each other’s mouths.

"Fuck…"

Powder wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him back down. Maybe she wants to take time as well. Maybe she does truly hate him— hate what he’s become. But…maybe she wants to kiss him anyway.

Tears pool in her eyes as she moves her lips against his, coming hot and wet down her face, burning into her skin. They both become breathless with their lips on each other's, stealing the air from one another as their tongues slip over themselves. She threads her fingers into his hair, clinging to his head like she never wants to let go.

"I missed you—" She kisses him again as tears spill down her face, "I missed you so bad—" And she pulls him back down, wanting to taste him on her tongue for as long as he'll let her.

"Powder— What—?"

"Shut up— Just shut up—" she says, yanking his head back down again.

Their lips mould together perfectly as they kiss— their mouths melding together like they were made just for each other. It’s easy to lose sense of where one of them begins and the other ends, completely wrapped up in themselves because they belong together. 

Ekko pulls back just a tiny bit, his lips barely parting from hers, and he runs his thumbs over her cheeks, wiping away the tears that stain her face, "I missed you too…" he says quietly.

Tears well up in his eyes as he leans into her again. Because this is the end. It has to be, right? This wasn’t supposed to happen. He tangles his fingers up in her hair, sliding his tongue into her mouth, licking slowly, carefully, as his tears splash onto her face and mix together with hers.

She moans softly into him, appreciating the way he worships her even when he's not supposed to. Maybe he hates her but he treats her so gently, almost like she's fragile as he holds her. He'll always feel love for her first and foremost. But of course he won't tell her that.

Ekko feels his emotions begin to crash into him as his lips clash against hers, the fog in his head lifting slowly and getting replaced with something much darker— much like what possessed him earlier. All the fury, the hurt, the guilt comes flooding back to him as he comes down.

He pulls out of her carefully and holds her face in his hands, studying the way she looks back at him with soft, loving eyes. Her lip trembles as she looks back at him, a small whine coming from her throat as he slips out of her. She doesn't want to feel empty again. 

She doesn’t want to go back to what they were before.

She brushes her thumb over his cheek and she smiles, getting lost in his quiet, hooded-over eyes. They look warm again, she notices. They're glazed over with hurt despite everything, and she can tell it's over. It's over and she doesn't want it to be. 

Please don't let it be over.

"I—" He bites his lip, looking away from her, "This…? Us? I— I can't— I can't hurt you again, Powder…"

"Ekko…" She tries to wrap herself around him, tries to keep the him that’s so soft and gentle and loving for her.

He strokes her hair carefully for a moment, taking one last second to admire her face before he stands up and pulls his clothes back into place. She scrambles to sit up, pulling her top back down over her chest.

"Wait— Wait, Ekko—"

"I'm sorry, Pow Pow," he says, his face growing devoid of emotion even with the tear tracks streaking down his cheeks.

He turns around and Powder curses under her breath, forcing her shaky body to grab her clothes and pull them back on. She swears to herself as her hands slip up on the buckles and the layers in her rush to stop him. It's already too late. He's gone and she won't see him again. She won't kiss him again. She won't ever touch him again. She won't ever get to see the love and warmth in his eyes again. He’s gone.

She sinks down to the floor and buries her face in her hands, hot tears flooding down her cheeks and dripping down her arms. Her chest heaves as she sobs all alone on the floor, curling into herself and scraping her nails across her forehead— trying to distract herself from the hurt and anger and guilt rushing over her.

She let herself be vulnerable for the man that had been fighting against her people for years— her best friend, her worst fucking enemy. She whimpers to herself as she notices the way her thighs ache and she feels so painfully empty without him inside her— a stark reminder of her own rash decisions. She could've ignored it. She could've killed it. Could've killed him. But she didn't. She couldn't. No matter how much she tries to hate him she can't help but chase his attention, his affection.

She sits there for hours, her eyes growing dry as she huddles into herself. She can't leave. Not yet. Not when he was here. Maybe she can live the moment for just a little longer if she stays here, if she savours the ache he left all over her body, if she breathes in the lingering scent of him on her clothes, if she traces her fingers over the tender skin of her neck that he kissed bruises into over and over again.

[lazywriter-artist]

Chapter Three

Turmoil

Walking down the halls of the palace once more was like a strange and distant dream of which Magnus had never experienced, not within all his years amongst the warp and in his uncle’s company. He never in this lifetime expected to be back here again, not for any reason, but especially not to reprimand father with the help of the most loyal of his sons. It was…strangely nice? While he knew his brothers didn’t know the truth he did, and likely wouldn’t believe him had he tried to explain it to them in any capacity, it was nice to be with them again, united for a common goal. It was an especially strange feeling to notice all the eyes upon him…even when he was sure, without a doubt, they were alone. He could feel beady eyes burrowing holes into him. Egh. It wasn’t even this bad back home in the warp! Something about this return awoke a part of himself he didn’t know he had anymore- his dreadful anxiety. He hadn’t missed it, but he felt he could be stronger than it nowadays. He’d been through hell and back, had his world shattered to bits (and then some!) and built it all back up again! If anyone was prepared to show father what for, it was him. That’s what he kept telling himself at least…to try and get rid of the pit in his stomach.

He loved his brothers. Throughout the entire civil war he never STOPPED loving his brothers. No matter how he wished he could deny it at times, he never stopped loving Leman either. They were his flesh, his blood, his kindred…perhaps that’s what caused the rise in his chest when they were stopped by the strange man. Perhaps some official? He looked like a general of some kind, but Magnus could not parse his rank. Much had changed since his splitting from the empire and his other brothers, but he could immediately pick apart the strong scent of Tzeentch that hung over the man. That was curious- very curious indeed. He certainly hadn’t used his abilities, and, as far as he was aware, the fact he was able to enter the walls of Terra at all was shocking…so how in the shifting sands did anything tzeentchian slip through? Pondering such a puzzle was swiftly discarded as Magnus could feel his skin and mane prickle as the man laid eyes on him. Staining the man’s face was a look he was very familiar with. He should be used to that look, ESPECIALLY in this form and in this place! But even after the crowd had stared at him in such a way since their arrival, he couldn’t shake its effect on him. He folded his wings close to himself as his lips parted, he was trying to beat the man to the punch and defend his place here when Dorn pushed past him and cut him off. Magnus’s feathers fluff ever so slightly, disgruntled by the action, before he could even give some rebuttal to the shoving he quickly closed his mouth. Dorn, in his own Dorn way, stuck up for him? For Magnus?? He didn’t even spin some tale about prisoner detail? A captured traitor?? Nothing?! Magnus supposed an action like falsifying some half-truths to make himself look better wouldn’t be very Dorn, but after all the head butting and the…events that had preceded their splitting, no matter how old, whether Magnus had wanted them to happen or not, if Magnus had hurt Dorn or not, he expected some animosity. Dorn, for as stoic and quiet as he was, could be as much of a petty, spiteful diva as the rest of their brothers. It was a shocking sensation.

Maybe…things wouldn’t be so bad after all?

Master post || Chapter Select || Chapter Four

[katyspersonal]

What do you make of the Fool's Idol and Ranni both being magical witch-dolls with four arms?

The point is not that Ranni is also a doll! The point is that Renna aka Snowy Crone whom Ranni based the doll's body on, was blue-skinned and four-armed! There is already a whole type of such people, after all:

These guys are cursed, and also dead! Similarly to those with Omen Curse, they are unable to return to the Erdtree as they are "exluded" from the circle of life and death that Marika started! (Mind that this type of enemy is also almost exclusive in Liurnia and that secret Carian place, so, areas that have been hostile to Erdtree until Rennala married Radagon!)

They are, in fact, so cursed that anything holy even if it is a healing spell just straight up kills them dshdsfhd

As for Queen of Latria, I do not have many sources to show just yet (Demon's Souls lore is a hindrance in general until I find how to extract all Japanese script for it, dialogues is the biggest problem to find).

But, the four-armed person was made in likeness of now-defunct Queen that is learned from Soul Ray's description:

It is even more apparent from the textures, too, but she is clearly organic:

This thing is clearly some sort of a demon! I am not sure whether her actual body was used to create Fool's Idol, or it was indeed created from scratch? The look of brown hair (same as what is depicted on the stained glass featuring Queen of Latria) damaged by blue and gaping hole on her back makes me feel like it's closer to the former. But in any case, it is more of a "came back wrong" situation; she didn't seem to have four arms in reality!

In fact, there is a THIRD case of 'four-armed person who came back wrong' in Soulsborne games:

Darklurker is a one of a kind take on concept of 'Angel' that looks not too similar to Angels from DS3 and is the only one to have four arms! They are met in the Dark Chasm of Old, which seems to be what remained of Chasm of the Abyss! Granted, it isn't even on the same continent; it is literally accessed through portals, and Nashandra is stated to have arrived from overseas!

Moreover, Darklurker is unique amongst angels as they literally split, not unlike it happens with rare Twin Humanity! It isn't a common trick for a Soulsborne boss to just create a fake version of them, it is literally the same boss twice now.

Considering what Dark Chasm of Old is, and that Angels sprout from within the strongest concentration of darkness in a human being, I'll tell you more; Darklurker might be another, secret part of Manus! It isn't himself, of course; Darklurker is as much still Manus as any angel from Dark Souls 3 is still the person they sprouted from. But you get the point!

Naturally that his version of Angel is absolutely unique because Manus was unique; the only person in the setting with a pitch black soul even darker than those of Gael or Midir, the only dark being powerful enough to be reborn as four whole new Dark beings, the only person in the setting who literally radiates darkness by Just Standing There and produces Humanities, the master of the Abyss and not just someone living in there... Also most likely not human but Pygmy, because his mutation was very similar to that of a mad Pygmy king that Shira "killed" (he didn't fully die tho):

With this all I just feel like it is not very deep, but rather, Fromsoft has a reoccurring take on "came back wrong" character who will be four-armed, cursed and associated with blue color! Fool's Idol is simply the very first case of this trend, just like many things in Demon's Souls!

[sable-skies]

thought abt an au i doodled up months ago but never fully explored, so here's some concept designs for that. im gonna ramble about it now

+ height comparison under the keep reading!

god okay i gotta admit: i, unfortunately, kinda love game of thrones. truthfully i dont care for the sex and inc*st part of the show, but i really enjoy the interconnected weaving plot lines, drama, and utter bullshit that happens in that show. its amazing, i love it, its so fucking stupid. so earlier this year i doodled up some ideas for a game of thrones inspired post-totk au. those are here, and here!

I then dropped it and didnt return to it until now, because i started season 2 of house of the dragon and yknow. why not.

as for actual details about the au: i said in the past it was a got-loz au, but im gonna go ahead and say that i misspoke then because i mean more like, post-totk/loz au INSPIRED by got, because i would never want to do a 1-to-1 au of that god awful show. i mostly think exploring a hyrule that is peaceful, but secretly on the brink of civil chaos and how bad humanity could truly get would be really fun to explore!

i struggled to pick a single role for link to have in such an au, so i said fuck it and divided him up into four parts, in universe the hero's spirit has been split amongst four brothers. to nod towards this, and because i'm cheeky as hell, the first letters of each of their names spells link. Laurent, Irving, Nymos, and Kiran. (im so fucking funny (<- is not funny))

they're all noble born to Arthur Hearth, current lord of House Hearth which basically controls and sits on the Great Plateau, and their mother was Eyla, a member of the Sheikah from Kakariko Village who unfortunately passed away shortly after Kiran was born. Arthur btw is named after the King Arthur legends from Europe, as those served as inspiration for the series in general!

I think a plot would follow them all after the death of their father and how they cope with it and move forward, and how they combat suddenly being labeled traitors to the kingdom for their father's acclaimed crimes.

this is getting long, so I'll do some misc bullet points next on their personalities:

Laurent, as the oldest, had to mature pretty quickly after the death of their mother, Eyla. Which has caused him to grow protective of his younger brothers almost to an overbearing degree. He gets nervous when they're not home, which sucks because Irving is a knight, Nymos studies in Kakariko often, and Kiran wants to explore the world via the survey team. Other then that, he's responsible, quite serious in most situations, and still very kind hearted. After his father's death he starts to spiral into a rage-filled depression, determined to get his brothers back and make the king pay for killing his father.

Irving is the most middle child ever. Due to Laurent being in line for lord of their house and is never gonna back down from that, he sought his own purpose in being a royal knight / royal guardsman / kingsguard. It hasn't really worked out well for him honestly, his higher ups hate him for being Arthur's son, seemingly so naturally talented in combat, and charismatic amongst the ranks that some knights ignore their orders just to follow Irving's instead. So as punishment he's been assigned as the former princess Zelda's bodyguard / retainer. While it disappointed him to not serve his full duties at first, he's come to accept it and treats her kindly. He's proud, a little over-confident, just, and secretly a bleeding heart. After the death of their father, he's forced to choose between his family and Zelda, and knowing that Zelda will most likely die without him, he stays with her.

Nymos, oh poor fucking Nymos dude. As a child he fell into the depths and somehow survived, which was fine, but then he came across a patch of gloom that seemingly never faded, and ever since he's been cursed with doomed visions of the future and a talent for magic. No one believes him about the lingering gloom, and claims that he simply has PTSD from the incident in general, but he knows what he saw. He's sought out magical-based physical therapy in Kakariko because of this, and he's pretty much regarded as a local there. He's quiet, a bit withdrawn, pessimistic, but has a strong sense of justice and genuinely wants the best for those around him, even if he doesn't know how to say it properly. When Laurent and Irving are away, he's the one looking after Kiran and keeping him safe. When his father dies, he immediately starts to investigate the current monarchy for signs of dark magic tampering, which leads him down a rabbit hole he never even knew existed, all the while he's being tormented by visions of his brother dying gruesome and horrible deaths. he's forever an internal nervous WRECK

Kiran!! The baby!! Might be the most dangerous brother of the four, but we'll cover that later. As the resident youngest sibling he's naturally gotten away with pretty much everything and anything, because who can say no to those big baby blues. Thankfully he's not actually that destructive or ill-mannered, but he isn't above pulling a prank on someone for the fun of it. He yearns to leave home and explore the vast continent of Hyrule though, and shortly before everything goes wrong he's accepted into the Survey Team and gets to enjoy it for a bit. He's excitable, energetic, optimistic, and somewhat a handful (get this teen a child leash please) but he means well and is determined to get whatever is on his mind done and finished. He's the last to be told his father is dead as his team didn't tell him about the incident until suddenly there's a group of bandits attacking them and demanding they had Kiran over for ransom. Kiran goes willingly of course, as he doesn't want his team members to get hurt. He later falls into the depths and survives via the sail cloth around his shoulders and meets a strange little fox he calls Todd.

I have so many notes in my head about these guys but again, i'll shut up for now :] here are the heights!

btw; they're all based on a previous incarnation of link and a got character, if you figure it out I'll shake ur hand.