#(I need to stop with the food metaphors)

[lemonwrap]

I love dog metaphors and motifs, and I want a brainwashed Soap AU where, after a while, Soap genuinely sees himself as a dog.

When Makarov first gets his hands on Soap, Soap has his dignity, pride, and mind fully intact, and he fights. Soap fights hard, and he fights well, but months of harsh conditioning that stretch into years will break anybody. 

After a while, Soap no longer believes that he’s a real human, let alone a person. He’s an animal, a creature, a dog that must obey, because what else is there to do?

He was a bad dog at first, growling and biting until he was muzzled and beaten into submission, but he eventually learned that it was easier to just obey his master. Makarov was his master. He was cruel and choked Soap with the leash he had wrapped around his throat, but he was a master nonetheless, and dogs obey their masters. 

And then the 141 recovers Soap, years after they thought he was dead and gone. They held a funeral for him, and although they never quite stopped grieving, life must go on. 

Ghost is the most affected when they get Soap back. He frantically fumbles at the straps keeping the muzzle attached to Soap’s face, yanks the muzzle off, and throws it to the side, cupping Soap’s cheeks and repeating Johnny, Johnny, Johnny. But Soap doesn’t remember Ghost, and he doesn’t know what he did to make this man start crying as he crushes Soap in his arms or how to make it stop. He grovels and tries to put the muzzle back on as a show of obedience and good will, but the man gets increasingly upset. Soap just doesn’t understand. 

When Soap realizes Makarov is dead, he sees it as a transfer of ownership.

Days, weeks, months pass. Ghost reintroduces himself to Soap and keeps trying to talk to him like they’re equals, like Soap is a human too, but Soap doesn’t remember, and he doesn’t get it. He tries his hardest to please Ghost by obeying how his former master trained him, but he’s bewildered when Ghost doesn’t react favorably like he’d hoped. It simply doesn’t click in Soap’s head when Ghost repeatedly tells him that he’s still a person.

Soap thinks the world of Ghost, though, despite the man’s confusing orders. He refuses to muzzle or restrain Soap in any way, and he gives Soap things he’s never had before, like a soft place to sleep, food that isn’t bland, and physical contact that doesn’t hurt. Soap has to learn his new master’s preferences—but that’s okay, because Ghost is a good master. Ghost is kind and loves Soap, and all Soap wants to do is be good for him, no matter what.

Every dog needs a master, after all, and Ghost is all Soap could ever hope for. 

[jawbone-xylophone]

Okay time to be really opinionated: I think almost the entire TMA fandom writes Michael Distortion wrong.

Every time I read a fic about him people are emphasizing how swirly and elongated he/it is.

What's scary about Michael is that it is essentially the living personification of gaslighting. He makes everything else metaphorically swirly.

Sure there's "nobody would believe you", but most people who meet Michael think he looks angelic. He only looks scary out of the corner of your eye, or if he's feeding you just enough truth to get your guard down. He's fun to draw and describe as a psychedelic nightmare, but he is basically the gaslighting demon. It's a polite young man with curly hair and a beautiful smile who you could absolutely take home to meet your mother.

You only know he's a monster because your lizard brain starts screaming.

On a related note, its portfolio also includes dissociation and hallucinations, and nobody takes enough advantage of that– like, kissing Michael. Lots of people describe kissing Michael as a very physical event with notes of static and that tingling sensation of limbs falling asleep. A good start, but my argument: you feel him smooching your cheek and giving your hand a cute little squeeze, despite the fact that he's across the room ordering a coffee. It feels so real. You can feel his callouses catching at your fingers, but no matter how you flex your hand there's nothing there but air. You don't know if you just want it that badly and your eyes are lying, or what. He brings you a coffee and the sensation vanishes.

I know exactly what that episode about "the man who wasn't there" was because I've experienced it, and nobody utilizes that enough. Have you ever closed your eyes and tried to walk through a room, and been Firmly Convinced there was an object in front of you you were about to run into, despite no evidence of such an object when you open your eyes? It's a little like that. Any sort of relationship with Michael Distortion (not recommended and likely a way it has killed many people) would involve you getting comfortable with the fact that your senses are lying to you at an exponentially increasing rate, like a frog slowly being boiled alive.

Is he there? Is he not? Does it matter? You feel loved. You remember being told good morning and eating a homemade breakfast. Did you actually? Maybe it's a memory from a year ago you only think is from this morning. He's adorable even if his laugh gives you tinnitus. Maybe you've always had migraines. He takes care of you through them. Can you remember what he does to take care of you? ....normal people stuff, probably. Ice packs. You think he brought you ice packs once. You're sitting at a bus stop, going... somewhere, for a reason you're sure, and your body is telling you you're sitting on his lap but you keep checking, tapping with your nails, and the seat is hard metal. Does it matter? Maybe it really is him. You'd prefer if it was him. These cute little hallucinations are his way of showing affection. It's comfortable, even when the city shuts off your water because you only thought you paid your bills. He gives you his coat in the rain, and you laugh together and run through the weather, but when you get home you're holding a stranger's purse full of cash instead of a coat and you have no idea why. It's his idea of affection, though. He says he loves you when you ask about it, anyway, and don't you need the money now?

He's a lovely young man and the only normal thing in a world gone mad. The gloves only come off when it's done playing with its food.

[emmafrostdefender]

a fine line between god and animal | logan howlett x fem reader

chapter 1 - biting the apple | masterlist | read the prologue first

two new mutants arrive at the mansion.

i am churning this thing out and i have a very specific direction that i'm going to take it. the story does not really follow the canon plot because that would be boringgg. trust me, i know where this bus is heading. i hope you stay along for the ride! figuratively and literally! wink wink

warnings: cursing, religion, religious trauma, fighting, canon typical violence, 5.5k words

━━━━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━━━━━

“Before you all leave, I want to give you food for thought. One of the heaviest themes of Frankenstein revolves around the idea of nature versus nurture. Is the creature inherently evil, or was his treatment by society what turned him into a monster?” You pose the question to your students as class comes to a close.

The similarities to your own existence is not lost on you. You hope the metaphor clicks in their minds as it did yours when you first read the classic novel. Charles made it assigned reading when he taught comparative literature at the school. When you were old enough, you took the job. And you were inspired by some of his lessons, of course.

“We will be discussing this theme next week, so those of you that haven’t done your reading…” You don’t finish your sentence, but make a face that communicates all they need to know.

Your students leave the classroom and you slump against your desk. Despite your outside calm, inside your thoughts are racing. 

Scott and Ororo aren’t back yet and you feel as if you could break something. Or a million somethings. 

The reasonable part of you knows that if something bad happened, Charles would know and tell you immediately. But the unreasonable part of you wants to drain your energy source to find them. To sneak your mind around the globe until you pick up on their footsteps crunching the ground or their signature heartbeats sending pulses into the air.

Before you can stop yourself, your feet are carrying you to the door that leads to the underground base of the X-Men. You’re going stir crazy.

Earlier in the day, before classes started, you assisted Jean in refining her powers. She wasn’t able to move a car with her mind, but she managed to start the engine without a key in the ignition. To you, that seemed more impressive. To the professor, it was exactly what he didn’t want. He wanted her to control her powers.

That word again. Control.

His reactions to Jean’s issues made you all the more wary to reveal your own struggles. With the recent revelation of Magneto’s scheme to abduct you, hesitancy bubbled up in your chest at adding anything more to Charles’ metaphorical plate. You would just be a burden.

Exiting the elevator, you enter the completely metal hallway, something of a labyrinth to newcomers. Your shoes echo against the metal and you look from left to right. No one else graces your path as you walk to the training room. There is another one upstairs that the students use when training with Scott, but you personally prefer this one. Far away from onlookers.

Your abilities don’t necessarily lend themselves to you having any physical prowess, but you managed to get trained up quite well in your years at the mansion. “The metaphysical is very much so connected to the physical. The health of your powers could very well depend on the health of your body,” Charles told you long ago. 

With nothing to do but wait, you change into the clothes from your locker and wrap your knuckles with tape. The large room is empty and you approach a punching bag. You begin. 

The rhythm you find is steady and fast. Hit after hit, blow after blow. The bag swings on its chain, bouncing back and forth between your hands. You punch and punch and punch, feeling anger build in your system. In your mind's eye, you see the bloody heart that was stolen from your chest. You see the chains holding you down. You see your mother’s face, staring at you in disgust. You see vines. Thousands of vines, each reaching to wrap themselves around your body, your arms, your legs, your neck. They rip the cross from your necklace, leaving a stinging brand there. You see your father’s lifeless form. 

And you feel your skull starting to split open when a voice says your name.

You nearly scream at the intrusion and your head flies around. “Holy shit, Jean! I could’ve killed you!”

“Yeah, I can see that,” she says with hesitancy. She’s looking at you like you’re a wounded animal about to lash out. Her eyes flit to the punching bag over your shoulder.

You look at it and gape at your handiwork. The bag ripped at the seams and sand spilled from the tears onto the ground. 

“Imagining Scott’s head?” She jokes, but it sounds strained. You hardly hear it.

You still stare at the punching bag, not quite sure what to make of this. You losing control was as infrequent as pigs flying, so…never.

A soft hand touches your shoulder. “Are you okay?” Jean asks so caringly.

You rip your gaze from the bag and look at her. You change your expression from one of near tears to one of slight amusement. “Must’ve gotten a little too enthusiastic.”

She analyzes you quickly, so quick you might’ve missed it if you didn’t know her so well. “I wanted to let you know that the jet is on its way back. They were able to locate the mutants.” You feel something in your chest relax. “Not in record time, though.”

You smirk. “Of course not. They didn’t have me.”

“Can you come help me prep the bay for when they get here?”

You nod. “Just let me change and I’ll meet you there.”

She turns to walk away and you watch her leave. Your gaze drops to your hands, where the tape did nothing to prevent the bruises forming around your knuckles. Looking at the clock hanging above the entrance, you realize two hours have passed. It’s nearly ten o’clock. 

As you enter the locker room, you swear you can still feel burning skin where your cross lays. 

You enter the loading dock of the jet in your regular attire and are greeted by Jean and the professor. They seem to be in deep discussion when you arrive, but snap their heads up the second they sense you coming. You can tell they were talking about you. 

You plaster a smile on your face and say sarcastically, “Looks like they managed to find them without me, after all.”

“They would’ve been here an hour after they left if you were with them, I’m sure,” Jean says with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Obviously.”

You shift your attention to Charles, who has begun using a computer to track the jet’s movements. Jean starts working the switchboard. You ask, “How many mutants did they pick up?”

His gaze does not move from the computer. “Two. A young girl and an older man. They were on separate paths until they met and started traveling together.” 

Your eyebrows furrow. “What made you think to bring them here?”

Charles has always been slightly particular when choosing the people to bring to his school. And even more hesitant to bring fully grown adults. At your question, his eyes shift to yours. “Why did I bring you to this school?”

You blink.

“To offer you protection. To offer you safety from a world that hurt you repeatedly. And to help you understand your abilities and use them for good. Not just to teach you Latin and calculus,” he adds with a smile. 

You nod, but still have a lingering question. “But why--”

He cuts you off, “Why am I bringing an adult man to our mansion as well?” He pauses. “Because he is extremely powerful. That kind of power can either be used toward the greater good, or harnessed for evil.”

By Erik.

“I see,” you say, hand mindlessly playing with your necklace.

Charles returns to the computer and says to you and Jean, “Get ready, they are nearly here.”

You are usually a part of the retrieval missions, making you less used to assisting with arrivals. However, you bring out two stretchers from the medical room and place them neatly by the door after getting a call from the jet. “They were in a rough fight with one of the members of the Brotherhood and the man is out cold. We think he has regenerative abilities so he isn’t badly injured, but the girl was with him when they got into a car accident. She’ll need attention. She’s jarred, but not unresponsive,” Ororo says.

Another of your jobs on the team is designated medic. You have innate knowledge of the human body and medical herbs because of your powers. It was never something you questioned when you were younger. If you scratched your arm or busted your lip open, you would skip into the woods and find something natural to heal yourself. Still, you begged Charles not to assign you to teaching biology. You despised the subject.

The ceiling of the hangar opens to reveal a velvety night sky. You feel the jet before you see it, the push it has on the trees around the mansion tingle your fingertips. The trees' movements stir your power source in your stomach, a warm, buttery feeling. The sleek aircraft lowers gently into the bay, your hair being pushed over your shoulders by the air movement. You feel relief at the sight of your friends returning from the mission; they exit the jet and you smile. Your grin droops at the sight of their expressions.

“We need you to look over these two, stat,” Scott says with urgency. 

You hurriedly bring the stretchers to the jet’s ramp and enter the main compartment with Scott and Ororo. Inside, they point you to a young girl, maybe sixteen years old, with brown hair and a soft face sitting in one of the seats. The two of them work to remove the man who sits slouched over in one of the front seats. The way they grunt, you’d think he weighs a ton.

The girl’s hands are wrapped tightly around the straps keeping her to the chair. When you approach, she jumps and stares at you with terrified eyes. “Hi, honey,” you say calmly. You introduce yourself. “I’m going to be taking care of you, okay? I just need you to undo these straps.”

She shakes her head tightly. “I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?” You ask. 

She thinks between the two options and asks, “Am I safe?”

Your heart breaks. Upset coils in your stomach at the thought of all the people who have hurt this little girl. “Yes. You’re safe here.”

She seems to think this over and makes her decision. Her hands shakily unlatch themselves from the straps and move to unbuckle herself. You reach to help her, but she flinches. “Don’t touch me, please,” she says with desperation.

Your hands retract immediately.

“I just, it’s my…” she struggles with the words. “I hurt people when they touch me.”

You nod in understanding. That must have been a terrifying revelation for her. “That’s okay. We’ll get you all sorted out here. You are okay.”

She seems to relax a bit. You look over your shoulder and see your two friends lugging the man down the ramp and rolling him onto the stretcher. If this were any other scenario, you would laugh at Scott for struggling so much. 

You turn back to the girl and say, “And what’s your name?”

“Marie-- I mean, Rogue.” The way she says it makes you think she is still trying out the name for size.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Rogue.” You look her over and ask, “Are you able to walk or do you need help?”

She has undone the straps and sits a bit more forward in her chair. “I think I can stand.”

Rogue puts weight on her leg as she moves to stand up, but winces at the feeling and immediately sits back down. 

“Can I touch your clothes or is that also a problem?”

“You can. It’s just my skin.”

You sling her arm over your shoulder, careful not to touch any exposed skin, and help her out of the chair. “Just put your weight on me, hon’.”

She does as you say and leans against you completely. When you have exited the jet, you help her sit on the stretcher. The others have left, presumably to attend to the man. Charles is the only one left and he moves his wheelchair over to greet the young girl. “What is this place?” she asks after his introduction.

“It’s a place for people like you. And me. And her.” He points to you and you feel yourself smile. “It’s somewhere safe.”

Your gloved hand moves carefully over Rogue’s legs, feeling for any fractured bones or torn skin invisible to the eye.

She’s been relatively quiet for the duration of her examination, but she asks, “So, what can you do?”

You look up at her and grin. “I can do a lot of things.” You stand and walk to the shelves of potted plants on the wall to your right. You hold up one of the more pathetic looking plants and say, “See how this one is all wilted?”

Rogue nods. 

You pull your glove off with your teeth. “Watch this.”

Once your hand rests delicately against the plant’s stem, its wilting flowers perk up. A lush green color returns to its body, becoming perfectly healthy again. You look over at her and her mouth is gaping at the sight. “But why do you keep all the plants here if they’ll die without you?”

You put the plant back in its place and slip your glove back on. As you make your way back to the examination table, you say, “That’s exactly why. The professor used it as a tool to help me understand my importance here. To help me distinguish between the big parts of my powers and the smaller, more delicate parts.” You shrug as you grab some medical tape meant to alleviate and correct sprains. “I also like having company when I’m down here.”

“Company?” she asks when you kneel before her again to start wrapping her ankle.

“They talk to me,” you say, slightly mischievously.

Her mouth gapes again. “So, that’s your mutation? Talking to plants?”

“It’s a lot deeper than that. The Earth and I are like two sides of the same coin. Through our connection, I can track people if they are grounded. I can grow and heal things, but also kill them. I can create beauty, but also take it away. And I’m recently starting to realize I’m much more connected to humans than I thought.”

She considers this as you finish wrapping her ankle. 

You laugh a little. “Most of those are Professor X’s words, not mine.”

Charles arrives after a few minutes of comfortable silence, asking Rogue to come with him. You give her a small smile and tell her, “Make sure to drink those herbs with water once every day. It’ll help the pain.”

She gives you a tentative smile back. 

Before she leaves, you squeeze her gloved hand. “You’re gonna do great.”

Once the two of them are gone, you decide it's time to check on Jean and the man. She took him to the laboratory where digital scans of mutants’ brains and bodies could be completed. You walk down the hall and enter the door to the left, seeing Jean in her white lab coat. She is analyzing what looks to be brain waves on the monitor in front of her. “Oh, good,” she says when she turns to see you. “I wanted you to take a look at him. See if there’s anything I’m missing.”

You approach the table where he lays and take your first real look at him.

He is shirtless to allow the nodes and wires access to his chest. You scan over his body, seeing no obvious outer injuries. His face is calm in his induced state of comatose, but etched with what seems like a permanent line between his eyebrows. You have the urge to smooth it with your thumb.

“His name is Logan Howlett. He has extremely impressive regenerative abilities.”

Your eyes continue to study the ridges of his face. “Is that his mutation?” The thought of Charles saying he is a very powerful mutant crosses your mind. 

“That’s part of it. Once he wakes up, we'll give him a chance to tell us more. And then we’ll do a full body scan; Charles thinks there’s something else to him. He’s not wrong. Logan’s brain activity is far different from anyone I’ve ever seen,” she says in slight awe.

You continue to gaze at him. There is something else to him. Something you can’t quite place.

“Could you check his vitals for me? I didn’t notice anything strange, but I want to be sure,” Jean asks.

Hesitancy fills your body. For some reason, you don’t want to touch him. Some sort of dread pits in your stomach. Something will happen. 

Despite your body’s strange resistance, you nod curtly. You approach the table and lean over him. His scent fills your nose. It’s woodsy and smokey, all mixed with something metal that twinges your nostrils. You close your eyes and inhale, pressing your hand to his chest. In a second, you’ve been pulled to him, a vice grip around your wrist. Jean yells and starts pulling at your shoulders. Your body goes alive and you twist your arm around and headbutt him, causing him to loosen his grip on you. However, the moment your skull collides with his, you nearly pass out from the impact. It feels like he’s made of metal. 

“Oh, my God,” you groan, collapsing to the floor. Your head is throbbing.

Before you or Jean can react, he’s jumped off the table. It looks like he’s grabbed six knives and placed them between his fingers. “Where the hell am I?” he shouts.

Jean holds up her hands, but you’re still recovering on the floor, holding your forehead in your hands. Jesus, fuck. You hope He will excuse your language.

“You’re at Xavier’s School for Mutants in New York. We aren’t going to hurt you,” Jean says calmly. “Well, not anymore.” Her eyes flick down to you and you make a face.

“It wasn’t my fault he fucking attacked me,” you say with narrowed eyes. You glance at him, annoyance replacing the pain that had swept across your forehead. “What’s with the claws?” you ask, now realizing that what you thought were knives were actually thin metal spikes protruding from between his knuckles.

He stares at you, chest heaving. Then back at Jean. Fury clouds his eyesight, but you know there’s fear in there, too. 

“Look, we’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe here,” Jean says again. “I just need you to calm down and we can talk.”

The throbbing has eased and you make your way to stand. 

Something like a sarcastic grin falls on his lips. “Oh, sure, we can talk.” 

You position yourself, readying for a fight. “Get Scott,” you say to Jean quietly. 

“You sure?” she whispers back.

“Yeah, I’ve got this.”

She looks between the two of you for a moment, then runs out of the room. You hear her shoes echo in the hallway. 

“You really want to do this, bub?” he asks in a voice so quiet, you nearly miss it.

You watch him carefully. You know that you’ll never beat him, but you can keep him occupied until reinforcements arrive. “Do you really want to do this?” you respond with a grin.

Something lights in his eyes, something thrilling that makes your heart pound. He pounces, jumping over the table, his claws aiming for your throat. You dodge the attack, rolling to the side. You are back on your feet in an instant, crouching low to the ground. “Got anything else in you, big boy?” you tease, grin spreading wider at his fuming expression.

He yells, running at you with a speed you wouldn’t think him capable of. He shoves you to the ground with retracted claws and you grunt at the impact, but kick his legs out from under him, causing him to fall to the floor as you crawl away. He yanks your leg, making you stumble once more. You kick with all your might, but he won’t let go. Thinking you might be the stupidest person alive, you let him drag you so you’re pinned beneath him. “Sexy,” you say with a wink.

You can feel his steady heartbeat this close. "You're annoying," he hisses. You see his eyes drop to the cross around your neck and take that as your opportunity to kick him in the groin. He grunts and his hold around you weakens. You shove him off of you and stand to make a move for the door. You don’t think he’ll kill you, but you don’t want to take that chance.

Before you reach the door, an arm wraps around your waist and pulls you harshly against a solid body. You hadn’t noticed before, but he’s tall. Very tall. “Where do you think you’re going?” he whispers in your ear.

It sends a thrill down your spine.

“Are you always this friendly?” you whisper back, hand coming up to touch his arm. Your fingers hardly wrap around his forearm.

In the blink of an eye, he has detached himself from you, falling to the floor. Your fingers tingle from the use of your power, slowing his heart rate enough that he would go unconscious, but not enough to kill him. With his regenerative abilities, though, you assume he’ll be back on his feet in about five minutes. You hardly ever use that ability, finding it invasive. With this man, however, you think your actions are justified.

You nudge his leg with your foot when Jean and Scott come running in. “Holy shit, you took him out yourself?” Scott asks incredulously. 

“I just slowed his heart rate so that he wouldn’t break all the bones in my body. I appreciate your faith in me, though, Scott,” you say, wiping your brow.

He approaches the man on the floor, coming to stand beside you. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He nearly broke my skull, though.”

Scott raises a brow. 

“How are we going to get him adjusted if he won’t speak to us without starting a fight?” Jean asks as she starts to fix the state of the room.

“I think our best bet is to leave him alone,” you say.

Scott looks at you. His visor blocks his eyes, but you can tell they are looking at you as if you are crazy. “Leave him alone? He’ll wreak havoc trying to find a way out.”

You shrug. “I think there’s someone who might be able to convince him to stay.”

“Better than getting a face full of claws,” Jean says, glancing at his limp body.

Exhaustion washes over you when you take the elevator back upstairs. It’s three in the morning and the events of the day are finally hitting you square in the chest.

You slump against the metal railing of the elevator, relishing in the silence. Jean and Scott stayed with Logan to put him in a state of deep sleep so that he wouldn’t go stalking around the mansion at night. You could imagine how some poor child would react to running into such a large and imposing man in the middle of the night. It would be terrifying.

You run your fingers through your hair and pinch the bridge of your nose. His smell lingers around you, crowding your space. 

What a prick.

Fighting you like that when all you wanted to do was help him? What was he going to do? Kill you?

A part of you wants to believe that he wouldn’t do that, but another part of you understands that he would’ve done anything to get out of here.

Logan.

You test the name out on your tongue. You wonder if he has another name, too. Something all of his enemies know by heart.

Deciding that that was enough thinking for the night, you shut your brain off and exit the elevator. You make your way to your bedroom and collapse on your bed, sleep hitting you like a bus.

You wake, body aching and head throbbing. Although you managed to escape the fight with no outer wounds, your body protests as you remove yourself from your bed. Thank God it’s Saturday.

Thankfully, your mind allowed you a break from the night terrors that plagued you so frequently, instead replacing them with dreams of walking through a forest. As you walked farther into the dank, the trees began to die, but you woke before anything else could happen. 

You get ready for the day and make your way downstairs. In the kitchen, you see Ororo sitting at the counter with a mug of coffee in her hands. Before you can voice your question, she says, “There’s some in the pot.”

You grin and pour the coffee into your bright pink mug along with the creamer that sits by the pot. Scott calls the shade an affront to the color pink. “So…” you start.

“He isn’t awake yet. Charles thinks he’ll be up in an hour or so.”

Relief slumps your shoulders and you take a seat across from her, moving the coffee around in your mug before you take a sip. “He is crazy strong, Ororo,” you scoff. “It felt like his skeleton was made of metal. And his claws…” You shake your head.

“Charles thinks he’ll be useful to us.”

“I know. I just hope he calms down a bit.” 

Ororo gives you a sheepish smile. “You have to admit, he is handsome, though.”

You laugh. “That’s the impression he gave you?”

She shrugs. “I might have a different one if I had to fight him.”

You contemplate her statement. You suppose he was handsome, but it didn’t startle you when you first saw him. It was the kind of beauty that creeps up and you don’t realize it until you’ve been staring at them for too long. He was rugged, yes, but there was something enticing about his looks. A boyish quality. You remember the smirk that donned his face when he challenged you to a fight.

You shake your head. “Yeah, he definitely made an interesting impression.”

The two of you leave the kitchen once some of the older students begin filing in, many making their own breakfasts instead of eating the provided meal with the other students in the dining room. “Are we training today?” you ask as the two of you walk down the main hall.

“I think Charles wants us to wait until he’s spoken with Logan. Wants us to meet him properly.”

You roll your eyes. ‘Meet him properly.’ Tackling someone to the ground isn’t a proper greeting?

“Be nice,” you hear someone say behind you. Jean falls into stride with the two of you. 

“Jean! Don’t read my thoughts,” you say, pushing her lightly.

“But you think so loudly,” she complains.

The three of you make your way outside, deciding to steer clear of the mansion until Logan has had his conversation with Charles. “I really don’t want to run into him again. It would not be conducive to a healthy future relationship,” you mutter.

“He is kind of volatile, isn’t he?” Jean asks rhetorically. “I mean, he attacked with no real provocation.”

“Waking up in a room you’ve never been in with two strangers isn’t provoking enough?” Ororo asks, taking a seat at one of the lawn tables. You join her, leaning back in your chair.

Being in nature calms your nerves, but also sets them alight. Your senses come to life again and you hear the running water of the fountain, the wind whistling through the trees, and the small animals stepping in the grass. As Jean and Ororo continue their conversation, you close your eyes and lean your head back and allow yourself to connect. It is only the second day after the full moon, which means your sensitivity to everything around you is still high. You pull at the energy from the ground, letting it throb through your body. You feel the aching in your body disappear, feel your muscles rejuvenated, feel the blood pumping through your veins.

You hear the humming of a man’s voice, scratchy and slightly off-key. It’s a voice you haven’t heard in years. He’s humming something that only graces your ears in dreams. It scratches your scalp and kisses your forehead. Dad.

You steady your breathing, trying to latch onto his voice. You’ve never experienced this in the daytime; it usually only happens when you’re asleep or in a deep meditative state. The words of your friends fade away.

In your mind’s eye, you stand from the table and follow the humming into the woods. You stumble over fallen branches, but your unusual miscoordination doesn’t prick the logical part of your brain. All you can think of is your father. His voice roaming through the trees, taking you deeper into the woods. And suddenly, you are somewhere else.

The church. 

His voice is gone.

“No,” you whimper, turning into a young girl again. 

You feel the shackles of the past lock around your wrists, forcing you to your knees. A screech escapes your throat at a forcible yank of your hair backwards. You look up to see your mother staring down at you. Her eyes are pitch black. “Your father rejects you. Even in death, he will not visit your wretched soul,” she says with a sneer, pulling your hair farther back. It feels as if she is trying to rip it from your skull.

“He never rejected me,” you spit.

“Are you so sure?”

You open your eyes with a deep inhale. It wasn’t real. You remind yourself.

Jean and Ororo stare at you, waiting for your response to something. You subtly shake your head of the images conjured by your mind and ask, “Sorry, what were we talking about?”

You hope they assume your exhaustion from last night got the better of you and you simply dozed off for a moment. “Logan is ready to meet us,” Jean says, her eyes a reflection of worry. Not toward meeting Logan, to your dismay.

“Oh, great.”

Despite a desire to remain calm, your heart thunders in your chest. You worry your cross between your fingers. You have no idea what to expect from him; you fully believe he will pounce at you again. 

Ororo holds your hand as the three of you enter Charles’ study. Scott sits on the armrest of one of the chairs in the room, arms folded over his chest. Charles is behind his desk and sitting ever so casually on the edge of the desk, is Logan.

He wears a gray X-Men sweatshirt and the jeans he had on when he arrived at the mansion. His eyes fall to yours immediately, recognition filling his gaze. You break eye contact dismissively, going to sit on the other armrest of the chair Scott sits on. You keep your eyes strictly on Charles, but you feel Logan’s on you. Your heart doesn’t steady.

“Everyone, this is Logan Howlett. The Wolverine,” Charles says, gesturing to the man sitting on his desk.

Scott huffs a laugh. “Wolverine? Like the animal?”

You nudge him in the side. “As if Cyclops is any better.”

Charles clears his throat. “Please.”

“We are the X-Men, some of which you have already met.” Charles gives you a pointed look. You throw your hands up in defense. “I promise you not all of your introductions will be so…violent.”

Scott snickers. 

“Shut the hell up,” you hiss. Your eyes flick to Logan’s. He watches the interaction between you two carefully.

Charles goes around the room, introducing each of your friends to the stranger. When he gets to you, Logan’s stare bears into you heavier than it had before. It intimidates you, but doesn’t scare you. Charles tells him your name, following with, “Others know her as Proserpina, the Roman goddess of spring.”

You don’t expect him to say anything, but his voice fills your ears for the first time since last night. “The goddess of spring is who knocked me out cold last night?”

“It’s not just nature I can manipulate,” you say tersely. “Bub.”

His eyes narrow as his lips turn up in a smirk.

Charles finishes the introductions and tells the team that training will commence in thirty minutes. The second his spiel is over, you stand. Deciding to jump into the fire, you approach Logan. “Sorry about last night,” he says.

It takes you by surprise. You expected more of a fight from him.

“Uh, it’s okay,” you say, shaking your head slightly. “You gave me some much needed practice.”

You sense your friends watching your interaction from afar. Although they are conversing casually, you feel their eyes on you.

“Yeah, you seemed a little rusty, Pro.”

You narrow your eyes. “And you seemed a little overzealous, Wolverine.”

He grunts. “If that’s overzealous, then I worry for your boyfriend.” He points to Scott on the word boyfriend.

“Scott?” You laugh. “Now, that’s a good joke. You’re funny.”

A look of confusion crosses his face and you leave him like that, feeling content with how the conversation ended. Screw a healthy relationship.

━━━━━━━━━━☆━━━━━━━━━━━

i had to get this out of my brain or i was going to go crazy. i hope you enjoyed! im excited to keep writing them :)

[killerpancakeburger]

Scary Dog Privilege w/ Ghost

PART 2

Tags: civilian!reader, gn!reader, mostly fluff, suggestive at the end, GuardDog!Ghost x Handler!Reader, smug!Ghost. Reader is careful of Ghost's boundaries. Ghost's "outburst" (no idea how to call it tbh) is based on how @valiants drew them here and there. I just love this depiction so much, it's too relatable. 1.3k words.

Part 1.

“You really need to stop terrorizing the new recruits.”

Heaving a sigh, you glower at the shiny plaque adorning the mahogany desk you’re sitting at.

Cpt. John Price.

The aforenamed is away for a week, something about a higher-ups seminar. Left you in charge and, when you started to heft some heavy cardboards full of paperwork, he suggested you take his office too. It wasn’t conventional by any means, but what John Price wants, John Price gets.

You imagined that being the big boss would be fun.

You didn't expect his men to be… such a hassle.

Soap could not go one day without getting involved in a fight.

Gaz was sweet as pie to your face, only to use your own gratefulness against you later when he wanted something.

And Ghost. Oh, Ghost. From the very start, he had been playing with you like a cat plays with his food. Acting like your right-hand man. Always by your side, dutiful shadow. His relentless stare was like a torch against the nape of your neck, like the tangible weight of gloved hands on your shoulders. Following instructions but always with a snarky reply, and a smirk on his lips that you could guess behind the mask simply by the look in his eyes. Not mentioning the times you were alone together and he'd stop covering the bottom of his face. Made it easier to drink — tea but also bourbon —, to smoke, to tempt you with his scarred lips—

You shake your head in an attempt to refocus.

Your concentration doesn't last a mere minute that it's already shattered by the slam of a door.

A familiar slam and a familiar door, if that is even possible.

One of your men is acting out again.

You slip through the group massed in front of the room you need to access, ignoring their warnings and brushing off their attempts to make you turn back.

Knocking three times in rapid succession so he knows it's you, you glide in wordlessly, taking care to lock the door behind you so there won't be any interruption. You lean your back against it, taking a moment to assess the situation.

Your eyes linger on the knife lodged into the table before fixing upon the sizable being sitten nearby. Bending at the waist under an invisible force, his elbows rest on his knees while his fingers clutch the part of his mask that covers the back of his head. One word immediately comes to mind— overwhelmed.

His back is turned on you. You can almost distinguish the dark aura he exudes, an inky blackness that matches his t-shirt and his gloves.

You pull away from the door and join him, absently noticing that your steps are loud enough for him to locate you— force of habit.

“Ghost?”

A metaphorical outstretched hand.

Silence.

Stopping behind his back, you instinctively raise a tentative hand— to ensure his attention? To provide comfort?— before halting halfway, reconsidering. Pulling it back, you opt for a verbal approach instead.

“You really need to stop terrorizing the new recruits.”

You can’t help the fond, amused smile that stretches your lips as you say it.

Silence, still.

It doesn't deter you. After all, you’re no stranger to the need to drop verbal communication in favor of onomatopoeias or hand motions.

Nevermind that, you can fill the silence with retelling of your day.

As the quiet remains your only interlocutor for the third time in a row, you decide to cut your losses, at least for today. You’re unsure whether Ghost's in a mood where he'd rather stay alone, or one where he'd appreciate company but only the silent kind. Eyeing the knife again, you reckon it must be the former.

But as you turn around to leave, a pair of arms circle your waist, putting a swift end to your exit. The sudden embrace causes you to sway a bit, nonetheless you keep your cool.

“Changed your mind?”

A light gibe, essentially harmless, but provocating enough to prompt an answer.

He replies with a muffled groan, before pulling you closer and pressing his face into the small of your back. The contact, admittedly unexpected, but not unwelcome, sends shivers down your spine.

“That's certainly an… interesting position,” is all you find to say, picturing the expression someone would make if they were to stumble upon you two.

Twisting around a bit, you manage to see half of him, and use the view to reach back and pat his head. You quickly come to the conclusion that you’re stuck there for a while, same as if a pet cheetah nominated your lap for its nap.

A few moments later, a minute or an eternity, you end up chuckling to yourself. There's a grumble in your shirt, and it takes a second or two for you to comprehend that the grumble is actually words.

“What's so funny?”

You sigh pensively.

“Was thinking about the recruits you scared. They were shaking in their boots when I got here, you'd think they've seen worse than a ghost. But the most formidable thing here is a cuddle monster.”

The limbs around your torso release you unpromptedly, and as you pivot to face the lieutenant, he only has one step to take to corner you against a wall.

“S'that so?”

The sarcasm in his tone is familiar, yet you fail to see what he's getting at.

“... yeah?”

You don’t try to hide the interrogation in your voice; you want your confusion to be known.

He props one forearm on the wall, right by your head, and leans closer to murmur huskily:

“Do I scare you?”

You bite your lower lip not to laugh, his antics evoking some sort of dark, tortured protagonist. Yet, you'd be lying if you pretended this little display was leaving you indifferent.

Hell, you wish you were scared, because then you wouldn’t long to reduce the distance between your two bodies, already scandalously limited.

Wavering about your reply, you ultimately select the truth.

“Not anymore.”

You swear you can make out the corners of his mouth rise behind the mask.

“Good,” he appraises, laconic as ever.

Stricken by a timidity as sudden as it is intense, you start to ramble nervously, avoiding his intense stare.

“No but, for real, you'd laugh too if you'd seen their faces. They were so worried, imploring me not to go. It's like they were convinced you'd eat me alive.”

“Could be arranged.”

The suggestive line has the merit to make you stop dead in your tracks. His insufferable confidence fills you with irritation and arousal yet again.

You can’t let him win this one, you categorically refuse to let him have the last word. So you bring your face even closer to his and purrs:

“It's such a shame you’re wearing a mask, otherwise I would have already shoved my tongue down your—”

He rips off the bottom part of his mask with such haste that it would be comical if you weren't busy being squished between him and the wall the next second. He presses you against the stone the same way he presses his lips against yours— insistent, warm.

Once again, his hands settle on your hips like they belong here, and his thumbs slip under the cloth to stroke your hipbones.

His newfound urgency is the antipodes of the restraint he manifested until now, leaving you short of breath.

A call of your name pulls you apart, but barely, noses almost brushing. You shoot a look at the door just to see the handle lowers in vain. Letting out an amused and relieved scoff, you rest your forehead against Ghost's torso, thanking yourself for locking.

The voice persists, asking if everything's okay. You raise your head but, as you open your mouth to answer, Simon silently orders you to stay quiet with a forefinger across his lips. You frown and mouth silently— no, YOU shut up— before hollering to be heard.

“All good, thanks!”

Obviously, answering is a much better solution than a suspicious silence. Yet Ghost doesn't seem to share that opinion, as he stares at you unimpressed, but you kiss him before he can make any disagreeable comment.

[introcoryo]

— au where you’re reaped as sejanus plinth’s tribute from district 2, and he breaks into the arena to get his final goodbyes in.

coriolanus can see the brunette’s jaw tighten in his peripheral vision when highbottom announces that he’ll be mentoring one of the district 2 tributes. that tightness is followed by a deep, deep scowl when the reapings are aired, and your sweet, lamb-like face is shown on the now, sejanus notices, glaring screen. he has half a mind to storm out, but instead swallows thickly to fool his brain into thinking he’s calm and collected.

he remembers you, as if a remnant from a previous life. sejanus knows this is a shameful way of thinking. he’s no capitolite. they can throw as much money as they want at him, keep his stomach full and plump of steak and apple pie, give him the so called luxury of attending the academy, but he knows his name will metaphorically never leave that reaping bowl. for each year the hunger games have commenced, three names were picked from district 2. a boy’s, a girl’s, and sejanus’s. he is in that arena with them, although not physically. and that is what hurts him most. his name, although not verbally chosen and spoken into a microphone, is amongst that litter, and yet he has the privilege, like every capitolite, of leaving the arena every year when the victor is announced, when his fellow district 2 tributes do not have that option.

upon first greeting you at the capitol zoo, a stinging pang shoots through his throat. he has absolutely no idea how he’ll be able to mentor you without completely destroying himself in the process. it’s eating him up inside; this hope that the academy has indirectly forced you to place in him. how that hope, crushed, would leave as you, god forbid, would have to take your final breaths in that arena, with nothing to attach to that despair but sejanus’s face.

you’re timid at first. you too, remembered this familiar face. the big brown eyes, never dull of emotion. long, fluttering eyelashes. he’s much taller now, with curly hair that looks like raw hazelnut under the sun. with the way he’s looking at you, you figured he did not outgrow his tenderness. it was no look of pity, though, but a look of understanding. of sharing your fear, instead of accepting your fate. that made you feel a comfort you haven’t felt since standing in your district’s square.

after a few minutes of silence, of examining each other wordlessly, communicating with shared gazes, sejanus decides to speak up first, albeit everyone knowing it is his heart that speaks for him.

“i am so, so sorry for—”

he begins, but you stop him. there wasn’t a point to this, you think. unless he was the one who picked out your name specifically, why would he even feel the need to apologize? that certainly won’t change anything.

“it’s fine. it’s not your fault. i know, big elephant in the room, i’m behind bars at a zoo. the odds just weren’t in my favor. i’m not sure they will decide they like me later, either.”

sejanus clenches a hand around one of the steel bars at your pessimism, but how can he blame you? he has no hope himself, how could he even possibly think you would? he wishes he could effortlessly bend the barrier separating you two with his palms, grabbing you by the hand and running off somewhere else. somewhere safe. somewhere hopeful. he knows he can’t, and that leaves a shake in his voice as he chooses his next words delicately.

“i just… if there’s any way i could help you, guarantee that you would… walk out of there unharmed…”

“well, i saw the district 12 girl with her supposed mentor in here. inside the zoo. you’re mine, i assume? do what a mentor has to do. mentor me out… and some food won’t hurt, either.”

at the mention of that, sejanus’s face slightly lights up, and he reaches into his scarlet colored blazer pocket, taking out a wrapped napkin and handing it to you. you reach through the bars to take this mysterious item from him, fingers lingering just a bit, and unwrap it to find a sandwich, diagonally cut. you smile wistfully at the simple meal before you, this being the very first act of kindness you’ve been on the receiving end of since coming to the capitol. so much for hosting etiquette.

“thank you, sejanus, really… here,” you say in an unanticipated small voice, holding out one of the pieces.

the brunette freezes. you’re still kind. all of this, and you’re still kind. perhaps that’s all you’ll ever be. perhaps that’s what will be what dooms you in that arena. you will try to speak heart to heart, not sword to sword. he loathes that he’s thinking this way. he absolutely despises that he knows you will not be able to walk away from this without staining your hands red, but what has made a home in his chest is the miserable feeling of not knowing whether you’ll be able to do that. he’s district. he will forever be district, a vow he made at birth. but here he is, standing in front of you, free. here he is, handing you food as though you truly belonged in that zoo. he is everything you wished you could be in that moment, and yet you still decide to share your meal with him, despite the rumbling coming from your stomach. he wants to take it. wants to act like this is a normal picnic that you two are having together, but he knows you need that full sandwich. he knows you should take all you can get.

and so he declines politely. you begin to talk about the changes in district 2 since he’s left, and how life continued, yet everyone was stuck. sejanus emphasizes. he listens. but the dread has not left his system. he starts to think about how he’ll see you in another life if this one wasn’t enough. there’s so much time on the other side, and here it all feels like a constant countdown. never knowing if your time will be cut short. he mentally chastises himself; he needs to be optimistic. he needs to be here for you, now. he needs to think about the life you’ll have when he gets you out, not if. soon enough, you’ll believe it too.

to say that sejanus was a complete wreck watching you enter that arena would be an understatement. the cameras capture your soft features so well that you look displaced. lost. you shouldn’t be there, he thinks. no one should be there. the tears that built up in a split second blur his vision, and when the bell rings, he is there, running as a district 2 tribute.

sejanus watches as you take his advice, as you run and hide immediately, and he is kept at bay through at least that. he can’t lose it now. not when you’ve placed your entire life bare in his hands.

but sejanus is weak, too. he feels too much too often. his thoughts are frantic, and he finds himself in that arena the following night. the thumping in his chest intensifies as the voice at the entrance pleads him to enjoy the show, and he scoffs at that. he checked the cameras before coming, so he knows exactly where you are, and he’s so overwhelmed with the thought of seeing you that it doesn’t register that he has now, momentarily, taken the path he very well could’ve lived if he had not moved to the capitol. sejanus plinth, district 2 tribute.

light footed, he makes his way across the arena, and up the stands. he saw you come out of hiding when it was safe out, when most of the tributes were either asleep or in the tunnels, gathering a weapon or two from the cornucopia then settling on high ground. he figures you were startled once you heard the automatic greeting that played when he walked in, so he whispers your name.

he whispers it again. so delicately. laced with so much sweetness, it feels wrong to say it here.

and then a third time. the syllables now come out desperate. overwrought. he can’t leave without seeing you. touching you. it will break him.

“sejanus?” his ears perk up, and he looks around, frenzied, trying to distinguish the direction your voice came from. you peek out from one of the stands, and when you find those big, brown eyes looking back at you, you pick yourself up entirely and run to hold the man before you. the man who rushed into the possibility of death head on just to wrap his arms around you. he’ll face it all, just for that. oh how he wished you knew how badly he wanted to swap your places.

“you’re… but how? why? it’s dangerous here—” sejanus wastes no time, cupping your cheeks and diving in to kiss you. his hands are holding on to you for dear life, as if his knees will give out without the support. his eyebrows are knit together, focused on the feel of your lips on his. they’re dry, chapped, and cracked, but he doesn’t care. he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip to give you some relief, making a mental note to send you some water as soon as he leaves.

he kisses you until it hurts him. until his lips are swollen and red. until the way you’re tightening your hands on his broad shoulders feels as though it’ll leave bruises. when you break the kiss to breathe, he tries to take you all in. to memorize everything. he desperately needs a pen and paper right this moment so he could draw you as accurately as he can, lest his memory fails him later.

the automatic voice sounds again, and only you turn your attention to the entrance. slowly comes coriolanus snow, the district 12 girl’s mentor, and his eyes scan the arena before they land on yours. you nudge sejanus lightly to direct his gaze to his friend, but he wants more. he can’t leave now. he can’t leave you. not like this.

“it’s okay, sejanus. i’ll be okay. help from the outside, and we’ll see each other again in no time.” you whisper, a tiny bit unconvincingly, eyes glossy. “just take care of yourself, okay?”

sejanus’s lips quiver, and he too whispers. you don’t believe it’s because of the other tributes, but because if he were to speak normally, only a sob would come out.

“you are myself. please take care of me.” you glance down and nod at that, tasting the saltwater that came rushing down your cheek. he wipes the trail that settled along your face, and begrudgingly makes his way to the blond.

sejanus is motivated by the thought, the need, to get you out of there. no matter the methods he uses. no matter the consequences he faces. he has the resources to buy you more time, and he finds himself not above exploiting them.

[globalrebrand]

Jealousy

Lyney doesn't get jealous. Of course he cares for your comfort, that will always be a priority, but the glances you get in the street from other would-be suitors doesn't phase him in the slightest. You're beautiful, it's only natural people would acknowledge it. And he can't help but want to show you off. He's a bit of braggart when it comes to you. It's not even about looks, he's happy to share your charitable actions and adorable mannerisms with anyone who will listen. He actually hopes they get jealous of how amazing you are and that you're all his.

Besides, he has no need to be jealous. Lyney trusts you, enough that he would tell you his secrets. If he couldn't achieve full faith in the fidelity of your words and actions you two wouldn't even be in a relationship. He's open with you on the condition you'll keep his secrets and that you share yours in turn.

No so Lyney doesn't have a reason to be jealous. He values your friendships with others, and while admittedly he would prefer to have you to himself all the time, he knows it not feasible and will peel himself off of you so you can cultivate your relationships with others.

...but your new neighbor is interesting. He's quick to help you with any issues that arise in your apartment. If you would have just told Lyney, he would have gotten Freminet to come over and fix it for you! But it's fine, no worries, he understands. Somethings are just too time sensitive.

He understands a little less when he sees the two of you outside on your adjacent balconies, your neighbor with a cigarette and you playfully chastising him about his health. Lyney doesn't like the way he looks at you, but what he hates more is the way you look at him. Like you actually like and respect him, like he possesses the potential of a future friend. Not that Lyney is threatened! No of course not! What a traitorous thought. Maybe he's being too clingy. Lynette always tells him that he can be a bit smothering at times...

The local market however is the last straw. You probably thought nothing of it, you were going to the market, he was going to the market the two of you might as well go together, but something about shopping for food together feels too intimate for Lyney's liking. The metaphor of your neighbor slipping a fresh aubergine into your wicker bag riles Lyney too much not to say anything and finds his feet carrying him to your location, wordlessly leaving Lynette to look at some loose tea samples. He's not jealous though. Certainly not marking his territory like some brutish man. Absolutely not. Lyney's just-

Did that fucker just try to feed you a blackberry?

No.

Fuck no.

Just who does this bastard think he is?

You awkwardly accept and bite into the berry, trying to steer clear of his fingers and keep a respectable distance, but then the juice drips down your chin a bit and as if in slow motion Lyney watches that horrible homewrecker's hand come to wipe at the liquid staining your chin.

But Lyney finds himself by your side just in the nick of time, smoothly whipping a handkerchief out of thin air to dab at your chin himself. Clearly catching your neighbor off guard.

Lyney smirks. Good.

You smile at him, your surprise and resultant delight upon the recognition of your boyfriend has Lyney's heart thumping wildly in his chest.

Before he can even stop himself, he's guiding your face to his by your cheek, kissing you fervently. Time slows further, Lyney feels the heat of your lips that rivals the warm sun of the summer day and the confident weight of your hand as it settles on his nape to angle him closer in an attempt to deepen the kiss, but then he tastes the sweetness of the blackberry that asshole just fed you. And while he'd love to drink you in indefinitely, he remembers his has other matters to attend to.

"Mmm, what a good blackberry. I don't know how it's possible, but your lips made it taste even sweeter."

Lyney then turned his gaze to your neighbor, who stood looking stunned, slightly irritated, but ultimately disappointed. Good. Lyney thought.

You on the other hand looked rather flustered and slightly embarrassed.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your new friend?"

And you do, but he soon excuses himself, much to Lyney's obvious pleasure.

"You're a silly man. You know that? You remark airly, still a little breathless from the kiss as you continue walking, the both of you seemingly in quiet agreement that what that kiss started must be finished as Lyney guides you back to Hotel Bouffe d'ete.

"I couldn't help myself! I simply couldn't stand to see another man put his aubergine in your bag."

[qqueenofhades]

For creative writing purposes, can you go into what a typical day is for a professor? Like what their teaching schedule looks like, when most fit in their research time, etc?

Ahaha, well. I don't want to just say "you can completely make it up," but also.... you can pretty much just make it up, and what is the case for one professor is definitely not going to be true for another. I have known people who will send emails at 1am and/or 4am, and actually finding and fitting in research time for most academics is also "lololololol what." So I can give you a roster of typical daily academic tasks and categories, and then let you know if that if you want to throw them up in the air and scatter them around in literally whatever-the-fuck order, there is probably a beleaguered academic who has done that, but with an even worse sleep schedule. So:

Most permanent faculty at a university are hired as assistant (tenure-track) professors. Once they pass the tenure-committee review (usually about 5 years into the job) they are appointed as associate (tenured) professors. Full professors are considerably senior and/or have been in the field for a long time and have a distinguished service record, excluding various wunderkinds who get it early (but are not common).

If the faculty is just teaching one class a semester or has an irregular appointment, i.e. they step in to teach when the university needs them, they are adjunct professors. You can gain a lot of cred and/or commiserating groaning in your AO3 comments by complaining about how little money the adjunct faculty makes, how erratic their schedule is, and how there is generally little-to-no actual career advancement possible in that position, unless they manage to reapply to a permanent post.

There are also a lot of Visiting Assistant Professors (and similar title), for 2- or 3-year/non-permanent appointments. Many institutions now also offer 1-year VAPs with only a possibility of renewal for 1 additional year or not at all. Those institutions should go straight to hell.

Most professors have 3/3 teaching loads, i.e. they'll teach 3 classes per semester (assuming winter/spring semester). Others have 2/2/2 loads for trimesters (also known as quarters). It can be more, i.e. 4/4, but that's for sucky entry-level teaching-only positions and someone in that role would be unlikely to have any research or service (i.e. institutional committee or internal college) commitments. They would probably also mostly be teaching introductory or freshman-year general survey courses. It depends on how much you want to torture your fictional academic.

Free food? Yes. You will see a healthy amount of the department there, whether faculty or student.

Please remember to have your fictional academic receive approximately 50 student emails a day wherein they ask something that is clearly answered in the syllabus or on the course website, and to see how polite they can possibly be in telling said student this.

Most grading is now done online, so the red pen is only metaphorical, but you can leave SO many Pointed Comments on Canvas Speed Grader. But if you want to torture Dr. Blorbo, you can have the e-grading system suddenly stop working, so they have to grade three classes' worth of introductory freshman history essays by hand. Not based on real events.

Likewise, there will be endless bullshit with the dean's office and/or central university administration, wherein there will be so many Urgent Budget Updates and Breaking News From The Chancellor and We Regret To Inform You We Cannot Hire Someone For That Position.

Related to the budget woes: they will ask you to do things like "make sure you print on both sides of the paper!" or otherwise "economize." Contemplating murder is acceptable and encouraged.

The administrative assistant in each department holds the entire department together. They will be extremely indispensable. Your fictional academic, if they know what's good for them, will befriend that person and/or grovel at their feet. Said person is also usually responsible for scheduling classrooms, which can cause all kinds of juicy drama in the academic fandom if there is One Particular Classroom that everyone hates and lo and behold, Dr. Blorbo is stuck there yet again. They will then probably also fire off multiple passive-aggressive emails attempting to correct the problem. The administrative assistant can grant and/or ignore these requests at their discretion, depending on how much beef they have with Dr. Blorbo and/or how motivated they are to solve their problems.

Department meetings! Who asked for them? Nobody! Who has to attend them? Everybody! They go on for two hours every other week (possibly more depending on how meeting-happy your department chair is) and you will wish for death!

Likewise, the department staff sending out passive-aggressive emails about how they really NEED one more volunteer for (insert university event here). Dr. Blorbo, if they are smart, will delete these emails and pretend they never saw them, but sometimes it may be unavoidable. Bitching and moaning will follow.

For research: it really depends on what academic field Dr. Blorbo is in, since the hard sciences, etc. look quite different and I, as a humanities person, can't speak to that. Most academics aim to fairly regularly publish a piece in a peer-reviewed journal; you can check Dr. Blorbo's field to see what journals they might be trying to submit a journal article (usually max. 8000 words, sometimes more) to.

This will go through a process called Peer Review, wherein two anonymous academics review your work (also anonymized to them) to make sure that you are not talking out of your ass. It is a running joke that Reviewer 2 will always, ALWAYS be more grumpy and critical and otherwise annoying. Invoking the specter of Dr. Blorbo receiving a peer review evaluation for their article will send a shiver down every academic's spine.

If Dr. Blorbo has recently finished their PhD, they may be working on converting their PhD thesis into an academic monograph. The most horrible part of this process, hands down, is reviewing proofs to make an index. Don't ask me how I know this.

However, academic monographs take a lot of time and work and most academics are mostly focused on publishing journal articles, book chapters (in collected volumes) or editing/working in collaboration with other projects.

Likewise: Dr. Blorbo will have to write book reviews. This is accomplished by the very scientific method of subscribing to various industry publications and/or email lists that will sometimes send out lists of books that need to be reviewed and solicit people to sign up. You will then receive a hard copy of the book (usually) and have 3 months or so to read it and write a review. The first 2 months of this, give or take, will consist of the book sitting untouched on the academic's desk as they remind themselves that they still have plenty of time to do it.

There can, however, be INCREDIBLE beef in book reviews, and while the standards of professional courtesy dictate that you don't go great-guns-flaming calling someone else in your field a moron (in more technical language), sometimes it is unavoidable.

Do they get paid for any of this extra intellectual work? Lol. No. No they do not. They don't get paid enough for their actual job.

Dr. Blorbo will inevitably hear some Hot Gossip about what nonsense has recently happened at which field-specific conference (where academics go to present research papers and network with other academics and make regrettable decisions at the open bar). They will then rush to secretly text all their other academic friends with OOH JUICY ACADEMIC DRAMA. Their friends will do the same whenever the opportunity arises to reciprocate.

Removing the coffee machine from the break room/faculty kitchen is grounds for mutiny.

Anyway. I am sure there are many, MANY more, but if you want an authentic slice of long-suffering academic life for Dr. Blorbo, this is all a good place to start.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

You know, all I want is to spend some time with Nikto on his off-days and have him read Dostoyevski to me, if you don't want to make this like a single fic you can maybe incorporate it into "ravishing allure" some time later 🥹

"…and there can be no love otherwise."

PAIRINGS: Nikto x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: If anyone could make the bad days better, it was Nikto.

WORDCOUNT: 2.3k

WARNINGS: Stress from work/life, lack of sleep, mostly fluff, comfort, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There were times you wondered if putting up with your job was really worth it. Sure, you needed the money to pay rent, food, and bills, among a laundry list of others that just seemed to never end, but was the cost of your sleep the metaphorical soul you had to hand over? 

Every day you came home tired to your little apartment—neighbors loud and the light in the bathroom flickering because the electrician had never shown up to fix it. Tired, but unable to fall asleep until everything else was done. So, you’d make dinner, clean, shower, sit down to mindlessly watch a show on TV for half an hour, and then stumble into bed. 

Only to stay awake and stare at the ceiling. 

You can’t say why you do it, thinking over the things you did wrong and the awkward conversations you have with coworkers; you shouldn’t care about it—really, you shouldn't. Yet you can’t stop your brain from slipping like a slide to every instance, every millisecond where you felt the air of the interaction change. Side-eyes and confused looks. 

And then at six o’clock, you’d drag yourself out of bed with bags on your face and a drained expression to do it all over again. 

“Hi, how can I help you today?” 

“Oh, of course, we have some in the back—I’ll go grab it for you.”

“Thank you! You have a good day now, Sir. Come back soon.”

It just felt fake. Greet, help, take money, wave and smile, repeat, repeat, repeat. But maybe today would be slightly different, by the second pair of shoes that were placed in your apartment entry as you slowly opened the front door. 

Boots—black and set an equal distance apart with a cleaned surface despite the places they’d been and what they’d probably stepped through. They were neatly situated under the small bench you had for convenience, and you blink at them as you softly shut the door and lock it. A large, and matching in color, jacket was folded and placed atop the flat surface—keys sitting in an indent. 

Nikto, ever the neat and tidy one. He must be back then. 

While the two of you didn’t live together, the bear of a man had made a habit of coming over when he returned from deployments with KorTac—you’d given him a key the second year you’d been together. 

Your ears faintly twitch to the sound of cooking, nose moving just a second later to the scent of something on the stove. Clinking pans and silent footsteps. He knew you were here, sure as anything. Weakly sighing, you shift out of your jacket and shoes; tossing them in the general direction of the bench as you rub at your eyes and drop your purse to the floor with a slap of canvas. 

How do you explain looking like shit? 

Shuffling into the kitchen, you undo some of the buttons on your blouse to let yourself breathe, dress pants running along the carpet as your feet pad like a hound’s slapping paws. Vision blurry and eyelids threatening to close on you, you find the tall man in front of the stove, moving something in a pan with sizzling oils with the wide flex of his shoulders.

On another burner, there’s a large pot of simmering water—the counter has already been cleaned up of flour and mess, a tidy pile of dirty items sitting in the sink to be washed. You stare for a second before you grumble a hello, forcing your body to sag into his back as you walk over and slap your forehead into his spine. 

Nikto grunts lowly in response and continues what he’s doing. 

While it wasn’t rare to find him in the kitchen—in fact, you prefer it when he cooks—but usually when he got back you opted to order supper. He always insisted, gruffly, that he wasn’t tired, but you just wanted him to relax.

It was fun to baby him. 

“Didn’t know you were going to be back today,” you whisper into him, arms hanging by your sides. 

“We were released early,” his voice is deep and harsh—a bark of his Russian accent and rasp. Every word is thought out and said with purpose. “Conflict in schedule.”

You hum lowly, and it’s immediately after that Nikto stiffens, back going straighter. It’s the fact that you don’t even notice that you’ve completely screwed up your own routine that tips him off; how your change in pace had made him initially suspicious as he’d heard you enter the apartment. 

You hadn't commented on his eyes. Hadn’t tried to get him to turn around to see them. 

There was a running gag that Nikto tolerated—you’d grab him carefully by the chin and tilt his blank eyes to you in all of their icy glory. Sparks of glass and chilled storms inlay near the pupils. You’d stare, smile, and then say, “Yup, he’s still in there.” 

Even if you couldn’t see it under his balaclava, Nikto’s lips would part and he’d study your face for a minute in silence, before lightly bonking his forehead to yours. A strange and unique kiss that only he could perfect in his intimidating way. 

You hadn’t even attempted that. 

Nikto puts down the fork he was using to push around the fried potatoes and mushrooms; Pelmeni still simmering in the pot for another five minutes. The cut-up dill and melted butter on the counter are pushed from his mind with a purpose in his veins.

“What is wrong with you?” Nikto turns and you stifle a fatigued snort as you look up at him. It wasn’t his fault, of course. English isn’t his first language, and you found his broken, or sometimes bare-bones blunt, sentences to be endearing.

“Such a way with words, hm?” You can’t help but tease, and you can see the annoyed furrow of his brown brows, nose huffing a breath. “Just tired, Nikto.” Your words make his gaze slide along the very visible bags and the red veins of your eyes. 

He mutters something in Russian under his breath, lids narrowing on you as he grasps your shoulders and moves you back so he can look you up and down slowly in a near clinical breakdown of atoms. As if he can peel back clothes and splay nerves to light. 

“You look horrible…Sickly.” You can see the brain working as your lips go into a line to stay off your loud laugh. “Like dead woman walking.”

He was so much better with actions than words, this beast of wide shoulders and shifting thighs that could crush your bones to dust in an instant. You liked that about him—you never had to guess when he was being genuine or not.

“Work’s been rough,” you chuckle lowly, sliding on a fake smile that doesn’t fool him for a second. “Nothing I can’t…figure out, okay? Thanks for making supper, I love when you cook.”

Nikto’s eyes soften just a smidge, his hands holding your flesh just the littlest bit tighter. His expansive chest rises and falls in a heavy sigh, the bulk of his stomach and pecs visible under the tucked black t-shirt and his spare cargo pants.

Without a word, you’re being lifted with little more than a huff of, “моя нежная девочка… keep awake.”

You squeak as you’re settled onto his shoulder, hanging off like a sack of grain as his arm wraps over the top of your tailbone—large other hand on your thigh and fingers firmly grasping your skin. 

“Nikto—!”

“Hush,” he grunts, a bark of a chuckle wafting out as your hand playfully hits his back with a pathetic slap. The man raises a brow, smirking under his face covering. “What do you expect to do with that, girl?” 

“To let you know,” you poke at his spine and he shifts your farther down his shoulder in retaliation as you scramble and grasp at his shirt; giggling as your head sways to his steps. “That I won't go quietly!” 

“Good to know,” he grumbles. “I would want nothing less, eh?” 

His hands make sure that you don’t fall, even if you were to start wiggling or slipping.

You go limp and let him carry you into the living room, face burning with appreciation as your limbs let themselves rest. Nikto slings you back over his shoulder and drops you to the couch as you laugh, head purposely hitting the pillow as your chest rises and falls with breaths. 

The man stares down at you as you chuckle in gasps, always one to stare at any chance he gets. His arms crossed at his chest, feet apart, and shadow slipping over you from the overhead light. You gaze up silently, a smile on your lips, and quizzically raise to your brow.

“Stay,” is what he says to you, icy vision sliding down your body with a hum of approval. He sends a teasing slap to your thigh before striding back into the kitchen, narrowly missing your leg kicking out at his arse. 

Nikto scoffs at your attempt and disappears.

Normally you’d run at him and jump on his back, hanging off like an animal, but being as fatigued as you are, you call a mumbled curse at his name and curl sideways. Your face nuzzles into the pillow, smiling lightly before you let your eyes momentarily close.

You must have taken a quick nap because it seemed not even a second later that you were being shaken awake by a hand on your arm; spreading up to run over your cheek as your lashes flutter. “Милая.” You sigh, vision blurry and your head pounding. A strong scent hits your nose and you perk—rubbing at your eyes and face. “Eat.”

A plate of fried potatoes with mushrooms and another bowl of Pelmeni are on the coffee table, and the former is shoved into your face by a strong hand, the small dumplings topped with melted butter and dill. 

“Pelmeni,” Nikto states in a monotone, blinking at you as if you don’t know his own culture’s food by now. He made them often enough, which was why you liked him so much—food was truly the way to your love.

You’d taken up baking some of Nikto’s favorite desserts once, had failed horribly, and left most of the kitchen work to him—but the funny thing was that whenever you did bake, the man still always cleaned his plate. You’d never seen him turn down your food, even when you could see his eyes scrunch with restrained aversion.

“Да,” he would grunt out, “good.” It was so strained you always laughed so hard your lungs hurt after. On the off-hand, Nikto’s skills in the kitchen were enough to get you to sell your car for just another bite. 

Sitting up, you carefully take the bowl and look up at him, smiling deeply. 

“Thank you, Nik.” The man hums and turns his head away, still unused to outright affection even two years in. “Nikto~” you draw out his name, tilting your head to the side and trying to catch his gaze again. 

“Silence, woman,” he growls with no real heat, huffing before carefully placing his forehead to yours again as you expected him to. You giggle and stare into his eyes smugly. 

You knew what he was waiting for. Your blood runs hot, face going into a picture of care. His blues blink at you as snowflakes mingle with mist; a mix of cold and desolate landscapes that offer no reprieve from harm besides the small glint of fire they gain when they lock with yours. 

“Yup,” you whisper, and Nikto’s shoulders loosen as he presses more deeply into your skin. “He’s still in there.” 

He stares intensely, and the faintest of twitches under his balaclava tell you all you need to know. 

Nikto makes sure you eat your fill and when you’re done he takes the dishes and washes them while you shower and get into pajamas. Sluggish, but warmed by a full stomach and your boyfriend’s care. You come out to find he’s already reclining on the couch, book in hand as the other bends behind his neck. Lights were low and the heat turned up. Nikto opens his side to you and your body snuggles next to him—it had taken a long time to earn his trust like this; to be near him and to freely give affection.

It would be longer still until you saw his face, but you can live with that. There was no rush, and you knew it was a large soft spot even if he’d never shared the details as to why.

You sigh deeply and Nikto grunts, moving his arm behind your back and keeping you to his chest as he reads. 

This is a common sight from him, and he begins reading to you in his mother tongue from the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky, the grit and gravel of his voice sliding into words and sensations as you practically feel it coming from his chest and throat. Your head situates itself under his chin, feeling his free hand playing with your hair until you go brain-dead except to the way he feels and sounds. Harsh words had never been more gentle.

Halfway through he switches to English, his sentences now more slow and thought out and your lashes flutter; breath soft as you take in his scent of oakmoss and amber. His heart beats steady and true. 

“‘To love is to suffer,’” he reads, fingers rubbing circles into your clothes and letting you sleep as the day grows faster into a cold night. He glances down with easy eyes, gripping you just a bit closer as your body entirely goes limp in his embrace. “‘...And there can be no love otherwise.’” 

He silences himself and watches for a moment before he closes the book, dropping it silently to the coffee table and staring past you at the ceiling. The man feels your warmth bleed into his scarred and damaged skin and whispers something akin to vindication.

Nikto listens to your steady breathing and holds you. Steady. Noiseless. 

He grunts to himself and only presses you closer.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

*pulls the 45 cents I have to my name out of my pocket and drops them on your table*

I can't believe my name will be forever attached to this but one (1) Kenjaku solo session with Heianera!YN portrait, please

❝ life and death will always lead to love and regret (but you have the answers, and I have the key) ❞

Kenjaku x Heain Era!ftm!reader [one-sided] | Heian Era!ftm!reader x Sukuna Ryomen | r! is a curse-user & sukuna ryomen's concubine, NSFW | sub. bottom. reader (AFAB) | NOT PROOFREAD | wc: 4.1K

warnings: creepy/stalker behaviour, Kenjaku is a 'passive'-yandere (in the sense that Sukuna would and will kill him if he tried anything), manipulative behaviour, gore (detailed), Kenjaku jerking off in front of a portrait of r!, very unrequited

authors note: don't be ashamed, Gabriel. I got way too excited writing this and I think that speaks volumes on how I need to get checked, LMAO. On another note - yes, my YN's will always have a harem of men in the JJK-verse because that's what YN (and you, my dear reader) deserve!

I wrote this partially on my phone so bear with me guys...

*song on repeat: Bernadette by IAMX & Rule #34 by Fish in a Birdcage. * YN is described as having long hair because of the heian beauty standard (hair colour and texture not mentioned).

People often compared the years they lived as sand. The hourglass holding it is comparable to the human body. He often thought that metaphor was weak. People — humans — were not hourglasses and their years were not sand. No, no. That’s far too neat for humans.

Humans are messy. They are loud, and chaotic, they defy nature's rules and destroy her for the sake of progress. They had no balance, their compass broke when the synapses in their brains sparked conscious thought.

In that chaos, humans made curses. Or, well, you could argue it who came first but without humans and their silly consciousness — cursed spirits wouldn’t thrive.

People are flesh left under the sun. With their blood drying out, flies and maggots eagerly feast on what they can while the meat greys and rots. That’s a much more appropriate metaphor for a human life. If anything, the hourglass comparison should be used for himself. Constantly turning it over to keep going; uncaring of what kept the sands in confinement so long as it could continue its path.

Down, almost empty, flip, repeat.

Kenjaku had perfected his cursed techniques. He had earned this, he had earned his right to let his curiosities run rampant. He had earned the right to be in the presence of Sukuna Ryomen and you.

“Yuuji, you still owe me for eating my yoghurt from the fridge. It was expensive and it took so long for me to find it!” Nobara huffed. “You might as well just buy some for yourself. I’m labelling my food now.”

Megumi glanced over his shoulder at the lack of reply from the pink-haired boy. Nobara stopping next to him with her brows furrowed, sighing as she looks around for him.

“...I was just talking to myself? Seriously?” she grumbled. Megumi adjusts his grip on the bags. The grocery trips were a good team-building exercise according to Yuuji, a way to get to know each other better. Megumi and Nobara agreed after a particularly harsh mission that aimed directly at their novice team fighting experience.

So far, the results that were yielded from it were found that Nobara had an aversion to pineapples, Megumi had expensive tastes, and Yuuji was very good at budgeting money.

“No, he was right beside you a few minutes ago,” Megumi reached for his phone. Nobara placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she continued to scan the crowd.

A gaggle of businessmen came out from the underground train station and between the crowd of slicked-back hair, desperate combovers, and sweaty bald heads, she spotted him.

Tugging on Megumi’s sleeve, she pointed to him. Yuuji was standing and staring up at some sort of vertical banner. As they both approached, they shared a glance.

“Oi, Itadori,” Nobara placed a hand on his shoulder. Smacked it really. He didn’t budge. There was a dullness to his eyes that unnerved her enough to remove her hand. Megumi tightened his grip on his phone as he called out to him again. She took a look at the banner and her brows furrowed.

It was promoting an opening of someone’s private gallery. Some rich kid’s great-great-grandfather’s collection. The painting they used was of a true beauty. A man with long hair, dressed in the finest robes with a serene barely-there smile. It looked to be more European in nature, the art reminding her of the portraits of giant frilly dresses and puffy shoulder sleeves despite the obviously Japanese clothing, accessory, and manner in which the subject was regaled in the painting.

The banner must have costed a pretty penny considering how much detail they could see. Megumi could practically feel the raised textures the artist had used to mimic the pattern of the traditional robe the man wore. The flow of his hair, the texture and pattern it had; and his lashes were surely not that long in reality.

Megumi tore his gaze to Yuuji.

It was like he was in a trance. His mouth was slightly ajar, his brows furrowed and his hands shaking as his knuckles turned white.

“Itadori?”

Yuuji had long forgotten this. This ache in his chest that he sometimes woke up with. When he reaches for the empty space next to him and finds no one. Those moments in the basement when he watches a historical movie and his chest tightens as the nobles courted one another.

“Do you know the painter or something?” Nobara asks.

No, he wants to say. Not the painter. If he knew who it was that did this portrait, he’d tear their heads off their body. But the man? He knew him.

That hellish grin, that perfect face and most importantly those nightmarish eyes.

You’ve seen dolls, right? Those porcelain ones specifically. The craftsmen who make them, the expensive ones with real human hair. To be left on shelves instead of being played with. They would draw these white dots on the eyes, varnish them even, so their eyes would reflect back. A mimicry of humans, that’s what dolls are. But even then, their eyes still twinkled. Not this man. No. It was devoid of light. Pools of (eye colour) and nothing more. These eyes would swallow up any trace of light and diminish the stars from the sky with just a glance.

Yuuji knew him. His soul knew him. His hand clutches over his heart and his friends watch this with trepidation.

It’s been 2,000 years. Sukuna was no longer human and therefore his memory was not as fickle. He still remembers those moments before dawn; the sight of your bare torso breathing softly as you rested next to him. The sun filtering through the windows and making you appear even more ethereal and deadly. How your brows would pinch seconds before you woke. Those soulless eyes that shot through his very soul.

Sukuna could recognize you even if he was blind. He’d be able to hear you just by feeling your chest rumble. If he had to eat one thing for the rest of his life, your body and flesh would sustain him.

In his Malovent Shrine, whilst he sat on his throne, he’d summon his flames in his palm. There he’d watch as your figure danced across his hand. You’d twirl between his digits, a smile across your face as he watches the imitation of you.

It used to be enough. Lately, the action brings him more contempt then fondness. The flames never quite catch your shape anymore. Constantly shifting. That coyness is gone, mini-you petulantly staying hidden behind his fingers. So he snuffs you out in his fists.

He hates you for making him miss you. A King should not be missing anyone or anything. Yet, as his vessel stands here, Sukuna teeters on the edge of breaking the Unbreakable Vow he’d made with the brat just to gaze upon you.

The painter got your resemblance and it was agony for him.

How could he continue to be without you when he’s seen you again? Days ago, he wanted to kill you for making him delirious and now he wants you back in his arms.

“Itadori.” Megumi’s tone is firmer. Nobara smacks his shoulder again and Yuuji jolts forward, nearly falling until his rigid legs quickly come back to life.

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?” Megumi asks, his thumb hovering over the DIAL button of Gojo Satoru’s number. Yuuji glances at his wrinkled shirt and releases it, confusion painted across his face at the fading pain across his chest.

“I...yeah, yeah. I'm okay. I have no idea what that was....”

Rich bodies made life significantly easier.

What was that saying humans used?

Money can’t buy happiness?

Kenjaku chuckles at the thought. Foolish and vain — typical of humans. Clinging onto whatever they can to convince their egos they’re better than most when they’ll all meet the same fate. Kenjaku forgets the exact point where he stopped seeing himself as one of them, but he’s sure anyone would if you’ve lived as long as him. Apathy. Most call it a disease of selfishness. Kenjaku simply thinks they’re lying to themselves.

“Mr Geto?” the gallery was a lucrative endeavour. A piece in his grand scheme that required little effort but great rewards. More personal gain on his end.

“Mr Hajimoto mentioned you specifically in his will. The private room is all yours. Thank you so much for your donation to this fine institution of arts.” Kenjaku offers the man a polite smile and nod. The awkward silence prompts them to open the large doors and Kenjaku is greeted by you.

(Y/N) (L/N). In all your glory. In his favourite colours and his favourite kanza. The bespoke lighting on your portrait makes his hands fall limply to his side. You were a brushstroke away from taking a breath. The colours used to recreate that undertone your skin had, the delicate curves of your lashes and the plumpness of your lip.

The two guards in the corner of the room are a nuisance. But with a simple twirl of his right hand, the Slit-Mouthed Woman makes quick work of them. This curse technique was truly convenient, the mess she made cleaned up by a different curse who laps at the blood with vigor. The noises are all muffled as he admires those vicious eyes.

Just saying your name makes warmth travel down between his legs.

“I’ve almost forgotten how you look like.”

Silence ticks by for a minute.

Then Kenjaku bursts into laughter. Clutching his stomach and covering his mouth as he does. He can still smell your blood. Even if Suguru’s body had never had the pleasure of touching you — Kenjaku remembers it.

The way it flowed out of you like silk ribbons. Warm and wet and virile.

“You are an unusual sorcerer,” those were the first words you said to him. He knows you meant that in a derisive fashion — the curl of your nose was a clear indicator. But that was the day a feverish need was planted inside of his very soul.

You. You. You.

The shape of your face.

The cadence of your voice.

The way the wind carried your scent to his nose.

The sound of your cat-like foot-steps.

The effortless way you carried yourself despite the heavy robes that a revered concubine of your rank would wear, along with the golden hair accessories that would probably break a lesser man's neck.

It didn't stop there either.

Your brain, the wickedness that ran through your very veins and that fire that burns within you. Kenjaku wanted to be inside of you in every he could fathom. To sit within that perfectly shaped skull, to thread his fingers between the locks of your hair and take a scalpel to that skin he so craves to taste. Or perhaps inside in the traditional sense, between your legs, embraced by your warm insides and your deadly arms.

Kenjaku ponders on the time he has. He decides that he should indulge in you. He undoes the robes this body wore and sighs as it reveals the torso. Bodies were all the same but he does appreciate the care Geto Suguru took into his temple — there was no need for shame when he's already desecrated this corpse so viscerally already. His hands travel down his torso and that pronounce v-line and past the patch of wiry pubic hair.

You make him feel young again. Reckless and stubborn. Your eyes watch him as he leisurely spits into his palm and strokes it over the tip.

Evil is such a lame word. So primitive in its nature, another one of human's attempts at letting go of responsibility. If something or someone were evil, they were inherently irredeemable. Humans used to call snakes evil simply for doing what a snake would do when hungry, instead of realising they shouldn't have left the door to their huts opened and their sleeping brat asleep.

Was something evil when it simply did what it was meant to do?

They were simply following natures course.

This act Kenjaku is doing now, is not perverted or evil, he is simply being. Simply living, existing, relishing.

If anything, you were the undoing. The evil. You've made, and continue to make, him lose crave and hunger. You were so cruel, so ethereal — so evil.

Kenjaku groaned your name, walking backwards and dropping onto the low seat the gallery provided. His legs spread and he hung his head down but his eyes remained affixed to your painting.

"He sounds beautiful, Mr Hajimoto," the blonde painter had told him once or twice or thrice. Young but talented, the way he used his brushes on canvas was so impressive and Kenjaku missed you so much (Y/N). He simply had to spread the wickedness of your beauty, immortalize it forever within canvases and lesser non-sorcerers minds.

"Did you know him?" his accent was clunky, the Japanese language tumbling on its delicate legs following the rhythm of the painters voice. Still, he — Mr Hajimoto, Kenjaku — gave him a gentle grin.

"Very well. He was my lover."

The small notebook the painter had written your features down in, it was displayed in this very room as well. In a glass casing, handled with gloves to ensure pesky skin oils wouldn't deteriorate his inked strokes.

Speaking of strokes, Kenjaku's was beginning to pick up it's pace. His smile now looser, like an animal that caught the scent of blood, his tongue curled over his teeth as he imagined the disgust on your face. You'd probably cover your nose with the sleeve of your robe and the thought makes his cock jump; you were wearing his favourite colours and it made him moan.

The notebook was filled with sketches of you. Kenjaku recalls correcting the human, correcting him when he disrupted the harmony of your anatomy. You were the humans muse for years, (Y/N). Even as he neared his death bed, the blonde artist kept drawing you. Sketches lose, your shape less tangible, but hauntingly beautiful. Like your dark flames flowing in the wind. Even as his memories of his life escapes him, the artist remembered you. What a blessing. Kenjaku had visited him before he died and whispered your name into the old man's ear.

Sorcerer Society keeps your name hidden. It's their way of control. Making Sukuna Ryomen more monstrous by telling others he ruled coldly and cruelly alone; death was not as harsh as being erased. They say Sukuna needed 20 of his fingers and his mummified heart to be revived. That's what those poems talked about after all.

A misunderstanding.

The heart was Sukuna's, yes.

But it wouldn't revive him.

"You were so angry," he chuckled out, "so defiant even when I was inside of you."

The sky was blood red, the black smoke making the colour more saturated as it seemed intent on blotting out the sun. Uraume had felt a sudden chill, you did too, and they swiftly rose as the scent of deceit was so thick in the air.

“Uraume,” your voice remained nonchalant. But there was a tenseness in your throat that even they could decipher through the layers of regality. They turned, mouth pressed into a thin line as they went on their knees.

You continued to stare, impassively looking down at the patterned swirl of their snow-white hair. The red and black sky turning the colour of your eyes a pleasantly mournful shade; the golden kanza in your hair that your Lord Sukuna himself had commissioned for you glimmered righteously. The teeth of a beast, the curling of centipede legs, and the melded wings of a raven. It was beautiful just as much as it was unusual.

“You leave your Lord’s prized possession to fend for himself?”

Uraume lips reveal a modest amount of teeth. Their face like a porcelain doll as they raise their head. It makes your heart flutter and squeeze.

“You are stronger than these worms, they wouldn’t dare attack you.”

This is true. A fact. You were strong. 100 sorcerers or 1, 000 sorcerers — it made no difference to you. They’d turn into dust and wither right before you. But it shocks Uraume when you place your palm against their jaw, thumb stroking over their cheekbone as you gaze down at them.

“How horrid it is, making me defend myself.”

They see your eyes soften. It was no wonder you were Lord Sukuna’s concubine. Just being touched by you, looked down upon by you; it makes their spine melt.

“I should have your head for your insolence.”

Uraume apologizes, lips stilling when your thumb presses down on them.

“Return to me. Whole. My Lord Husband and I will not be pleased if you do not. We don’t want weaklings to stand behind us.”

Uraume bows, their lips kissing your knuckles as they do before they raise and disappear from your sight. The screams of terror that are heard outside at the sight of them make you slip your eyes close.

Kenjaku appeared before you what felt like hours later. He looks at the scene with a raise of his brow. Your feet were soaked in blood as bodies were strewn across the wide room. The floor was shimmering, looking as though it was breathing as it creaked from his weight. The clothes the bodies wore painted a clear enough picture — they were your servants. Loyalties were swayed as the fight prolonged. These little ants thought they could save themselves from punishment if they showed these righteous sorcerers your head.

He couldn’t smell smoke and there were no signs of charring. The bodies were mangled beyond belief, guts spilling out, eyes gouged, arms bent unnaturally.

Yet, in the gore and horror, you stood across from him with only your feet stained by traitorous blood.

You were a vision. Delicately wiping away blood from the tiger claw kanza with the sleeve of a dead servant. Then, he watches as you carefully put it back in place atop your hair.

“Kenjaku.”

He bows his head, bending at his waist, then lifts himself up again.

“The Kamo clan, your clan, joined this rebellion. I feel that should be a good enough reason to kill you.” The fire in your eyes makes his heart race. He moves forward, casually stepping over a torn torso.

“That would be unwise,” he gives you a grin. This body of his is new. The stitches are still fresh and red. Most likely a desperate attempt of his to hide away while they destroyed his old body. The corpse is younger, and more plain-looking. Despite it’s Curse Technique being a mystery, you’ll take your chances at strangling him.

“I’ve come at the behest of your Lord Husband. To ensure your longevity.”

Your brows pinch. Kenjaku delights at the creases it creates, tucking away this sight into his memories for lonely nights. Then, you scowl.

“You lie.”

His giddiness is palpable. The wide grin on the corpse’s face is clearly not his own; cheeks lifted too high and smile too large and unnatural. Kenjaku must’ve been a truly ugly man with a truly ugly grin. The body struggles to adjust to this display of amusement.

“I’m not.”

He takes a step forward and you lift your hand. The standstill would’ve lasted longer if it weren’t for the yells and thunderous footsteps clambering up to your room.

“You lie!”

Dark flames roared out from the windows. The heat so smoldering it causes a burst of hot air to knock back the men on the stairs, burning their skin and face. The blood on the floor boils, the iron scent now more acidic as the once fleshy bodies now crumble into dust.

You feel his breathe against the nape of your neck. As you turn, he wrings his arms around you like a snake. One across your stomach, the other around your shoulder. That horrible smile is pressed against your skin.

“Kenjaku,” you growl through gritted teeth.

“That’s right. Say my name.”

Fighting feels a lot like sex.

Kenjaku can feel your passion behind every strike, the bruises you leave behind on his skin are akin to hickeys. When you yell out and scream, cheeks so hot he can feel the rush of blood to your face just from looking — the rapid pulse you have and the way your face is contorted.

Kenjaku pins you down. Your legs are thrown over his own while you gnash your teeth at him and spit insults his way. Your hair was so beautiful, thrown back around your head like a lion’s mane. He slides your wrists above your head and holds them with one hand while the other undoes the meticulous array of folds your kimono had.

Sweat drips down his nose. It’s all your fault. Using your Curse Technique in this room, charring the wood and setting it all aflame. Still, he could work in this conditions.

“Ah,” he moans at the sight of your bare skin. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, licking his lips as he places a hand over your heart.

When you kick at his stomach, he acts like he cannot feel it. When you kick again, this time hard enough for a loud crack to be heard, he looks at you.

“If you kill me, you will break the Binding Vow you and Ryomen had made with me.”

He feels your feet dig into his rib, the spiderwebs of cracks spreading further. He allows this with a pleased hum. Your ragged breathing all at once calms and with a blink, your eyes lose that unbridled fury.

“You dare say my Lord’s name so casually?”

Kenjaku laughs. As he leans down, he presses his forehead to yours. Your nose curls in disgust but you keep your lips pursed. The feeling of his sweat sliding down the sides of your forehead and dipping to travel the side of your nose; threatening to get into your eyes as it slips just beneath it.

“Forgive me, venerable concubine.” Kenjaku does not mean this. When he presses his fingers together and imbues his hand with Curse Energy. He enjoys it.

Slicing through your skin at a pace that made the cut more ghastly then it would be if it was done quickly. You remained stone-faced while Kenjaku chewed on his lower lip, every twitch or squint just fueling his hunger.

He is past your skin and now he sees the yellow, when he twists his wrist you grunt as he slices through the threads of muscles. He spreads his fingers and your teeth part as you let out a strained yell.

"You can be louder if you want," his lips brush against your cheek every time he speaks.

"When I return, I'll take pleasure in ripping your head off your body."

"Threatening me?"

He reaches bone. His finger scratching against it before he peels away and settles between your legs. Your hands aren't pinned but you do nothing but curl your fingers into fists as he shoves another hand into your chest. The squelching and pulsing of your flesh, the bursts of blood from your throbbing veins and pumping heart. The wetness and warmth of your insides. He can feel your body clenching around him, and he convinces himself its because you truly enjoy this depravity just as he does.

The size of his hands in your chest is unbearably uncomfortable. Invading you, filling you when you want nothing more than to burn him, as he moves his digits and wrists within you.

He grasps onto your bones and breaks it under the pressure of his wrist. Your blood is spraying him, staining his clothes.

"Your blood looks like ribbons," he whispers to you, "even your insides are like works of art."

You want this to be over with already.

Your arms move down, eyes still set in a glare. You slip your fingers under the soaked clothing and spread it apart further to reveal more of your skin. Shimmying your shoulders so your torso is now bare of any clothing.

The tent between his legs pressed into your crotch. It's hard to ignore, but you push through and grasp onto his elbow and force him to go in deeper.

"Promising you."

Kenjaku's elbow straightens sharply and he moans as he feels your heart beating in his palm. He pulls it out of your body, panting as your eyes slip close and your heart slows. Beating slowly...slowly...slowly...

Kenjaku moans at the memory of your heart in his hands. Your warm blood coating his skin, drying under his nails and crackling in the creases of his joints.

"I wanted to keep you on me forever," he grunts out as his pace gets faster. "The smell of you, of your flesh."

"I didn't need your body, but it was too beautiful not to be admired."

Kenjaku throws his head back, placing his palm across his nose and lips as he sifts through his memories so he can conjure it all over again.

The painting watches on impassively. The croons and purrs of Geto Suguru's cursed spirits echo faintly in Kenjaku's ears while his hips thrusts into his own fist. It's desperate. He usually isn't like this. Even when he was creating the Death Womb Paintings — even when his plans are so close to coming into fruition.

You make him like this. Make him lose control, every thought poisoned with you even when you're nothing more than a mummified heart hidden so desperately away by Sorcerer Society.

"I've gotten a lead," Uraume had informed him just a few days ago. "They've hidden him in the ocean in an underwater research facility."

"Underwater, hah, they think it'll keep your flames contained. Keep your loyal servant away as if the depths of the ocean is enough to scare them, us — Oh, (Y/N)."

His fist stops and Kenjaku stands, removing his clothing fully as he places a hand against the wall of the gallery. The textured wall, the grooves, give way to his nails as he digs them in. He stares into your eyes, imagining the crease of your furrowed brow and Kenjaku groans out your name as he cums all over the wall.

"...Oh, I can't wait to see you again, venerable concubine."

[arlana-likes-to-write]

Sins of the Family

Part 3 of Family and Pawns

Warnings: car accident, mention of death and grief, kidnapping, implied sexual assault, mention of suicide, suicidal thoughts, mention of past sexual assault, death, usage of a fire arm, angst with a happy ending, everyone needs a hug and no one is okay

Note: This is maybe the last story of this AU unless I get a request for another part.

Word Count: 10k (I don't want to talk about how long this)

“Cooper!” You shirked as the eldest Barton shot you with a water gun. It was an all out water war between you, Tommy, and Billy against the three Bartons plus Kate and Yelena. The twins thought it was unfair that the two Avengers were on the same time but the Black Widow has to remind them that they were enhanced, they did it so the teams would be more even. Speaking of your brother, Tommy ran behind Cooper and dumped a bucket of water on him. Before the eldest Barton could turn around, he was gone.

“Hey!” He whipped the water out of his eyes. “I thought we said no powers.” Tommy appeared next to you.

“That’s what you get for targeting our sister,” he held up his fist and you pumped it against his.

“Kids, lunch is ready.” Laura called out. You liked Iowa. It was quiet, peacefully, and the Bartons were welcoming. You sat next to Nate with a towel wrapped around your shoulders. Natasha warned you that the youngest Barton would probably be quiet, still processing the death of his father.

“So, what do you want to do after we eat?” You asked. He shrugged, biting into his hot dog. It was just you and the young boy at the table while everyone was pilling food onto their plate. “Can I tell you a secret?” You whispered to him. Nate slowly nodded his head. “It’s okay to be happy and still miss you.” You saw his little body tense up but he still refused to look at you. “It’s okay to be angry with him,” you continued. “And still love him.” A small whimper left his mouth and your heart broke for him. You wished you could take away all of his pain. You would take it all away if you could.

“It’s okay to be angry with Nat and be glad she’s alive because he is no longer here.” It was like the dame broke. You saw his body shake as quiet tear fell down his cheeks. You panicked, body frozen as he dropped his hot dog and climbed onto your lap. His face pushed against your damp shirt and you felt his tears. You glanced up and saw Laura, wide eyes and about to walk over to her emotionally distraught son but you held up her hand to stop her. “I’m going to pick up. Okay, buddy?” He tightened his grip on you. You stood up from the table, your towel fell to the ground, and you walked over to the swing that was handing from the tree.

This was what he needed. Someone to let himself cry without adding to their own grief. So you let him cry against you as you pushed yourself on the swing. “I’m sorry,” he said once his tears stopped. You forced him to look at you. There was snot running down his nose and his cheeks were blotchy.

“Hey, little man, it’s okay to cry. It’s okay for your feelings to be all over the place but we are here for you. Whatever you need,” he nodded and rested his head back on your chest.

“Does it get easier?” That was the million dollar question. You met an older lady while you took a walk during your lunch. She asked about your family not knowing the truth. While she learned about your parents, she told you about her late husband. You asked her the same question. She told you a metaphor that her therapist told her. Your grief was like a red button instead a box with a ball that rolled around. Since the grief was newer the ball would hit the button all the time, no matter what you were doing your grief was powerful. You felt it in everything you did.

Over time, the box got bigger and the grief stayed the same size but it wouldn’t hit the button all the time. You sighed, kissing the crown of his head. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It gets easier.”

*

“Remember,” Wanda said, glancing at you and the twins. “Billy, you need to bring in your permission slip. Tommy, we have to go to the mall and get you new shoes,” the twins nodded their heads. “And you have a meeting with the home school agency. Did you finish your essay?” You glanced over the book you were reading. The trip to Iowa was done and it was time to head back to reality which meant starting home school. The couple asked if you wanted to attend another school but the incident with Henry and Coach Griffo made you lose faith in the schooling system. Home school was the best option for you and they agreed.

“I finished it before we left for Iowa.”

“Atta girl,” Natasha winked at you from the driver’s seat.

“Nerd,” Tommy mumbled with a smile on his face. You rolled your eyes, bumping your shoulder against his.

“Dork,” you countered. You were an only child for the longest time it was such a nice change to mess with someone.

“Children,” Natasha warned but before she could continue her scolding. You heard the impact before you felt in. Instinct kicked in and you braced yourself for the impact, your body tensed with fear.

The collision was violent, the force of the impact threw you forward. You felt the searing pain shoot through your body. For a moment, everything seemed to spin, the world titled at an impossible angle. The sound of the twins screams echoed in your ears. Once the car settled, your vision was blurry but you saw Wanda and Natasha with their heads to the side. They weren’t moving. You tried to look at the twins but a sheering pain caused black spots to cover your vision. A soft whimper left your lips and the world went dark.

*

You heard a soft voice calling out to you. She was saying your name over and over again to urge you to wake up. You were so tired. It seemed easier to keep your eyes closed and sleep but the voice was persistent, a little annoying. It kept getting louder and louder until it was impossible to ignore. “Mama,” you gasped awake. Your chest was heaving, eyes darted around the foreign room. You groaned softly as the pain of the car accident caught up with you. You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down. Your hands were cuffed to metal chains that were attached to the wall. The room was four walls with two doors; one of them was boarded up with wood.

In the corner, you saw Tommy. His hands were free from restraint but a collar was around his neck. “Tommy,” you called out. “Tommy, wake up.” You said a bit louder. Still he laid still, on his stomach. “Come on. This isn’t funny wake up,” you pleaded, desperation oozing from each word. Finally, he groaned. “Oh thank you,” you said, your head leaning back against the wall.

“My head hurts,” he wined, rolling onto his back. It took a moment but he sat up quickly. “What happened?”

“We were in a car accident. I don’t know where we are,” he stumbled to his feet. “Easy,” but he ignored you, wrapped his hands around the chains, and pulled. They weren’t moving. “Tommy, stop. You are going to hurt yourself.” He shook his head.

“I can get you out,” he pulled at them again. “I can get us out and we can go home!” He fell to his butt with a huff. “What’s around your neck?”

“Probably the same thing around yours,” Tommy reached around his neck to touch the collar. You stood up and found out you could reach the mattress but not the door. You sat down and opened your arms, there was a sharp pain in your shoulder. Tommy took the opportunity to lay in your lap.

“They are going to find us,” he looked up at you. “Right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “Or we’ll get out of here by our self.”

*

Natasha was barely listening to Sam as he spoke with local police and Yelena and Kate were looking at the car crash. Her eyes were on her wife and Billy as they sat on the back of an ambulance. The EMT was cleaning a cut on Billy’s head and his arm was in a sling to help his shoulder. Wanda seemed untouched but Natasha had a faint memory of her wife’s magic wrapping around the car before she blacked out. She wanted Helen to do a check up on him when they were done here. “Thank you officer,” Sam said. Natasha turned back into the conversation. “Are you sure you don’t want to get checked out?”

“I’m fine,” she wasn’t really. It was taken every fiber in her body to not lose it. Her daughter and son were taken right from underneath her nose. By focusing on the pain radiating through her body she wasn’t going to lose her cool. Her sister and Kate walked over to them. “What do we know?” She asked.

“It was one van that hit your car,” Kate handed her a tablet with a feed of the car accident. “Then two more vans showed up and took Y/n and Tommy.” Natasha watched as two men existed their car and ran to the back of the car to get you and Tommy. Why didn’t they take Billy?

“The plates were stolen but we are having Peter check out the original owners,” Yelena said, taking the tablet from Natasha. “We know this was planned. They never looked at the camera so we can’t run facial recognition..”

“So we have nothing on who took my kids.”

“We will find them, Nat,” Sam said. “You have my word but we need to get you, Wanda, and Billy back to the tower where it’s safe. We don’t know if they’ll come back,” that made Natasha’s blood run cold. She couldn’t let them take anyone else.

“Okay,” she said.

“Kate and I will drive you back,” Natasha nodded and walked over to the ambulance. Her body ached but she put on a smile as she got closer.

“Hey bud,” she whispered. “How are you?” Billy shrugged, not looking up at the Black Widow. Natasha frowned, looking at the witch. ‘He hasn’t spoken,’ Wanda’s voice echoed in her head. Natasha nodded. “We are gonna head to the tower with Auntie Lena and Aunt Kate, okay?” Billy nodded, jumping off the back and head over to his aunts. But the young boy didn’t reach out for comfort from his aunts. Instead, he walked right past them to the car. Natasha sighed, feeling her wife grab her hand.

“You haven’t gotten checked out, moya lyubov’ (my love),” Wanda said.

“I’m fine,” but she knew she couldn’t lie to Wanda as easily as she did with Sam. Wanda stopped walked. “Wanda-” Natasha pleaded.

“This is not your fault, okay?” Natasha looked at her sister. Yelena was leaning against the car, trying to get Billy to talk. “And I will remind you that at every step. We will find them and Billy will be okay,” Natasha surged forward capturing Wanda’s lips into a kiss. The kiss was frantic, messy as Natasha hung onto Wanda.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispered against Wanda’s lips.

“You won’t. I’m here. I’m right here.”

*

You let Tommy fall asleep, resting between your legs and you ran your fingers through his hair. You wanted to close your eyes and sleep but you couldn’t. What if when you closed your eyes and the door opened and they came in to take your brother? So you sat and replayed moments in your head. The first time you met the Romanoff-Maximoff family and the night the couple told you they wanted to adopt you. They were going to find you. Until then you had to be strong and protect Tommy.

Finally, you heard the door unlock and slowly open. The sound caused Tommy to stir awake but you kept your arms around him as 3 men walked in; two were carrying bowls. “Food,” the man up front said. He was Russian and the men behind him set the bowls near the mattress. But you both didn’t move. “You are going to need your strength.”

“What do you want with us?” You asked. He didn’t answer, instead he gestured to the man on his left and he walked over to you. He ribbed Tommy from your arms. “No!” You jumped to your feet but the man held your brother by his throat and put a gun to his temple. “Please don’t hurt him.” Tommy struggled against his capture but it made no difference.

“Let me make myself perfectly clear,” he stepped forward. “When I say you eat, you eat. When I say jump, you ask how high. Your brother’s life is my hands, do you understand my malen’kaya ten’ (little shadow)?” You glanced at Tommy.

“I understand,” the man holding your brother threw him to the ground. Before you could help, the man grabbed onto your chin to force you to look at him.

“He is collateral,” he said. “I won’t hesitate to kill him if you disobey me.” You nodded and he let you go. You ran over to Tommy and he assured you he was okay as the three men left.

“Do you know them?” He asked. You shook your head. You didn’t, you’ve never seen those men in your life.

“But he definitely knew me,” you sat back on the mattress with the bowl. It was a soup of some kind.

“He called you little shadow,” he said, sitting next to you with his bowl in his lap. Little shadow. Your spoon stopped in mid air. You hadn’t thought about that nickname in months since Jason was killed. “Do you want this?” He asked, holding up his bowl. “I don’t like it.” You laughed at the scrunch of his nose.

“Eat it,” you said, taking a spoonful of your own. It wasn’t bad just bland compared to Wanda’s flavorful cooking. “I think he’s right when he said we’ll need our strength.”

*

Wanda hated this. This intense feeling of worthlessness as she had no idea where her son and daughter were or who took them. She couldn’t even help her other son who hasn’t spoken or eaten since the accident. He was shutting her out and that scared her even more. “But why not take all three of your kids?” Maria asked. The available Avengers met at the tower to come together to find you and Tommy. They were in the conference room while Pepper and Happy watched Billy and Morgan. She hated being away from him but he didn’t need to be here for this. “If they want to hurt you, why did they just take Y/n and Tommy?” It was a good question and one Wanda couldn’t answer. Natasha and her made a lot of enemies throughout their time as Avengers. The list was long.

“Maybe it’s not about us,” Natasha said, picking at the skin around her thumb. Wanda grabbed her hand to stop her. “Have we found anything about Jason?” Tony pulled up the hologram of the man that took advantage of you. The sight still made Wanda’s blood boil.

There wasn’t much they knew about the man that could help them. Only child, whose parents divorced when he was a kid, and his father was in and out of rehab facilities. He was in extreme debt and unemployed. At his last job, he suffered a shoulder injury which allowed him to cash in disability checks.

“What about her parents?” Yelena asked. “Jason must have known them. There was no way them meeting was a coincidence,” she had a good point. Tony put up two holograms of your parents. You rarely spoke about them. Maybe it hurt to much to think about them. Your parents were Daniel and Harper. In 2018, two months after Thanos exterminated half of all living things. Harper was diagnosed with cancer. It seemed so unfair how much pain your family was subjected to in a short amount of time. Your mother was a house keeper while your father worked in construction. They were living pay check to paycheck since Harper was out of work while she received treatment from a Dr. Joshua Harris. Unfortunately, Harper’s treatment wasn’t successful. She passed away. Your father took his own life two months after his wife passed. In three years, you would return and your parents were gone.

“We are missing something,” Natasha stood up suddenly. “If they were being blackmailed or were involved in something there wouldn’t be a paper trail.”

“Nat is right,” Sam said. “Yelena, Kate go talk to Harper‘s doctor maybe he can tell us something.” The duo stood up to leave the room, Yelena squeezed Natasha’s shoulder before they left. “Peter, Maria, and Bucky will try to find an angel on ().” A plan was made. It wasn’t a lot but it was something. Natasha and Wanda left to go find Billy. He was laying on the couch, watching Morgan play with her dolls.

“Hey,” Wanda said, sitting down next to him. “Have you eaten anything?” He shook his head.

“Why don’t I make some mac and cheese?” Natasha suggested. Billy brightened up slightly.

“And a hot dog,” The Black Widow smiled.

“Anything for you, bud,” she walked into the kitchen.

“How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?” Helen gave all three of them a clean bill of health besides the normal ache and pains. Bill frowned, moving to rest his head on her lap. “Talk to me, dorogoy (sweetheart). Please.” She ran her fingers through his hair.

“I can’t feel them, mam,” he whispered. “I keep trying but I don’t know where they are. I-,” his voice cracked. “That’s what hurts mama. I want them home.” Wanda saw the signs of Billy’s powers getting out of control. They were similar in that sense when their emotions got overwhelming their powers were unpredictable. It was a work in process to help him contain it. The witch forced Billy to sit up and moved him so he sat on her lap, his chest against hers.

“Breath, Billy. I need you to breath.”

“I can’t,” he gasped and his hands twisted in the fabric of Wanda’s shirt.

“Yes, you can,” Wanda kept her voice soft. She watched Natasha walk over with the plate of food. She almost dropped it at the state of Billy was in. “Your mom and I got you,” Wanda held out her hand for Natasha to grab. She put the food down and took her hand. Gently, Wanda placed Natasha’s hand on their son’s back and traced soothing circles. “Just focus on us.” Wanda began to hum, a simple lullaby she would sign to them when they were babies. It seemed to work. She felt Billy slump against her and his breathing calmed down.

“You are doing so good, bud.” Natasha said, locking eyes with Wanda. If there was one thing Wanda loved about Natasha it was her eyes. They were so expressive. Even when her face was so stoic, her eyes gave away so much.

“It’s okay,” Wanda smiled. “Everything is going to be okay.” She said it for all three of them. Everything was going to be okay.

*

When the door opened again, you and Tommy were playing Concentration. It was the same man from before. He walked over to you, twirling a key in his hand. He grabbed onto your hands and unlocked the cuffs. “Come with me,” you rubbed at your wrists. “Both of you.” You stood up and the two men grabbed Tommy. “You can call me, Dmitri, okay?” He put his arm around your shoulder as the two men walked out of the room. “We had a mutual friend. Do you know who?” Outside the room, you call tell you were in an abounded hospital. Empty beds with rusted frames sat against the peeling walls, the mattresses long gone or decayed. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and decay. The doors that weren’t locked shut were hanging off the hinges. Your small group weren’t the only ones in the hallway but the ignored you, focused on their task of cleaning.

At the nurse station, the desk was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the files lie scattered and forgotten. Some of the signs still hung on the wall but were faded, their messages no longer conveyed a feeling of hope.

“Jason,” you finally replied.

“Oh she is smart,” he teased. “He was a good man, more loyal to his cock then the cause,” he squeezed your shoulder and the soup you ate turned in your stomach. They brought you into a room. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the hospital. The room was well kept with multiple screens and a generator in the corner. There were weapons scattered against the tables set up. It was eerily silent besides a man typing away at the computer. Your brother was forced into a chair and metal restraints were put on his legs and arms. “Are you ready for your mission, malen’kaya ten’?” You glanced at Tommy.

“I am,” you whispered. Dmitri handed you a tactical suit, similar to the one you’ve seen Natasha ware.

“Change into this,” you took it from him and hesitated. “Change now.” Your hands shook as you took off the clothes you decided to wear on the trip home from the Bartons, simple tracksuit that Kate bought for you. You weren’t blind to the way Dmitri’s eyes racked up and down your body. His footsteps moved behind you and he grabbed the zipper and zipped it up. His hands landed on your shoulders. “Good girl,” Dmitri whispered the name as if it was a secret for only you and him. The name caused your stomach to turn. “This is for you,” it was a com and you put it in your ear. “You and I are going for a little ride and you will listen to every word I say,” he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at Tommy. The sudden movement caused you to stumble into him and his free arm wrapped around your waist, trapping you from moving. “If you don’t your baby brother’s brains will be splattered all over that wall.”

“I understand,” you said. “Can I give him a hug?” He thought about it.

“Make it quick. I’m not a monster,” You walked over to Tommy and hugged him tight.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” you whispered.

“Same to you,” you kissed the top of his head and walked over to the man. He said he wasn’t a monster but that was up for some debate. Delete Created with Sketch.

“Where are we going?” You asked. He blindfolded you the minute he lead you out of the building. Being in the backseat of a car was nauseating as you tried to make sense of the turns but it was impossible.

“We are almost there,” your leg began to shake but you felt his hand on your thigh. Automatically your body tensed up. “It’s okay, malen’kaya ten’, I won’t hurt you.”

“You see why I find it hard to believe,” you said. “I thought Jason wasn’t going to hurt me and we both know how that ended.” He removed his hand and your body relaxed.

“We’re here,” the car stopped and blindfold was removed from your eyes. The sun caused you to wince and it took a minute for your eyes to adjust to the harsh light. “We are at the office of Dr. Harris,” you didn’t recognize the name. “You are going to sneak into his office and place this listening device somewhere he won’t find it,” you took the device from him. “Then you will use this on his computer and it will copy all of the files, it will take 15 seconds.”

“How do you expect me to sneak in with this stupid collar on?” You asked. He pulled out a key and took it off. A weight that was on your chest was lifted off. He put a small camera on your chest.

“Remember what I have,” you sighed.

“I do,” you fazed through the car. You kept your powers on as you walked over to the office and walked through the door. You stood in a small entry way with a door in front of you and on your right. A metal sign displayed each specialties the office offered. Dr. Harris’ office was through the door in front of you and he was a medical oncologist. You frowned, ignored the tight knot that formed in your stomach, and moved onto the next door.

It was a simple waiting room, there was a few patients in the chairs. the receptionist was speaking with a young woman through the glass that separated them. The patient had a beanie that covered her head. It was no use to stay and listen to the conversation that was happening so you moved past the nurse that opened the door to call the next patient.

Lucky, there was signs that pointed you in the right direction. However, your feet stopped when you passed a large open area. There was a nurse station on one wall and spread across the room were chairs; some empty. But the people that were in those chairs were attached to IVs. Curiously, you walked towards the nurse station and read the pamphlets they had out. 20 different recipes to eat try during Chemotherapy. What is radiation? How to overcome it? You were in a cancer center.

‘Ah,’ Dmitri said. ‘I forgot you weren’t around to see your mommy sub come to the horrible disease,’ When you were younger, your parents saved enough money to take you to Cooney Island. All the kids at school talked about riding a roller coaster and how cool it was. So you were anxious to go on it. You were nervous and your parents kept saying you did not have to go on it. That no matter what you were their brave girl. You went on it and hated every second of it. The way your stomach dropped at each turn made you sick. You were experiencing that same feeling now. ‘Continue, my little shadow,’ he said. ‘His office is down the hall.’ You nodded and walked that way. The sooner you were done, the faster you could be back with Tommy, safe in the 4 wall cell. Safe wasn’t the correct word you would use but it was better than be separated. You fazed through the doctor’s door. He was sitting at his desk, typing away at his computer. Bookshelf’s were behind him, decorated with pictures of different families. ‘You are gonna have to get him to leave.’ You rolled your eyes. Easier said then done, you thought, how the hell were you going to do that?

As if someone heard your prayer a knock came to the doctor’s door. “Come in,” you moved to the corner as the door opened and the receptionist you saw enter.

“Two Avengers are here to speak with your,” you froze and stomach flipped. Avengers. Two Avengers were here. Your family. ‘Don’t,’ the man hissed in your ear. ‘Don’t forget what I have.’ Oh you didn’t but maybe you could get their attention.

“Of course, please send them right in,” the doctor stood up and straightened the white coat he was wearing. The door opened wider as Kate and Yelena walked in.

“Dr. Harris,” Kate said, extending her hand for the doctor to take. “Kate Bishop and this is Yelena Belova. Thank you for meeting us.” The doctor shook her hand. He went to shake Yelena’s but the blonde refused and sat down in the chair.

“Of course. Anything I can do to help the Avengers,” he sat down and kept his eyes mostly on Kate. You could tell he was intimidate by the Black Widow. You had to stop yourself from laughing. You moved to the window ledge and leaned against it. “What is this about?”

“A former patient of yours,” Kate said. “Does the name Harper Myers ring a bell?” That was your mom’s name. Your stomach dropped. It had been a long time since you’ve heard someone say it.

“The Myers,” he spun around in his chair to look at his wall of pictures. He stood up to grab a frame and looked it over before handing it over to Kate with a sad smile. “They were lovely people,” you walked over to the couple as Kate handed the photo to Yelena. “They had a daughter that I never got to meet her.” You looked at the picture over Yelena’s shoulder. It was a picture of your mom, dad, and you as a baby. They took you o a local mall to see Santa Claus. You were crying, not very happy that a stranger was holding you. Yelena handed the photo back to the doctor but turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes bore into yours and you held your breath.

“Can you tell us about the Myers?” Kate asked. Yelena turned around slowly. You let out a shaky breath and walked back to the widows. ‘You are toeing a dangerous line,’ Dmitri hissed in your ear.

“The Myers were hardworking people. Harper was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer in 2018. It was a miracle she survived as long as she did.” You clenched your jaw and crossed your arms, hugging yourself for some sort of comfort.

“Did you notice any abnormal behavior?” Kate asked. “Besides the obvious going through a cancer diagnosis.” The doctor leaned forward, resting his hands on his chin.

“I take patient confidentiality very seriously,” he said. “Even after death, they are entitled to the same level of respect. So I will ask again, what is this about?”

“Their daughter was kidnapped,” it was the first time Yelena has spoken. “We are searching every possible option to find her.” You watched the doctor’s face pale.

“Is this about the money?” The couple glanced at each other.

“What money?” The doctor sighed and pulled open a drawer. It took him a moment to find what he was looking for. Soon he handed the couple a folder.

“They were struggling financially to cover the cost of the treatment,” you stayed still not wanting to alert Yelena again. “Daniel’s job offered insurance but it barely covered the cost of the treatment plan Harper would need. Out billing department told them they then they came to me and refused treatment. I pleaded with them to reconsider, that I would help them find a way to pay for it. But they refused,” he sighed. Kate placed the file back on his desk.

“But they got the money?” She questioned. The doctor nodded.

“They came back two days later and said they liked to continue with the treatment. I believe Daniel said they got the money from his sister who passed away.” You frowned. Your dad was an only child.

“Did not find that suspicious?” The blonde asked.

“Of course I did but my job is try to save patients lives. I find the monetary part of my job pointless. If I could give treatment to everyone free of charge then I would.”

“Thank you for your time doctor,” Kate said. “Can you show us to your billing department?” Dr. Harris stood up without a word and walked to the door. The couple followed him but Yelena hesitated and looked towards you. “Sweetheart,” the archer said. “Are you okay?” Yelena nodded.

“Yeah,” she said. “Just,” you know I’m here, you thought, I’m here. I’m here. “It’s nothing.” The Black Widow grabbed her hand. Once they left, Dr. Harris closed the door.

‘Hurry up,’ Dmitri said. You walked over his desk and placed the flash drive into the tower. You watched as a loading boar appeared on the screen and began to count up.

“What are you doing?” You asked. The man laughed.

‘We found you through the lovely doctor,’ he said. ‘Can you imagine who else we can have? Especially when hundreds of families are as desperate as yours were.’ The bar was full and you pulled the flash drive out. ‘You did well,’ he said as you walked through the doctor’s door. ‘I’m impressed with your level of submission,’ he chuckled. ‘I thought you’d fight more.’

You wanted to fight. You wanted to kick and scream and go home but how could you. You were tied down to Dmitri as he held your brother over your head. You moved through the front door but stopped.

“We could follow the money,” Kate said. “Have FRIDAY trace the account.” The Black Widow nodded. “Hey, what’s wrong? You’ve been off.” Yelena sighed.

“We are no closer to finding her,” she admitted. “I’m worried.” Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. There was a part of you that feared they would hear it.

‘Move,’ he ordered but you couldn’t. ‘I will kill him.’ He would. You knew he could but your feet felt glued to the spot. ‘One more chance or your brother’s brains will be all over the wall.’

“We will bring her home,” Kate smiled. “Then we’ll never let her go.” They made the choice for you as the couple walked over to where their car was parked. You sighed, finally walking over to the van. The door opened and you materialized as he grabbed you and pulled in. He pinned you to the opposite door, hand loosely around your neck. You felt his breath on your face. “Do you need to be taught a lesson?” The pressure of his hand tightened on your throat. It was getting harder to get air through your lungs.

“No,” you whispered. “No, sir. It won’t happen again.” You were transported back to whenever Jason was upset with you. You took the flash drive out of your pocket. “I did what you wanted,” you reminded him. His eyes flickered to yours and the flash drive. The pressure let up and you sucked in air. He tightened the collar back around your neck and took the flash drive from you. Before he pulled away from you, he kissed your cheek and whispered, “Good girl,” in your ear.

You felt sick, bile creeping up your throat as the car began to drive. It didn’t take long until you were blindfolded again and your leg started to shake.

*

“That’s all we get out of him,” Kate said, ending their debrief on what they found out about the doctor. It wasn’t a lot but Natasha was certain they found you and your family through the doctor. Sam must have agreed as the direction of the conversation shifted to find the link. But the Black Widow wasn’t listening even though it was important. Her attention was on her sister, who was abnormally quiet. She let Kate do a majority of the talking, adding a comment here or there. Now she was quiet, resting her hand on her chin. When the meeting was over, Yelena left quickly. “Hey,” Natasha called out to her. “What’s going on?” Yelena slowed down, allowing her to catch up.

“Something didn’t feel right while we were there,” Yelena said, glancing at her sister. “It was like,” she paused and Natasha allowed her the time to process her thoughts. “Like we were being watched.”

“Were they there?” Did the people who had you and Tommy know they would check there? Yelena sighed, shrugging her shoulders.

“Maybe I don’t know,” With your and Tommy’s enhancements, you were a deadly combination. “It doesn’t hurt to scrub through security footage to find out.”

*

You heard your name being called out and your eyes fluttered open. Dmitri was back. For the first time, he was alone. His guard dogs weren’t insight. “How did you sleep?” He asked, handing you and Tommy a bowl of the same food you ate earlier.

“Well considering the circumstances,” you said, taking a bite. It tasted better than before. “What do we owe the pleasure?” He sat down in front of you, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees.

“Your sister is pretty incredible,” he said to Tommy. Your brother leaned into your side. “She’s very protective over you, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Tommy whispered. The man smiled.

“What do you want?” You asked again.

“All will be explained but first eat,” you and Tommy both did as he asked and when your bowls were empty, you placed them down and he offered you his hand. Hesitantly, you took it and he pulled you to your feet. Unlike before he put his arm around Tommy and the 3 of you walked down the hallway. His hand was on your waist, a possessive grip that you couldn’t break away. When you entered the room before, his guard dogs were next to the chair. You changed into the suit, put the com in your ear, and hugged Tommy tight.

This time when you were brought to the car, there was no blind fold. Did he see your submissiveness as loyalty? You weren’t sure but the grip he had on you moved to your thigh instead of your hip. It was night but you couldn’t track the turns and stops with his hand on you. “Where are we going?” You finally asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough. Just relax,” he put his arm around your shoulder and pulled you into him. “Why are you so tense?” He asked. “Is this not okay?”

“It’s fine,” you tried to relax but your skin felt like it was burning. You let out a shaky breath and placed your arm on his thigh.

“You and I are going to do amazing things,” he said and tried to fight the shiver that ran down your spine.

“I don’t even know what your goal is,” he chuckled, resting his head on top of yours.

“Perform well tonight and I’ll tell you everything.”

The van stopped a block away from a warehouse. “There are 4 guards,” he showed you a security footage of instead the warehouse on a tablet. “I need you to go inside, disable and erase the security footage, kill the guards, and open the doors for our team.”

“Kill,” you whispered. The other things you could muddle through. But killing innocent people, you weren’t sure if you could do that. He handed you a pistol with a silencer. “I don’t kill people.” Each word you spoke shook with your nerves.

“You killed Jason,” that was true but that was out of self-defense. If you didn’t kill him, he was going to kill you. “It’s rather simple,” he maneuvered your hand to attach the gun to your hip. “But the gun to their heads,” he used his finger to lift your head. Your eyes locked onto his. “And blow their brains out. Simple.” There was nothing simple about it. “Are you ready?” You weren’t. All the color drained from your face. Could he hear how fast your heart was beating? “I asked if you were ready, my little shadow.” His face was in the crock of your neck. You felt the vibration of his words against your skin, causing your hairs to stand up. You weren’t ready. But if you failed or disobeyed what would happen? Would they go after Billy? Or maybe Nathaniel? Lila? Or Cooper? You couldn’t risk the safety of your family. His lips grazed your pulse. You nodded, licking your lips.

“I’m ready.”

*

“It’s the same van,” Natasha said to the Avengers with screenshots of traffic footage behind her. It took her, Yelena, and Kate hours to scrub through the footage. At first they found nothing but soon they noticed a black van, always changing license plates and they could never see the driver. They were good which worried Natasha. They weren’t amateur kidnappers. They were professionals but they made a mistake, well 2 mistakes. “The color of the van looks black but it isn’t. The color is sable and only 2 car shops in the city carry that color.”

“We pulled the records of those names and almost reached a dead end but Yelena found our connection,” the blonde smiled and changed the screen to a single white patch.

“What is that?” Maria asked.

“It’s a nicotine patch to help people quit smoking. A majority of them can be bought over the counter but others require a prescription,” Yelena explained. “We cross listed the list from the detail shops with those who have a prescription and he found,” the screen changed again to a man. “A Lucas Bennett.”

“Mr. Bennett has a history of gambling and drinking away his money but he also visited Dr. Harris.”

“Where is he now?” Sam questioned.

“FRIDAY is already pulling up current employers and addresses. It’s just a waiting game,” Natasha said, looking at Wanda. Her hand rested on her chin. “We find him he will lead us to Tommy and Y/n.” She said it convince Wanda and herself. They were so close to finding her other kids.

“Miss. Romanoff, I’ve located Mr. Bennett.” She looked at Sam.

“FRIDAY send us the location,” he said. “Avengers Assemble.”

*

You hated this. Your palms were sweat as you held the pistol. On quiet feet you walked through the warehouse to the first guard. A mantra echoed in your head and you were surprised it was Yelena’s voice- ‘I know exactly who you are. A hero. A protector. A sister.’ At this very moment, you didn’t feel like any of those things. A hero wouldn’t kill innocent men just doing their job. A protector would stand up to Dmitri and find a way to save Tommy. No, you were weak. A spineless fool. You put the barrel of the gun against the guard’s head, closed your eyes, and pulled the trigger. ‘Very good. One down,’ you opened your eyes and stared at the body at your feet. A pool of blood formed around his head. ‘Three more to go.’ You let out a shaky breath and tears formed at the corner of your eyes but you moved on, a job needed to be done.

When you lived with Jason, you were prone to dissociating. It allowed your mind to be protected while he raped you. You found yourself doing it now as if your mind was gone and your body moved on auto pilot. The two guards went down easily, their blood pooled on the floor and splattered on the wall they stood next to. In your ear, Dmitri praised you. Every time he called you ‘his good girl’ the little food in your stomach turn. ‘3 down, one to go.’ he said. ‘Good girl.’

You wanted to rip the com out of your ear, stomp on it. You wanted to go back in time and save those three men you murdered. To go back and stop the car accident but you couldn’t. So with the last guard that stood by the security office, you placed the barrel to the back of his head and pulled the rigger. His body slumped to the ground.

A few weeks ago, you woke up at three in the morning. With your throat dry and you were in desperate need of some water but the water bottle you had was empty. Kicking off the blankets, you braced the cold air of the house and headed to the kitchen. You expected it to be empty so you could fill your water bottle up and quickly go back to sleep. It wasn’t. Natasha was sitting at the kitchen counter and she appeared to be crying? Her sobs were muffled due to her hand being over her mouth but you saw her body shake. You remained frozen, not used to the scene in front of you. The normal level headed Black Widow was sobbing in the kitchen and were lost on what to do.

‘Mom,’ you made your presence known. She was startled, apologized, and asked if she woke you up. Instead of answering, you walked over to her and pulled her into a hug. You felt her body tense up but soon relaxed into you and cried. It could have been hours or maybe minutes but you held onto her tightly. Soon she pulled away and apologized again but you told her it was okay to cry. It was okay to not be strong all the time.

Instead of getting water, hot chocolate was made and you sat with her on the kitchen floor. You talked about everything.- her time in the Red Room, the red on her ledger, and the guilt she felt which lead her to working with SHIELD and the Avengers. Wanda found you and Natasha on the couch fast asleep the following morning.

But the conversation stuck with you and you found yourself thinking about it now while you stared at the body on the ground. There was more on your ledger. After all these years, Natasha was still trying to forgive herself. How long was it going to take you?

‘Hurry along.’ You nodded and fazed through the door to the security office. You plugged in the flash drive and watched the security footage delete, the alarm system turn off, and the metal garage door open. On cue, black vans entered the warehouse and men you didn’t recognize began to open the wooden boxes with crowbars.

“What are they looking for?” You asked, stepping out of the office. They paid no mind to you and continued on their work. You walked over to one of the men. Once the wooden box was open, he pulled out of a brief case. He placed a piece of tape over the finger print scanner and he opened it when it beeped.

“They are here, sir,” the man to Dmitri over his own com.

‘Perfect,’ you heard the smile in his voice. ‘My little shadow you did it!’ He was so proud of you but it filled you with fear. ‘Those pills are psylock. They enhance neural pathways to allow for manipulation,’ each word he spoke, sent a shiver down your spine. ‘Now we don’t also have to take baby brothers has collateral. Everyone will be good obedient soldiers,’ the world around you seem to blur.

“What are you planning?” You questioned. “Why are you building an army?” He scuffed.

‘The world is dirty A filthy, disgusting place so it needs to be rebuilt. You’ve seen the horrors of it. Together we can make it better,’ you had to stop yourself from laughing. This man wanted to make the world better when he was part of the problem. He contributed to the darkness. He was a monster not a savior.

Shooting pulled you out of your thoughts. You gripped the gun in your hand tighter as gun shots bounced off the walls. ‘Run back to me,’ Dmitri said but your feet remained frozen to the ground. You heard them. The voices of the Avengers. ‘Now!’ Still your hesitated when you locked eyes with familiar green ones.

“Mom,” you whispered. They found you. The relief was evident on her face but her eyes asked a question - where is your brother? You smiled, dropped the gun, and ran back to your capture. Ignoring the shouts of your name.

*

Natasha was losing her patience as she grabbed Lucas by the shoulder and throw him into an office chair. He was supporting a gun shot and she knew that wasn’t the only injury he was going to have tonight. “Let’s be honest with one another, okay?” She smiled, feeling her wife’s eyes on her back. The other Avengers were dealing with the other goons. Sam allowed Natasha, Yelena, and Wanda 10 minutes alone with him. “I really want to kill you but I can’t because you have something I need. So answer my one simple question. Where are my kids?” He laughed.

“Go to hell,” the Black Widow’s smile didn’t falter.

“Mr. Bennett,” she dug her finger into the gun shot and he let out a muffled scream, biting down on his lip. “I’m the easy way,” she moved behind him and forced his head to look at Wanda. “Do you see that beautiful woman over there? I get the pleasure to call her my wife and you do want her to find the answers by force.”

“I’m not scared of her,” he spat out.

“I would be,” Yelena mumbled.

“Moya lyubov’ (My love),” Natasha looked at the witch. “Let me talk to him.” She let go of his face and walked over to Wanda. With the hand not covered in his blood, the Black Widow put her hand on the back of Wanda’s neck.

“Find only them, little witch,” she whispered.

“I wont kill him,” her lips twitched and each words was laced with her deep accent. “He will wish for death.” Natasha gently kissed her forehead and let her go.

“I told you,” Yelena said as Wanda’s fingers glowed red. Natasha smirked as her fingers touched his head and he began to scream.

*

“How did they find you?” He asked with his hand tightly wrapped in your hair as he dragged you into a room you’ve never been in. Hew threw you onto the bed and you scrambled to sit up.

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. The man paced in front of you. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me.” H wasn’t acknowledging you to lost in his thoughts. “Please,” you whispered. “Please don’t hurt him.” That stopped him and he faced you. You climbed to the opposite side of the bed, until your back hit the wall. You hated the look in his head. It was a look you’ve seen before. In Jason’s eyes. In every male that looked at you as if you were a toy, a piece of meat for them to taste.

“Strip for me,” he said, removing his tip and setting a pistol on the bed side table.

“I’m sorry?” You questioned even though you fully understood what he said. He chuckled.

“I am getting tired of having to repeat myself,” he rolled up the sleeves to his elbows. “I said strip.”

*

“We found Tommy,” Yelena said through Natasha’s com as they ran through the hallway of the abandoned hospital. “He’s safe minus a bruise on his face.”

“Copy that,” Wanda answered. “We are still searching for Y/n.” They came to a intersection. “I’ll go left and you go right.” Natasha hated the idea of splitting up but they needed to cover more ground.

“Okay,” she squeezed Wanda’s hand. “Be safe and let’s bring our girl home.” The witch squeezed her hand back and took off. The Black Widow let out a shaky breath and ran right. As she ran through the empty corridors, her mind kept turning into a darker place. The emptiness and coldness of it all reminded her of the Red Room. Endless hours she was shuffled through those halls; going to training or the ballet bar or back to her room. Now two of her children have been subjected to the same darkness. The sound of gun shots sent her heart in a panic and pulled her out of her thoughts. Another shot. Followed by another. She swung open the door with her gun drawn but her form faltered when she saw you; wearing only underwear, blood splattered across your face, and a gun in your hand. You pointed the gun at Natasha.

“M-mom,” you whispered. Your eyes were frantic, wide, and scared. Natasha holstered her gun.

“Yeah, it’s me,” she held up your hands when you didn’t lower the gun. “It’s me. It’s your mom.” Delete Created with Sketch.

You had to be dreaming, right? There was no way Natasha was standing in front of you. He had to have drugged you. “Can you put the gun down for me?” She asked, taking a step closer to you.

“Stop, don’t come any closer,” your hand shook but the Black Widow stopped walking towards you.

“I’ll stay right here but I need you to put that gun down.”

“I can’t,” you whispered. Didn’t she understand. You had to protect yourself from her and the men in his organization. “What if they come back for me?” Natasha shook her head.

“They won’t,” she said. “I’m here and you are safe.”

“Safe?” You questioned with a bitter laugh. “Why does this keep happening to me?” You asked, hitting yourself on the chest with your free hand. “Why do people keep using me? I can’t-” your voice cracked. Your throat began to burn as you tried to keep the tears at bay. “I can feel his hands on me. His breath on my neck. Why does this keep happening?” You pleaded with her to have an answer.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Sometimes the world is a dark and evil place and you’ve been subjected to a lot of it.”

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair.” You readjusted your grip on the gun. “I can’t do this answer.” You put the barrel of the gun to your temple.

“Sweetheart,” Natasha took a few steps forward but you backed away from her. “You have every right to be angry and upset with how the world as treated you but I promise you whatever happens next I will be there. By yourself or at your back. Just please,” her own voice shook. “Put the gun down and we can go home.”

“Home?” You questioned. You heard footsteps rushing towards the open door and you pointed the gun. It was Wanda. “M-mama,” you whispered.

“Hi, my sweet girl.”She smiled.

“I c-can’t go home,” you said. “I killed those guards and stool information from a doctor. I’m - I’m,” your heart was pounding against your ribs. It was hard for you to get air into your lungs. You put the gun back to your temple.

“You did those things to keep yourself and Tommy safe,” Wanda said. Her voice was strong and steady. “We or the others won’t think of you any differently.”

“Tommy,” you said. “Is he safe?” Natasha nodded.

“He is. He’s with Yelena and waiting for you,” this time when your mom stepped forward you didn’t move. “So is Billy and Kate and Morgan. Just please put the gun down and we can go home.” Home? Home was where you were safe and loved by those around you. You could laugh and joke with your brothers. Play board games at the dining room table. Your hand shook as you set the gun down. It was hard to keep yourself standing and before your knees hit the ground, strong arms caught you. You buried your face into Natasha’s neck and sobbed. Your body shook from the intensities of your cries. Your tears wouldn’t stop. You felt Wanda’s magic enter your mind and every thought, memory went away and you welcomed the darkness.

*

When you came too, you were laying in one of the medical rooms at the tower. You were sandwiched between Billy and Tommy. The twins were asleep, their hands twisting in the fabric of your shirt in a tight fist. Wanda and Natasha were in the chairs on either side of you fast asleep. You sighed, looking up at the ceiling. It reminded you of when they found you after Jason’s attack. They sat by your side until you were healed. You were starting to wonder if you being part of this family was doing more harm then good. “You’re thinking to hard, dorogoy (sweetheart).” You looked at the witch, who was rubbing sleep out of her eyes. You offered her your free hand and she took it.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head.

“Do not apologize,” she said. “None of this was your fault.” It was hard to believe that you were here. You held tightly onto her hand, scared that if you dropped it or looked away she would disappear. “Hey,” you forced your eyes away from her hand and looked at her. “You are home. You are safe. This is real,” you nodded. “Say it back.”

“This is real,” you repeated. “I am safe. I am home.” There was a shake in your voice that caused Billy to take up. He slowly looked around, eyes laced with sleep. His eyes locked onto yours.

“Your awake,” he said, sitting up quickly and throwing himself into your arms.

“Easy, Billy,” Wanda said. The force knocked the air out of your lungs. It was heightened by Tommy waking up and joining the hug. They hugged you tight as if they to were afraid you’d disappear. There was an ache in your body but you ignored it. You were home. Safe and home.

Natasha got the twins out of the room with the promise of getting ice cream. It was harder for Billy to leave your side but you gave him a smile and promised to play Mario Kart with him. It was just you and your moms and a part of you wished the twins were still there. You felt small under their gaze as you picked at the threads on the blanket. “Tommy filled us in on somethings that happened,” Natasha said. “Do you want to talk about anything?” You crossed your legs and starred at your hands. There was so much you wanted to say but it hurt.

“It was the group Jason worked for,” you whispered. “They found me through my parents. My parents needed money for my mom’s treatment so as an incentive to pay them back I was the bargaining chip,” you shrugged. “In the end, my mom died and my dad couldn’t pay them back so he committed suicide but a debt still needed to be collected,” you pushed away a few tears. “They needed me to steal information from Dr. Harris and get them into that warehouse to steal those drugs. And Dmitri,” you felt bile rise. You closed your eyes and you felt the couple place their hand on top of yours.

“Was like Jason, Coach Griffo, Principal Cook, and Conner. Men that tried to take something that wasn’t there’s to take,” you reopened your eyes and moved your fingers against their hands. It helped ground you. “He made his advances well known but when you found me at the warehouse he was upset and made his move. I killed him,” you sighed, biting your lip. “Natasha found me right after I did it.” You were not looking forward to the next part of this conversation. The Black Widow said your name and you looked at her. Her green eyes were a little glossy.

“I need to ask you this and I need you to be 100% honest with us, okay?” You nodded. “Are you suicidal?” You looked forward, unable to look at either of them.

“I-” you cleaned your throat. “Sometimes I feel their hands on me and the heat of their breath on my neck. I want it all to stop.”

“You didn’t answer her question,” Wanda said. Her small comment made you smile and chuckle softly.

“Because I don’t have an answer for you,” you answered. “I wish I did but right now I feel so dirty and mind is so dark and I don’t feel safe. I’m -”

“Stop apologizing.” Natasha cut you off. “Nothing has been your fault.” You nodded. “And thank you for being honest with us. So here is what’s going to happen,” you looked at her. “You are going to stay at the tower and be monitored by Helen.” That was fair.

“You are going to start speaking to a therapist,” Wanda added on. “Sam has found a few and you can decide which one you like.” You nodded again. “Sweetheart,” you looked at Wanda. Her green eyes matched her wife’s, glossy with tears. “You really scared us. We weren’t sure what was going to happen.”

“I’m-” you stopped yourself. “Thank you,” you said instead. “Thank you for saving.”

“I meant it,” Natasha said. “In that room, I said no matter where life takes you we will be by your side.” she ran her hand through your hair. “My firefly, you saved yourself. Time and time again, it has been you. We are here to show you how far you’ve come.” You smiled. It was a long and scary journey ahead of healing but you wanted to overcome everything you’ve been through. You weren’t a pawn but a queen and it was time to show the world who you are.

[thefreakandthehair]

steddie | rating: m | wc: 955 | tags: established relationship, use of cake as a metaphor, they're so in love your honor | art credit: @firefly-party

Eddie Munson celebrates two birthdays every year: the day he was actually born, December 19th, and the day he woke up in the hospital, April 8th. Funny enough, the latter is usually a bigger celebration. Family and friends that no longer exist in separate groups come together with all of Eddie’s foods and drinks, small gifts and sometimes, a bigger gift from the collective.

Try as they might, they’ve yet to top the Metallica tickets. 

But today is Eddie’s original birthday. December 19th— the one that’s usually swallowed up by the holidays, the one that really doesn’t mean all that much to him because, well, compared to waking up after saving the world, why would it? The last few celebrations have been tight-knit, mostly just himself, Wayne, and Steve either at Wayne’s trailer or the tiny little apartment Steve and Eddie managed to find for themselves. 

This year, it’s just the two of them with no one to blame but Mother Nature. A blizzard drops nearly three feet of snow over northeastern Indiana and no one is going anywhere, least of all Wayne whose getting up there in years. We'll make up for it later, Eddie assures him when he calls with a stream of apologies. 

How can he complain though? Wayne will make up for it, he’s snowed in with the love of his life, and the apartment smells like his favorite pasta sauce, the one he knows takes Steve hours to simmer. So no, he’s not disappointed. Not in the slightest. 

“Sorry your day got snowed out,” Steve sighs, plopping down onto the couch and draping an arm along the back of the couch, toying with the ends of Eddie’s hair. “I did get you a surprise though.” 

Eddie’s brow furrows, knitting tightly above his nose. There’s been no mail for two days, and their apartment doesn’t exactly lend itself to keeping secrets. “A surprise? What kinda surprise?”

“Well,” Steve smirks, confident in the way that always makes something stir in Eddie’s chest. “It’s not a birthday without a cake.” 

He’s so fucking lost. 

“A cake? We’ve been snowed in since Sunday and I would’ve smelled you baking in here. Also, I would’ve tasted it already, or at least demanded to lick the spoon so— wait, what are you doing?” 

Steve stands up and walks around the back of the couch, just behind Eddie. “Just close your eyes, okay? Or do I need to blindfold you?”

He can hear Steve’s smug grin without even seeing his face and now it’s not just his chest stirring. Eddie shifts I’m his seat. 

“No, no I can just close my eyes. Put a pin in the blindfold idea though.“ 

With his eyes closed, all he can do is imagine what the rustling is behind him, scenarios that will never compare to the sight he sees when Steve gives him the all clear. 

“Okay,” Steve says, his voice now coming from directly in front of Eddie. “Open.”

Very funny, brain, he thinks. My entire life since the demobats has to have been just one long, final burst of dopamine before kicking the bucket because there’s absolutely no way this is fucking real. 

Steve’s standing in front of him, shirtless, in nothing but some of the tightest shorts he’s seen Steve wear since the time he blindly walked into Scoops Ahoy asking for rum raisin and instead, got a fucking show. They’re dark maroon in hue with the word Cake printed in white script across the entirety of Steve’s ass. Moles litter his skin from the base of his neck down the flesh of his thighs, and the small indentation in his lower back is highlighted by the low waistband. Barely noticeable cuts in the sides expose what looks like black lace detailing. 

“Holy shit,” Eddie groans, unable to stop himself from reaching out and touching the soft, cotton material. 

“Yeah?” Steve looks over his shoulder with a knowing smile. “You like it?” 

Eddie fingers trace the font and he doesn’t even dare to blink. If it is a coma dream, he doesn’t want to risk waking up. “Do I like it? If I ever say no to that, Steve, take me into a field and off me because I’ve been replaced by the body snatchers.” 

Steve laughs and Eddie pulls him in closer, one hand on Steve’s hip and the other working its way up Steve’s thigh and beneath the fabric.

“Y’know,” Eddie starts, swallowing with a dry mouth around the lump in his throat. “There’s just one little problem with this birthday cake.”

“What?” Steve looks back over his shoulder again, this time confused. 

He gives his right cheek a light tap, just enough to relish in the way the plush flesh moves. “It’s not finished.”

“Oh yeah? What’s it need?” 

“You know I need my cakes frosted. And c’mon,” he leans forward and presses a kiss to Steve’s hairy thigh, just below the hem of the shorts. “Where’s the candle?”

Steve turns with a teasing grimace. “Did you just compare your dick to a candle?”

“Sure did. Is it working?” He smiles with his bottom lip between his teeth as he stands and places both hands in Steve’s hips. 

“I can’t believe it, but yeah, it kinda is.” Steve’s eyes flicker down to Eddie’s lips and back up. 

Eddie can barely get his thoughts in order, placing both hands on either side of Steve’s face and kissing him between words. 

“Best.” He kisses his forehead. “Birthday.” He kisses his nose. “Ever.” He kisses his lips. 

They make their way back to the bedroom and no one can blame him for leaving Steve’s ass littered in purpling hickies and love bites. 

It’s a cake, after all.

art by @firefly-party to celebrate @sidekick-hero's birthday today! here's a little collaboration to honor our favorite Cake Enthusiast! Sandy, we love you and hope you have the absolute best day. go give her some love, everyone!

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Fast Food Snack

My story starts with a close, but I'm hungry...

An intimidating glare from the baggy-eyed manager tells me to back the fuck off, but I have no intention of leaving. I'm starving and this asshole has no idea who he's staring at! After all, how could an old fast-food worker named Darryl know that I just discovered the ability to control dumb little minds like his?

"Open up," I say, licking my lips at the feeling of inserting myself into his head.

Mind control isn't like how it's portrayed in movies. I don't just snap my fingers and bring victims into a vacantly drooling state. No! It's much more invasive than that, and it's much, much more unpleasant for my poor targets. Imagine a sickeningly stiff presence pushing through the back of your skull. It shoves your own ideas and intentions aside, ripping away the control you had over your body. You probably always took that control for granted, but now you can't cause so much as the blinking of an eyelid. Most people spend their time in my thrall screaming internally.

Being sidelined in your own body takes some getting used to, and Darryl isn't enjoying it in the slightest. Nevertheless, I use his hands to unlock the front door and invite myself inside.

"Please, come in," I make his gravelly voice speak, "Can I suck your dick as an apology?"

I feel the man cringe on the inside. He hates hearing and feeling his own mouth make such a vulgar offer, but his stoic face doesn't crack. This idiot is trapped inside his own mind while I get to puppet around his body. I don't even have to tell him what to do.

"Maybe later," I pinch the manager's cheek, "Let's get you deep-fried and seasoned first."

With a vice grip on his brain, I steer the fast-food worker off to do my bidding. Humiliating my playthings is the perfect appetizer...

Darryl spends the next few minutes collecting all the leftover food from the garbage, dumping it all over himself. The manager doesn't stop there, proceeding to lay on the floor and rub all the grease and ketchup into his clothes. That trademark glare stays frozen on his face the entire time he soaks in the day's old fries and ketchup.

"I'm a messy little bitch," he states blandly from the ground, "And an ugly, dumb, low-life."

His words make me chuckle, even though I'm the one making him say it. My metaphorical arm is rammed up his ass like a ventriloquist with a dummy. It's also me that's puppeting his hands to rub the food into the pits of his polo and the crotch of his khakis.

"You really should've just let me inside," I purr with my own mouth, "Now I'm gonna make you act like a messy bitch forever."

Darryl's face remains unbothered, but I feel the real man panic inside. If he had control over his eyes right now, they would be bulging in pure terror. Instead, they gaze passively back at me from the floor.

"Boss? Where'd you go?" a smooth voice interrupts my fun with Darryl.

A tall, dark, and handsome young man walks out from the back kitchen. His thick arms and bushy beard make me salivate. The name tag on his juicy pec reads 'Josh' but there's plenty of other things I'd rather call a stud like him.

"I thought you said we'd leave early if we got everything cleaned up," he grunts quietly.

The handsome fool is too preoccupied with wiping down tables to notice his manager rolling in grease and condiments. Briefly glimpsing in his mind tells me that he wants to finish his shift as quickly as possible, but I won't be letting him off work any time soon.

He jumps when he finally notices me, startled to find a customer still lurking after closing hours. His scowl shortly returns to his face as he pushes out his chest to address me.

"We're closed. You need-" his voice cuts as I commandeer his heavy body and thick neck.

With me in control, Josh's autonomy is squeezed into a corner of his skull, but he still retains all his senses; feeling his muscles relax, licking his salty lips, taking a deep breath of greasy air, and staring at his new master. I make him walk forward until his bulging chest is brushing against my own.

"I can give you a much better show than that dried-up, old, dishrag," I make him say, gesturing to Darryl with his broad hands, "My man-tits are fat and juicy just for you. Let me be your little slut. Fuck me like the breedable piece of meat I am."

Internally, Josh is furious, but his voice doesn't waver as he delivers the words I wrote for him. He's like a Ken doll I'm playing with, only none of it is pretend.

"I think I'd prefer dinner and a show," I giggle, "Why don't we let that dried-up, old, dishrag fuck your ass. He is your boss, after all."

Josh doesn't visibly react to the idea. He doesn't wince or crack the scowl I'd left on his handsome face. He just marches to the back and lays himself out on the dirty floor. Darryl follows, per the instructions I'm pumping into each of his limbs.

"Give it to me hard, boss," Josh says in a low monotone.

"Prepare for a rough ride, muscle-slut." Darryl answers his employee dryly.

Of course, internally, both men are freaking out. It's hard to tell who's more panicked; the manager who's about to dog-fuck his employee, or the roided up gym-rat who's about to take it like a bitch. Darryl wants nothing more than to pull Josh off the floor and run out of the building, but I hold his body firmly in place, making the man unbuckle his stained khakis like he's about to get lucky. Josh is the same, desperately trying to break free and attack, but I've got full control over his bulky body. I make him stick out his tongue and lick the floor like a pathetically horny animal. He still has to taste every inch.

"Papa's ready for ya," Darryl moans, pulling out the cock I easily inflated to full mast.

"Hurry Papa!" Josh squirms as he thumbs his pants below his wiggling bubble butt.

"What the hell?" a nervous voice stutters.

Turning, I find a much less impressive man walking into the kitchen. His name tag reads 'Aaron' and he must've been bullied into cleaning the bathrooms for the last twenty minutes. He's missed a lot, but it doesn't take long for me to catch him up.

"I'm enjoying a meal here!" I bite, mildly annoyed, "Shut up and make yourself useful."

His mind folds instantly to my efforts, and I know exactly how to put him to use. Aaron snaps his mouth, marches around before me, and kneels. Without a single breath of pause, his hands unzip my jeans and pull out my aching penis. He swallows it whole, bobbing his head expertly. Aaron's never done this before, but I've had a few blow jobs and I know exactly how I like it; with a throat wide open and lips at the base.

"Continue," I sigh in pleasure towards Josh and Darryl.

The pair unfreeze, resuming the messed up porno I'm forcing them to star in. The manager leans into Josh's back and enters him from behind. "You're gonna have to take Daddy's dick every time we close. Got it, boy?" he grunts down at his employee. The bearded stud looks up to his boss, and sucks some of the various condiments out of the man's stained shirt. "Yes, sir. I want to end every day like this, here, with you inside me." Darryl continues slapping his groin into Josh's splayed rear, pushing the younger man's face against the cold damp floor.

It isn't long before Aaron's expert dick-sucking leaves me cumming in his stomach. Finally, I'm satiated. "FfuuuuUUUuuuUucck..." I grunt out a long guttural moan of relief.

When my eyes flutter open, I see the mess I've left in this little restaurant...

The three men stop with the act; Aaron pauses, my dick still halfway down his throat; Josh freezes in the middle of writhing with fake pleasure; Darryl even ceases his brutal rape of his employee despite never reaching a climax. None of it matters anymore. My rocks have gotten off, so my little puppet show is over. I'm left with three terrified fast-food workers with broken wills.

"Sorry guys," I pull away and zip up my pants, "I get a little carried away when I'm horny."

"It's, ok," they all answer back nonchalantly, but I can hear their true thoughts screaming, locked away somewhere in their minds.

With a wave of my hand, I wipe the experience from their memories. I turn off their consciousness and set Darryl, Josh, and Aaron on autopilot. Like actors in a bad hypnotism movie, they rise and get back to their nightly chores. This time, their jaws are slack and their eyes are vacant. They'll finish closing down the restaurant and go home, where they'll scrub themselves clean and get a long night of rest. By tomorrow, all of the psychological and physical remnants of what I've done will be gone.

For them, it'll be like I never set foot inside this place. For me, I'll have to pretend that I didn't just become an evil and sadistic super villain. I never did end up eating any food, but I did satisfy some sort of hunger inside me...

...at least for now.

I let my urges get the better of my powers. Being a mind controller is hard. I can barely even control my own mind at times. Wandering away from the isolated, little, restaurant, I wonder how long it'll take before I lose control of myself again...

To be continued?

[freakassfemme]

MWAH wishing u a speedy recovery!!!!! listen u always do my requests sm justice YOU JUST GET IT, i will always crawl back into ur askbox i am patiently waiting while kicking my feet :3

original ask YOU ARE SO SWEET! I appreciate you. here u go, i have brought you a gift <3 unfortunately my only explanation to 'getting it' is that I am always having or striving to have filthy nasty lesbian and queer interactions. or I am writing or reading about it. my sole purpose on this earth is to curate queer experiences. hope that helps <3 btw I wrote this from 6 - 9 am so bare with me wc: 2.9k warnings: metaphorically consuming each other as a form of desire, yeah I know I switched present/past tense its a bad habit of mine but I *don't care* nor do I care about consistent capitalization, I'm crazy for this woman obviously, rough sex, f/f, vagina/breast anatomy, biting, overstimulation, crying, maybe I get a little too poetic about gay sex, proof read by only me one singular time and it was mainly to see if the music fit the vibe, penetration, scissoring, I love pussy, orgasm denial x1 (?), slight size kink and worship but really that's in all my fics

see how it shines [smut] ﾟ+..｡*ﾟ

playlist: it will come back / be / abstract (psychopomp)

(yeah we r bringing hozier into this </3)

eighteen fucking hours. that's how long you'd been clocked in at the medical bay for what seemed to have been maybe the third or fourth time this week, and it was only Thursday.

the truth was, medics and doctors were dropping like flies these days, going AWOL and leaving the remaining staff to work what would need twenty sets of hands with maybe seven or eight. with the seraphites becoming more aggressive everyday, the peace in the stadium and other bases for the WLF had been short-lived, and many understandably weren't holding up well to the pressure, especially with the way the cleanup crews had been hauling back nonstop truckloads of friends and loved ones, and requests to be stationed elsewhere other than the stadium and two were immediately denied at this point.

so yeah, you were pretty fucking tired. at this point in the staffing shortage, they were having to send the folks on watch on additional rounds just to bring food to medics, on duty or at home, because they were simply too exhausted to go down to dining.

no one even acknowledged you as your blood and mud-ridden boots skidded across the concrete floors, your eyes practically closed even as you walked through crowds to get back to your dorm. the soldiers, civilians and staff alike parted like water around you, making an avoidant path and trying not too hard to look at you or the posters on the wall, outright begging people to sign up for medical classes.

you kicked the food delivery box inside of your dorm as you unlocked it, hands fumbling with your forehead pressed against the cold metal. inside, you quickly stripped out of your uniform top and boots, and crashed out on the couch.

abby herself was exhausted when she trudged into your shared living space hours after you, having just come off of a 48 hour rotation. her eyes wandered over the little trail of belongings leading to you on the couch, the boots left a few steps after the other, your button up discarded over the railing and the abandoned delivery box just a few feet from the door, which she didn't notice until she nearly slipped over it, causing a loud thump that had her wincing.

her eyes flicked to you, where she could only see the back of your head, and when she decided you weren't going to stir, she let out a sigh of relief and began stripping herself of her own uniform.

on her way over to the bathroom, she stopped next to you, taking in your splayed out form. your hair was a fucking mess, and you still had drops of (hopefully) someone else's blood across your forearms, one thrown against the back of the couch and the other hanging over the side. your pants were halfway undone, like you had tried an attempt that you decided wasn't worth the energy, and you looked pale as a ghost.

as much as abby wanted to let you sleep, wanted to let you get the rest you needed, she couldn't leave you like this. it'd been at least three days since she last saw you for more than a fleeting lunch break, and she couldn't find it in her to take care of herself and not you, especially when you had been eating away at yourself providing the undying care to strangers who wouldn't want to return it even in several lifetimes.

she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before she nodded, crouching down and grunting from the soreness of her own body as she scooped you up.

when you groaned and gave a small shove back, she hushed you, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"c'mon, sweet girl, it's just me. i got you."

you hadn't put up much of a fight when abby propped you up on the sink. you leaned the back of your head against the mirror as she shimmied your pants and socks off of you, stripping your shirt and undergarments next until your cold skin was left against the glass and stainless steel, and you began to shudder. abby was quick about turning up the hot water in the shower though, allowing the steam fill the room before she helped you to your feet, letting you lean against her and whisper weak protests as you climbed into the hot shower.

instantly, you relaxed against her, and she ran her fingers through your hair, fully saturating the dirty strands as you sighed, wrapping your arms around her firm waist to steady yourself.

you stayed like that for a while, pressed against your girlfriend's tone form as you slowly collected your own strength, letting her gentle hands and soft voice lull you back from your weak state until you could help her wash you both up, even if it took a bit longer than usual.

"lean your head forward f'me, angel," abby murmured, one of her large palms warming up your spine with gentle caresses as she held a half-formed braid of your hair in the other. you obeyed quietly, letting abby tie back your now managed hair into something similar to how she usually kept hers, though she left her own loose.

when she was done, abby shifted closer behind you in the bed, her arms slipping underneath your borrowed shirt to hold you against her. she buried her face into your neck, letting you curl into her until you were turned on your side and entirely wrapped in her strong arms.

her nose nudged yours, and your eyes weakly fluttered open to meet abby's soft gaze, her seafoam eyes almost hauntingly bright against the cool illumination of the moonlit windows. it spooked you a bit, in all honesty, to have her this close to you again after so many days, days where you had considered the other possibilities in which she may come back to you.

you weren't any less unnerving to her -- she could tell you hadn't been eating nearly enough since she had been gone, and in just a few short days you already looked withered enough to drop like a limp daisy. your skin was ghostly, its usual warmth dampened from a lack of sunlight.

still, she was your girl, and you were hers, even in your worn states. and god, she had missed you.

abby's pine soap filled your nose as she pressed her lips into yours, the warm skin hesitant under your cool, cracked ones, and you accepted her gratefully, even if just for a moment it was as useless as whiskey on a winter night.

but then, of course, like any decent drink, the buzz hits.

and even though your limbs are screaming against you as you do so, your fingers curl into abby's loose hair, and you turn your head just a bit more. when you kiss back, abby's shyness, her gentleness quickly melts away, replenished by a hunger matching your own as you desperately search for more of her, pulling her against you like you hoped to swallow her whole.

your teeth crashed against her soft skin, tugging at her lip and making a slot for your tongue to force its way into her mouth. instantly, she shuddered, groaning into you in a way that you could feel the vibrations in her chest. it was like an open invitation, a warm meal laid out just for you, and you accepted it greedily.

you pulled abby on top of you by her hair, whining back when she moaned against your lips again. her own hand snaked up your body, squeezing at your thighs and hips as she fell on top of you, then pushing your oversized shirt over your chest, exposing your chest and making a clear pathway for herself. still, as starving as she was, she tried to take her time with you, wrapping her fingers around your jaw to hold you in place, and only stiffening up when you parted your legs, wrapping them around her and shoving your bare cunt against her firm stomach.

"wait," she whispered against your lips, "wait f'me, baby. let me have some."

you whine and protest as abby's strong arm holds you down by your throat, her other coming down to pin your fighting, impatient wrists to your stomach.

"baby, baby please," you're crying between broken moans as her tongue runs up your neck, stopping just so you can feel her heavy breathing against the shell of your ear when she slowly begins to work her hips against yours, the fabric of her boxers smearing your arousal across her thighs.

"fuck, baby I know," she groans, and if it wasn't for the way she gritted her teeth, you'd think she was annoyed rather than desperately holding herself together.

"abby, I --"

abby's hand on your jaw slips up some so she can shove two of her fingers in your mouth, and she lets out a stupid, desperate moan when she feels you choke around them for a second. then your eyes roll back just when she looks up, checking on her little angel, and she can't help but grunt louder, slamming her hips into your core in a way that makes you keen and your back arch, your smaller fists squeezing underneath her grip.

"god, shut up," she's practically begging as her hips rut into you. "please just, fuck, be quiet for a second, shit -"

she buries her face in your neck again, trying to satiate herself and regain some of her sanity, but your legs are now locked around her, pulling her against you in a way that has her clit brushing deliciously against the seam of her boxers. her head spins every time, and she lets out broken whines as she feels herself already tipping dangerously towards that edge as your body fights to consume her.

and god, it's torture for her, but for you, you just can't get enough. your fucking beast of a girlfriend trying so futilely to hold it together from just this stupid game of dry humping, when you're so, so willing to give her so much more.

let me have you, let me have you, you're chanting in your mind, your ankles pushing at the hem of abby's boxers.

you swallow around her fingers, and that seems to do it for her, granting you some edge as her other hand releases your wrists and flies to the side to hold herself up as her back arches against you with a loud groan.

your hands rush on to her back, your nails finding purchase just below her shoulder blades and ripping down the muscle until her fingers tear from your throat to slam against the bed and she stifles a cry by biting down on the base of your neck so hard that for a moment, you're worried she might draw blood.

"fuck," you rasp out against the pressure.

abby's shaking in your arms, moaning between the prettiest sobs as she gives in. she's pliant when your hands slip down to grab at her ass, and she lifts her hips to help you slip her boxers off, kicking them behind her.

she leans back, her blonde hair dripping onto your exposed tits. the cold water makes you shudder, and you let abby shove her bare cunt between your legs and slotting one thigh over you.

your lips fall in a open-mouthed gasp and she swears as her entrance rocks against your throbbing clit, one of her hands coming down to steady your hips and the other to hold her shirt up over her stomach so she can see the way you're making a mess of her thighs.

she stays there for a minute, brutalizing your bundle of nerves for her own pleasure. your head falls against the mattress, and you let out ridiculous whines, your hands fisting and slamming against the sheets below you, even coming up to claw at her strong thighs that kept you pinned so tightly in place.

"fuck, fuck, 's too much," you're choking out, and now it's your turn for the waterworks while abby only chuckles, laughing breathlessly as she presses down harder.

"no, no baby," she coos between her own moans, running her tongue over her teeth as she shudders. She slips her hips down some until you're fully rutting against each other again, the sheer wetness making it that much more difficult for your brain to process. "'s not, sweetheart, you can take it. i know you can baby."

you shake your head, and abby rolls her eyes, quickening her pace until your cheeks rouge and your whining grows. your hips twitch beneath her, uncontrollably bucking up to kiss her pussy again and again and again despite your pleas.

"what's wrong?" she purrs, her hand coming from your hips to run itself down from your neck, to your chest, to the back of your thigh. "thought you wanted it, thought you were begging for it, baby."

you whine again, shivering under her touch as she leans down, her mouth capturing the meat of your thigh as she rocks against you. she bites harder with each push and pull, and your tired body can't take it. it's too easy to get worked up for her like this.

"abs, ohmygod, stop, 'm gonna-"

abby's all to keen, knows exactly what you're going to say before you can even finish your sentence.

"shit, fuck, no you're not," abby grunts, ripping away from you in an instant.

your arched back hits the mattress with a full on sob, and you can feel your unsatisfied arousal leaking onto the sheets, the sickness between your thighs and on your stomach, the smell of abby, abby, abbyabbyabby until you jolt back up, letting out a small cry at the sudden impact against your clit.

she does it again and again, slapping your swollen cunt until your body is on the verge of cumming just from this. you're already so pent up, so touch-starved that you'd probably cum just from her biting you again, and she knows it, knows you're both like that right now.

your arms prop you up as one of her hands holds open your parted thighs, and her lips are consuming yours again as she growls with every spasm and whine she pulls from you. she doesn't stop until she really thinks you might burst, when you're starting to lift your hips for more instead of trying to hide away.

"god, you're filthy, baby," she groans against your mouth, and you only nod dumbly, knees shaking as you try to catch your breath. she's kneeling between your legs, ready to worship her sweet slice of heaven, ready to piece you back together.

abby's hand comes down gently this time, just the tip of her middle finger tracing over the mess between your legs until she's prodding it against your entrance so delicately that your brain nearly short-circuits.

she looks back up at you, her chest heaving from some sort of late-onset restraint and with such devotion filling her dilated eyes that you almost can't move, can't breathe. her eyes rake over you, holding every detail for an extra moment to commit it to memory, and when it's clear you're too awestruck by her, too overwhelmed by the sight of her poised in reverence, she speaks for you.

"gonna let me in, pretty girl?" abby asks, the words dripping off of her tongue like a velvety chocolate. you nod stupidly, your head bobbing in a way that's a little too eager, but she doesn't say anything about it.

instead, she hums, licking her lips as she wraps a hand around your head, pulling you so that her nose bumps against yours. abby presses her lips against yours, and one of your hands shakes as it finds its way up to grasp at her bicep. she's much more gentle this time, much more cautious as the tip of her finger begins to delve inside.

you pull away from her lips with a gasp when she intrudes, turning your face to hide it in your shoulder. you can't help but squeeze around the single digit, your knees already trembling.

"uh-uh," she tsks softly, her raspy voice echoing against your ear. she kisses your temple, and her hand slides down some to turn your face back towards her.

"let me see you," she whispers, sucking in a gasp as she pushes her finger farther into you, curving her palm to fit snugly against you.

your eyes flutter up to hers, almost shyly as you feel your ears burn and your eyes threaten to water as she holds your gaze. she nods when you do, curling her finger inside of you as she praises you, the ridges of your walls clinging to her finger so tightly that she's taking small, shallow breaths now.

"that's it," she murmurs, holding your head in place so you have to look at her. "that's my girl."

you let out a small whimper, the embarrassment running straight to your core as she begins to work her finger in and out, guiding it further each time until the base of her thumb glides over your clit. when it does, she groans, and can't help but push her hand harder against you until she's practically shoving you into the mattress and you swear you can feel her in your throat.

stars flutter around the blurry edges of the halo that is her golden hair, and the tears in your eyes begin to slip again between the way she's carving a god damn signature inside of you and how she's holding you so tightly against her.

you open your mouth, trying to speak but hopelessly interrupted by a mixed sob and moan. she chuckles softly, but it's tender and sweet, and she nods, brushing her thumb over your temple.

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

[somegrumpynerd]

I think it would be so funny if Nightmare had been going to Ccino's cafe for years and casually talking about his boys but Ccino thought they were cats the whole time.

Like I'm picturing at the start him describing Killer like "There's an overactive beast in my castle now, he shreds almost everything and gets distressed when I'm out of sight for too long" so obviously Ccino thinks he got a pet or something. He suggests maybe getting another one to keep him company so he won't be so clingy and Nightmare takes the idea on board.

Then the next time he comes in he's got a bone to pick (pun not intended), that he got another one - this one sleeps all day and hates doing work but they hate each other and won't stop fighting. Ccino nods along because he's been there before and kinda motions to some of his shop cats. "Whenever I bring a new one in here, I always introduce them slowly, you need to give everyone a chance to get used to each other y'know? Understand that the new one isn't a threat". Nightmare assumes he's just using the cats as a metaphor and also takes this in as good advice.

He comes in a while later telling Ccino how he got another one, introduced them more carefully like he said, but this one has a strange relationship with food. He goes on saying how he came from a place where there was very little so he understands, but it's hard manage his eating needs and the whole time Ccino is just really surprised Nightmare is taking in all these poorly stray cats.

He comes in to tell him he took in another one ("another one?? Nightmare, is this four now?" "(sigh) Yes") and he was all alone and such a pit of negativity Nightmare couldn't bring himself to leave him. How the others took to him much faster and he seems so much happier just to have a home again.

This has been going on for years and neither of them realise. Nightmare thinks Ccino is the most knowledgeable mortal out there because he always seems to know what his boys need. Ccino thinks Nightmare has a huge soft spot for 4 little cats who sound like the toughest pets in the multiverse.

[bonefall]

do you have any tips for writing a low empathy character who isn't evil? Or how to make an interesting apathetic character who's a thoughtless sort of evil? These are two different chatacters btw-

I tried looking up examples and stuff but uh. It's been a bit fruitless.

Honestly it's not too hard! Having low empathy just means we're bad at automatically "connecting" to the feelings of other people. You can come to understand it's not even a character flaw once you uncouple the idea that Empathy = Kindness. And apathy, well, that one's a bit more complicated imo.

Low Empathy

In English, it's just unfortunately super common to conflate Empathy and Compassion. To have compassion is to be aware of the suffering of another person, and ergo, want to help stop it. To be empathetic is to identify with and understand the feelings of another person. These are different things.

For an example in action; imagine a medic with a patient whose shoulder is dislocated, and xey'll need to pop that arm back in place in order for the patient to feel better.

A medic feeling EMPATHY for that patient is having an emotional response to what xey're seeing. Xey might have a tingly "ghost pain" thinking about the injury, and xey might feel guilty xey're going to put them in more agony, but also joy because this patient is going to feel much better in just a moment.

A medic feeling COMPASSION for that patient is thinking about how the shoulder must be causing a lot of pain, and knows xey have the skill to fix it. Xey know from xeir own experience that pain sucks and so it is a bad thing that needs to go away. It will hurt a little more for a moment, but then there will be immediate relief.

This is imo, why a lot of low empathy people are "bad at" comforting people without going to Autism College where they give you the scripts of Shit Neurotypicals Say. We're not trying to be selfish when we end up making "comfort sessions" about ourselves-- that's what we think empathy is, because we don't have a lot of it to really know what you want.

Like, doesn't it make sense to you? "I don't know what you're feeling. Here's a similar situation I've been though. I must know what you're feeling-- does that make you feel better? That you aren't alone? I think that's what empathy is, am I right?"

A LOT of low empathy people go into medical fields, the funeral industry, and disaster relief. We often really do want to help people so seek these fields out, or when we get there, just end up not getting burnt out like our high-empathy peers!

Apathy

As for the apathetic character, honestly, I'd suggest thinking about your story's themes. Villains are very special to me and I always try to handle them with care. What are you trying to say is bad to not care about in your work? How does their apathy play into the story you're trying to tell?

A Captain Planet villain is completely selfish, and exists only to benefit itself by exploiting nature in some way. Then the Planeteers show up and punch it in the face. Boiled down to its barest, most simple essentials; "We have conflicting goals and so I will stop you."

Personally I find total apathy to be something not especially compelling in villains, for that reason. Like, if you really don't care about anything, why bother with the trouble of going against the protag? Motivation is meant to be MOTIVATING.

(also ngl I'm on the Shadow As A Hero sort of bandwagon where I find it much funnier for the simple apathetic cool edgy guy to be the funniest person on your tennis team)

Dungeon Meshi has TWO characters who struggle with apathy, and are both antagonists at some points in the story, but never villains. Shuro and Mithrun. The theme of Dungeon Meshi is the beauty and complexity of life, the value of living, and how our connections to others changes the people we are. Food is a metaphor for bonding, self-care, and understanding.

For Shuro, he begins the story as someone who's both been encouraged to bottle up his emotions for the sake of other people, as well as to not actually consider the emotions of those lower-born than him. He's from a very different place than the other members of his party, and this causes friction as class, culture, and sophisticated, refined, weapons-grade autism clashes.

When the woman he loves is eaten by a dragon, he doesn't stop to tell her brother and """childhood friend""" what he's planning, as if they both wouldn't run in and get hurt. He owns demi-humans. He doesn't consider his own needs or the needs of his rescue team of loyal vassals. As a result, he's too weak to continue, losing a fistfight with one of the main characters, Laios.

After this, he connects with him for the very first time, and reaches out to him by giving him an important magic item. There's even a MASSIVE moment where he outright tells Laios that his ability to be so open (read: not have to mask his autism) is something he envies, breaking through that veil of apathy he wears.

The story Dungeon Meshi is telling here is that it is important to value the needs of yourself and of others. Shuro's apathy towards his own needs in a bid to prove his love weakened him. In acting like he was above his old teammates, he never spoke to them like people to smooth out his issues. He's never even noticed how much his vassals love and care for him.

(and the incredible irony is not lost on me, that Shuro's name is because Laios mispronounced it and was never corrected... while Shuro never noticed that Izutsumi had the unwanted name "Asebi" forced onto her when she was "taken in" and made his slave.)

See how that comes back to the theme? Shuro doesn't exist to just "be some asshole" or act like a villain. He has a full character arc that contributes to the narrative.

For Mithrun? I won't even spoil it. Go read Dungeon Meshi. Watch elf depression. We love a king with strabismus.

Anyway,

If you ever need good personal resources on any stigmatized mental condition, I've found it's usually productive to go into the #Actually (Thing) tag here on Tumblr. You can find people posting about basically anything. I found a lot of really good resources on NPD that way.

[skipper1331]

Which sister? // Alexia Putellas

a/n: based off this request. Hope you like it:)

"Are you even listening?" Mapi asked her best friend who was watching you with googly eyes.

Alexias heart fluttered at the sight in front of her, you. Her eyes roamed over your figure, mesmerizing every detail, you were stunning. For her, it didn‘t matter If you were all dressed up, in joggers or in the training gear - you were the most beautiful girl in the world. Yet she had to admit, seeing you in the Barça kit made her heart skip a beat, skin tingle.

"Huh?"

"stop drooling and listen to me" the defender told her stern, Alexias hand flying to her mouth to wip it - no drool. "Gosh Ale," Mapi laughed, "that was meant metaphorically" the girl glared at her friend, sighing in defeat. La reinas crush on you was more than obvious to everyone but you. She held the door open for you, braided your hair every time, drove you almost everywhere around, she would even carry you if you were too exhausted to walk on your own.

She got it really bad, you just smiled at her across the pitch on your first day in Barcelona and then she knew it straight away. She didn't know you yet, but she knew it, she knew that she would fall headfirst in love with you.

And she did.

Over time, Alexia and you became great friends, hung out all the time and she even introduced you to her family. Her mother and sister were two of the friendliest people you had ever met, Alba maybe more flirty but still kind though.

Her mother spoke highly of you, about your good manners, your helpful and humorous nature - she liked you. At some point your status changed: you were no longer a friend and teammate of her oldest daughter but her third daughter.

-

Thursday evening - family dinner.

After weeks of Mapi trying to convince Ale to ask you out, they agreed to the deal that the midfielder would at least tell her family. So again weeks later, Alexia finally built the courage, for the first time ever, to say out loud that she was in love with you.

The conversation was floating by while Alexia held back. She was quiet most of the time, occasionally adding a humm or some phrase. She was so lost in her thoughts, thinking about the best way to admit that she like-liked you that it just bubbled out of her.

"I‘m in love with Y/n"

Alba choked on her food, dropping the fork as she stared with an open mouth at her sister, "what?!"

Eli with a big smile on her face, looked at Alexia, she always had a feeling that you were not just a friend to her - not with the way she looked at you, the hearts that arose in her eyes at every mention of your name.

"You can‘t like her!" her sister spat angrily. There was a wrinkle between la reinas brows as they furrowed, "¿por que?"

"Because I like her!"

Alexia was taken back - when did that happen? The Putellas sisters glared at each other, Eli‘s words falling to death ears. "Well then the fight is on. Let‘s see which sister she wants" the younger girl stated as she stood up, leaning on her arms to intimidate her sister. "Fight? She’s not a trophy to fight for!" The midfielder herself now stood up, also leaning on the table. The tension was thick, holes burning in to the head of each other, "as If you haven‘t gone after every trophy" Alba replied, refering to the numerous trophies Alexia had fought for. "Alba, say one more time she‘s a trophy and I‘ll smack you!"

That was the moment Eli disputed, her fist hitting the table, shutting up both of her daughters. "You," Eli looked at Alba before she pointed to the living room "this way". The younger girl grumbled under her breath as she stomped out, the mother turning to her other child "Kitchen"

"No mamá"

Alexia was mad, she didn‘t know If she was mad because her sister liked you too or because she refered to you as a trophy or If she was scared that Alba would win this fight.

In defeat, the midfielder slumped back on her chair, head resting in her hands. She needed a minute.

Calmed down, Ale looked at her mother with the most heart broken eyes yet not saying anything. The girl walked towards the living room, her mum close behind. Alba was sitting on the couch, arms crossed as she glared at the black screen of the tv. "Alba," her sister said in a firm voice, stubbornly she didn't turn around, her gaze fixed on switched off television, Alexia continued anyway, "I won‘t fight you. If you want her, ask her" confused, Alba turned to face the Barça player, why would she give up a fight? She‘d always fight for everything. "Just- just promise me to treat her right, okay?" The only thing Alexia did fight was against her tears in that moment.

She left straight after, not giving one of them the chance to say something.

She wouldn't fight against her sister, not when it involved something so important - you. She would rather have her own heart broken than to see you sad or miss out the chance of happiness with her sister. She loved you and Alba too much for that.

The happiness of her family and you will always be her first priority - no matter what.

-

Alexia avoided you. The sparkle in her eyes was missing - you were missing. When she talked to you, she held her answers short, partner drills she did with someone else and she would even avoid to look at you - her favorite sight.

In your eyes, she was a changed woman. A few days ago, everything was perfectly fine; the two of you joked around, she gave you a lift home but now? it was as If you were strangers.

It wasn't like you to confront her straight away, maybe she just had a bad day or week and needed some distance, some space. You weren't a confrontational person anyways, situations like that just stressed you out and triggered your anxiety.

You gave her the space you thought she wanted while she secretly hoped you would talk to her - the change in her mood and behaviour noticeable for everyone in the team.

In the meantime her sister shot her shot.

Alba

hola

wanna hang out later?

Weird. The younger Putellas had never asked you to hang out before, at least not without Ale.

Not thinking too much about it you agreed, the girl suggesting to met up at the little café, the three of you visited often.

Later that afternoon, you walked to the café which wasn‘t far from your home, wearing casual clothers. Subconsciously, you hoped that Ale would be there too and when you just saw Alba sitting at your regular table, your heart hurt a little. "hi" you greeted with a smile though, the younger girl giving you a longer hug than usually. "How have you been?" she asked, "you look really pretty by the way" she added, what was going on here?

The whole time you felt uncomfortable with the way she flirted with you or would touch your arm and hand. Something seemed to be different compared to the last times.

Each time something flirtatious came you would change the subject - Ale always being the new topic. It annoyed Alba while it made you smile, happy and calm. Alexia was your safe space and happy place.

Alba slowly began to realize that she never stood a chance. It had always been Alexia and you. The way your eyes lit up when you mentioned Alexias name, the way your smile would reach the corner of your eyes - why didn't she realize that much sooner? The connection the two of you had was deeper and more meaningful than anything she had ever seen before. So while Alba only had a crush on you, Ale loved you.

And clearly, you loved her.

Guilt crept though her body as she understood what pain she caused, Alexia not returning their mothers calls, your calls and her own calls.

She understood the pain in the midfielders eyes the day she made her promise to treat you right.

"I think i have some explaining to do, y/n"

-

"Ale! Open the door!" you banged against her front door rapidly and firmly, your hand hurting from the force behind each knock. She was already in her sleeping outfit as she opened the door like she always did when you knocked. You looked out of breath, sweaty and face all red. "Did you just run here?" the Barcelona captain asked as she supported you to the way to the living room, placing you on the couch as she brought you a glass of water. "So?" she asked again, looking at you with the eyes she had when she was speaking to the team as their captain. You could only nod as you drowned the water, about to pass out. From the café to Ales home was a long way but you had to see her. As soon as Alba explained everything, you ran out of the café, leaving the younger Putellas by herself. Thinking back, it was a bad idea and you should‘ve listened to Alba as she offered to drive you.

"Tell me, what do you need?" Alexia said in a soft voice as she took a seat next to you, wiping the hair out of your face, "probably a shower" you replied yawning.

"Let‘s go" the girl lifted you up, carrying you like a child to the bathroom as your legs were wrapped around her waist, your head on her shoulder and her arms under your legs to support you. She placed you on the counter next to the sink, slowly starting to take your hair out of the plait and comb it, "i‘m going to get you some clothes" quickly, she took some random shorts and an oversized out her wardrobe before returning to you. "Here" she laid the clothes down, "take your time, i‘ll be waiting"

Stepping in to the shower, you let the hot water run over your shoulders down to your feet as your body started to relax. Taking your time but still showering rather quickly, you washed your hair and body. The smell of Alexia - her shampoo - filled the room, it smelled like home.

Ale was laying in her bed while she waited for you, many questions running through her mind. Why did you run to her home? Why did you knock on to her door like something happened? What happened?

As she heard the door of her bedroom open she sat up, leaning on her elbows, you looked cute in her clothes.

You had stayed over before many times, always wearing her clothes yet every time it made her heart flutter and cheeks blush. Alexia scooted aside as she patted on the free side of the bed. Join her. Making your way over, you flopped on the mattress, an exhausted sigh leaving your throat as you got more comfortable in Alexias bed. Both of you stared at the ceiling, neither of you saying a word. "Why did you run here? Where did you run from? What happened?" The questions bubbled out of her as she turned to you, your chest rising and falling in a normal pace. "Ran here from the café. I had to see you"

"From the café?!"

You hummed in agreement, "Alba asked me"

Ale‘s whole body tensed as she inhaled sharply. Did Alba ask-asked you? What did you mean? What did she ask you exactly? "You didn‘t tell me you had a fight with her"

it was your turn to face her, your arm supporting your head. She froze with fear. What was happening? "what are you talking about?" she wanted to play clueless but you knew better. You knew her and you knew now what happened at the family dinner, you knew everything. "Keyword: trophy"

"Don‘t" she whispered, laying on her back again, staring at the ceiling. Trophy, you were everything but a trophy to her, she didn‘t want to win you, she wanted you, to be with you. With a quick adjustment of your posture, you were at her side, leaning over her, to look at her. Her eyes were so beautiful. "You know, If I was a trophy-"

"You‘re not!" her voice was loud and clear, your heart melting while you ignored her statement to continue, "you would win me" her eyes grew wide, a shy smile covering her face as her cheeks burnt red, "Ale," your thumb traced along her jawline before your hand rested on her neck, "there was never the question: which sister. It's always been you, Ale, always" relief washed over the spaniards body, it was the confirmation she had to hear so dearly. Her hands cupped your cheeks, thumb caressing your them. "God, you‘re so beautiful" her eyes were full of hearts, her heart racing as her body was on fire, "I‘m so in love with you"

An upside down smile was written over your face as you got all shy under her compliment, confession and intense (yet loving) stare. You closed your eyes, slowly leaning down, her hands not pulling you in any way, it was all you. The midfielder watched every movement, only closing her eyes when she finally felt your lips against her own.

Sweet.

Your lips tasted sweet. She had often imagined the taste of your lips but wow they felt like heaven.

Even when the question arose: which sister? For you there had only ever been one answer, one sister, Alexia. The girl you fell in love with the moment you saw her tripping over her own feet on your first day in Barcelona.

—————————