#How to Dematerialize Shares

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Streamlining Your IEPF-5 Filing: Hassle-Free Service for Investors

Investing in the Indian stock market can be a rewarding endeavor, but it comes with its fair share of complexities, particularly when it comes to regulatory compliance and investor protection. One such crucial aspect of investor protection in India is the filing of IEPF-5, a process aimed at reuniting investors with their unclaimed dividends and shares. In this article, we will explore the importance of IEPF 5 Filing Service, the challenges investors face, and how a hassle-free service can streamline this vital process.

Understanding IEPF-5

IEPF-5, or the Investor Education and Protection Fund Authority (Accounting, Audit, Transfer and Refund) Rules, 2016, is a part of India's regulatory framework designed to safeguard the interests of investors. Under these rules, companies are obligated to transfer unclaimed dividends and shares to the Investor Education and Protection Fund (IEPF). The IEPF 5 Filing is the mechanism by which investors can claim their unclaimed dividends and shares from the IEPF.

The Importance of IEPF-5 Filing

IEPF-5 filings serve a twofold purpose:

Protecting Investor Rights: Unclaimed dividends and shares can result from a variety of factors, such as incorrect bank details, outdated contact information, or simply an oversight by the investor. By facilitating the process of IEPF-5 filings, investors can reclaim what is rightfully theirs, ensuring their financial interests are protected.

Enhancing Corporate Governance: The IEPF framework encourages companies to maintain accurate records of their investors and diligently adhere to regulations. This promotes good corporate governance and transparency.

Challenges Faced by Investors

While the concept of IEPF-5 filings is essential for investor protection, the process can be laden with challenges:

Complexity of the Process: The filing process often involves several steps, including verification of eligibility, documentation, and coordination with the company and the IEPF authority.

Lack of Awareness: Many investors are unaware of the IEPF-5 filing requirement or do not fully understand the process, which can result in unclaimed dividends and shares.

Administrative Hurdles: Addressing administrative issues, such as incorrect bank account details or out-of-date addresses, can be time-consuming and frustrating.

Coordination with Multiple Entities: Investors may need to communicate with the company's registrar, the IEPF authority, and potentially legal counsel, making the process intricate and overwhelming.

The Hassle-Free Service for Investors

Recognizing the challenges that investors face in the IEPF-5 filing process, several specialized services have emerged to streamline and simplify the process:

Expert Guidance: These services offer expert guidance on the eligibility criteria, documentation requirements, and filing procedures, ensuring that investors meet all the necessary criteria for successful IEPF-5 filings.

Documentation Assistance: They assist investors in preparing and organizing the required documents, reducing the administrative burden and the possibility of errors.

Liaison with Authorities: Service providers can act as intermediaries between investors, the company's registrar, and the IEPF authority, ensuring seamless communication and resolution of issues.

Awareness and Education: Hassle-free services also focus on educating investors about their rights and responsibilities under the IEPF framework, increasing awareness and participation.

Know About:-  

How to Dematerialize Shares

Transmission of Shares

How to Claim Unpaid Dividend

Conclusion

IEPF-5 filings are a critical aspect of investor protection in India, ensuring that unclaimed dividends and shares are rightfully returned to their owners. However, the complex and multifaceted nature of the process can deter many investors. Hassle-free services have emerged to simplify the process, offering expert guidance, documentation assistance, and seamless coordination with the relevant authorities. By utilizing these services, investors can navigate the IEPF 5 Filing Requirements process with ease and reclaim their unclaimed assets, thus enhancing both investor protection and corporate governance in India's financial landscape.

How to Dematerialize Shares

[adelheidvonschicksal]

⋆｡°✩ DARLING, DON'T BE AFRAID

Summary: Despite living with Xavier for the past few weeks, you still haven't taken the plunge to see if all this time together make you anything more than roommates especially when he disappears again in the middle of the night. Determined, you decide to question him on where his feelings lie. You just never thought a simple kiss on the cheek was the only push needed.

Pairing: Xavier x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: Roommates AU, Vanilla Smut (A lot of it. Like 7k words of smut), Love Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex

Word Count: 12,000~

Note: Sequel to Do Roommates Sleep Together. This part can be read as a standalone. So not necessary to read part one but it adds more context.

AO3 Link

You make a final decisive pull of the trigger. A loud pang resonates in the air and smoke spirals off the barrel. The Wanderer disappears in a wisp of debris and dust that is quickly caught in the wind.

Xavier stands a few feet in front of you. His sword twirls with one final arc of light illuminating behind the sharpened tip before it dematerializes in his hand.  You’re oblivious to the way his eyes search and find you on instinct as you run eager fingertips on the warm barrel of your pistol. 

“Mission completed. We should report back.”

You raise your head to meet his gaze while your gloved fingers remain faithfully on your weapon. The adrenaline from a successful mission is still surging through you.

“I want to test out my guns some more.”

His eyes soften at your response, but the weight of his gaze is still heavy as he walks towards you and places his hand on your head. 

“There will be more Wanderers tomorrow,” he murmurs. His thumb gently brushes your forehead before his hand swoops back over your hair. Though your hands were still itching for another battle, your mind was weak to the calmness of his tone, like the slow tumble of waves on the shore, as he coaxes your head back to look at him more directly. “Let’s go home.”

This time you do not protest. Even if you did, what could you possibly say? 

Your aggression relaxes along with your shoulders, allowing you to give in to his request with a quick holstering of your twin guns. 

You return to headquarters and give your mission report to Jenna – pausing only to poke fun when she mentions how much Xavier’s reporting time has improved since the two of you became partners – then you start on the way home with the sun kissing at your back.

Laughter fills the air on the streets. Immediately, you feel warm inside. It was only thanks to the work you do every day that citizens could enjoy this peaceful dusk without fear of monsters scrambling to destroy the city like so many years ago. 

It’s rewarding to know you hold some small part in the safety of the city after almost dying in the catastrophe as a child. You breathed it in fully, letting joy fill your lungs as you savor the calm moment. The emotion is only highlighted by the fact that when you look to your side, you can see Xavier there, putting weight to the empty space left in the wake of your family’s death. 

Walking home together in the past was a random occurrence, happening whenever your busy schedules after missions aligned. As freshly cemented roommates, it was almost a given you’d walk home together now. Not just to the apartment complex, but to an actual shared home. 

This path you go along every day has become special in that time. It’s full of promises, the kind you could only wish for on snowy New Year's evenings as you tied red ribbons to the shrine gate and prayed for good things to happen in your life. Not a lot of those wishes came true but Xavier did. 

In that way, you were a fortunate person. 

It was only your guess if he felt the same. You want to ask him. Unlike when you’re fighting Wanderers, you’re not brave when it comes to Xavier - a part of you prefers to leave things between you unsaid. It’s safer that way as you can keep living in a beautiful world of your own illusions. 

Therefore, you’re unable to help yourself. Pinching the sleeve of his uniform, you tug on it gently to gain his attention; Xavier looks at you with glossy glazed eyes. He’s always so sluggish after missions. His steps slow and methodical, like a robot, as he barely manages to straighten his spine and raise his head.

“Chin up, Xavier. We’re almost there.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says. 

You don’t need to hear him say it to understand. You think you’ve become good at reading his body language by now. Donning a sympathetic smile, you shift your hand, aiming for a lower target, and entwine your fingers with his under the guise of leading him faster.

“My next solution is carrying you by the way.”

A smile cracks on his face, impossibly light as his gaze drifts to the hold you have on his hand. “I don’t think you could carry me.”

“You dare doubt me?” Truth be told, he was right. He was tall and muscular and much thicker under that uniform than he looked. He would probably crush you under his weight if you tried to lift him. Despite how improper it was to think, you wouldn’t mind if he wanted to place his weight on top of you in another way. You tick up the corner of your lips into a surprisingly innocent smile opposite of the images in your imagination as you flash your bicep to him. “I’m very strong.”

“I think it would make more sense if I carried you.”

“I can walk.”

“I don’t see why that matters,” he says with a yawn, and you smile.

“Are you sure you won’t drop me?”

“If it’s a choice between falling asleep and dropping you then I’ll definitely stay awake. Otherwise, you might end up carrying me after all,” he says. Xavier always manages to be unfailingly charming. Given the mystery of his past and the way he carries himself, you often question exactly what kind of upbringing he had. You almost ask but your interrogation doesn’t have the chance to plant seeds when he stops in front of you and kneels. 

You thought he was joking when he said he’d carry you home but that doesn’t stop you from wrapping your arms over his broad shoulders and letting him scoop your legs up around his solid waistline. 

His clasp on the back of your thighs makes you shiver. You feel like a touch-starved virgin that the simple strength of his hands over the thickness of your pants incited such a reaction out of you, so you bury your burning face against the back of his neck. 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

Xavier must feel your hair against his neck, and you use the fact he can’t see your face to your advantage as you nod against his nape.

“Just hungry.”

For his part, Xavier doesn’t question your sudden hunger. Instead, he asks what you’re in the mood for and starts to list the restaurants that you pass on the way to the apartment complex.

You lay your cheek against him, watching the many buildings pass you by until you point out one you don’t recognize, flashing with many signs about a grand opening.

“How about that one?” you ask.

Xavier chuckles, continuing on in his steps past the building in question. “It’s not that great.”

“How do you know?”

“I tried them out.”

You squeeze into his shoulders, pushing off of them in a childlike manner and an even more dramatic gasp. “Without me?”

“I was going to bring you something back, but they weren’t very tasty. I like your cooking a lot more.”

You know he can’t see you, but you puff out your cheeks anyway. You wrap your arms tightly around him again, willing your heart not to skip when his back tenses as your chest compresses against him.  

“Are you asking me to cook dinner for you? I’m quite exhausted after all that running around,” you tell him sarcastically. 

He accidentally makes you regret your teasing when he agrees with a compassionate offer, “I’ll cook for you today.”

Hearing the word cook from his mouth makes your stomach sour. If there’s one thing after all these months you learned, it’s that Xavier is a…creative cook to put it gently. Or rather, he has zero cooking ability if it involves electricity. You didn’t mind. The two of you make it work with you doing most of the cooking and him cleaning up after, at your own behest, because if he had his way, he’d be in the kitchen much more often. 

“On second thought, I’ll cook.”

“You still don’t trust me,” he says with a sigh. Guilt tingles through you. However, your continued survival outweighs the guilt that the memory of his puppy eyes can draw out of you. “I’ll handle the cold stuff, and I’ll leave the meat to you.”

“Deal,” you say, nuzzling your head against his neck. 

When you get home, the night pans out like it always does. The two of you take turns in the shower with dinner being cooked shortly after, and the human garbage disposal known as your roommate leaves very little work for you to do once all is said and done. 

You decide to start on the last of chores for today while Xavier washes the dishes. It’s routine to check the plants before going to bed as the many potted flowers were like your own children after you spent so many hours tending to them, finding the perfect ratio of nutrients and water to keep them thriving. 

It is also routine to hunt down the birds so lovingly named Fatso and Alarm Clock by the sleepy man of the house to give them some of the seeds and nuts you regularly brought home from the store. You told Xavier that happy birds would stop eating his strawberries when in reality you liked to spoil them. 

So, you spread out the seeds on the ground for them, leaving them there for later. 

“If you feed them, they’ll never leave.”

You can’t help the laugh that leaves you. As much as he complains about the birds, you think, if his constant curiosity about the birds’ day-to-day lives was anything to go by, that he’d miss the two fluffy creatures if they were to ever find new nesting grounds. You turn back to the balcony door with a cheeky grin. “I have experience with things that don’t leave after you feed them. You enjoyed dinner a little too much.”

It’s hard to see in the fading light but Xavier blushes and brings a shy grip to the back of his neck. “Last I checked you moved in with me.”

That silences you. There’s no denying his observation, and you fail to notice him getting closer until he reaches his hand out to help you up. You willingly reach out, hand sinking into his touch as he lifts you to your feet. 

The coolness of your palms touching slowly births a lingering warmth. The soft squeeze around your hand makes it hard to let him go but eventually you must. Otherwise, you might say things that are better kept to yourself as you walk back into the house and close the sliding door behind you. 

With a pounding heart, you retire to your room early.

This room is a little different from the master room at your old apartment. The wall color is a little different brighter and it’s smaller. Luckily, you made the space work pretty easily by migrating half your plushie collection into Xavier’s room, checking like a dutiful mother to make sure he was treating them right and placing them with love should they roll off his dresser.  Sighing, you change into slightly more comfortable clothes, choosing a random pair of soft shorts and a tank top to wear before climbing into bed. It’s ten when you finally let your eyes slip shut, and it's around eleven you feel someone touching you.

Your eyelids are surprisingly heavy; you can barely pry them open enough to see the wisp of grey-brown hair shadowing medium-blue eyes. You don’t protest as you feel his fingertips brush along your waist or when his knee digs into the mattress, sinking you towards his weight.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what he wants. You raise your arm enough to let your fingertips greet the curve of his chin in silent acceptance. Slowly, you drop your hand and squeeze his bicep. Like a good little soldier, he follows the order to fall into the bed with you. 

The most comfortable position is to slot your arm on top of his as he hugs your waist, props his leg on top of yours, and spoons your back. There’s absolutely zero space between your lower halves; and if he notices how you, with a small amount of shame, subtly shift and push yourself back on him a little more, he doesn’t say as he lolls his head against the curve of your neck while his incredibly light exhaling on your skin comforts you after a long day. 

With a flutter of your eyelids, you slowly slip back into sleep with the happiness that comes with being roommates with your crush. 

It’s times like these that make you think maybe he loves you. It’s also times like these that make you forget that despite all of the endearing things about him and despite how much you care about him, you don’t truly know a lot about him.

Xavier has always been a man with a lot of secrets. You’ve known this since you first met him asleep in the forest. It’s true that you once accepted the fact you’d never learn all his secrets but that was before whatever this abnormal relationship that the two of you found yourself in. 

Even after living together for more than two months now, you still had no idea where he would go when he would sneak off in the middle of the night. You didn’t question where he goes anymore, you found that he wouldn’t give you a straight answer to save his life. You merely stayed up until you heard the sound of the door opening or the warped echo of air being sucked into a vacuum, indicating he teleported inside. 

So, when you wake up at two in the morning, finding yourself alone and the side of the bed where he laid mere hours ago already cold, you’re not surprised.

Getting out of bed, you slip on your slippers and drag your feet to the balcony. It’s a familiar situation when you collapse into the swing chair, with nothing but the cold and the chirping of the birds to keep you company until he undoubtedly returns with his body hosting a family of fresh wounds.

It’s incredibly frustrating because you love him and seeing him hurt, without you having been there to prevent it, drives you crazy. You wonder why he won’t tell you, and your heart sinks, as quickly as a stone cast in a lake, with the idea that maybe you were the only one thinking that your relationship meant more than it did. Because even after all this time, you still aren’t close to him in the way you want. 

Clenching your fists, you shove your eyes against them. It was all so infuriating when he ran off to fight Wanderers or whoever and left you all alone to overthink and worry about him like some helpless house plant. It was enough to make you want to cry as the strange foreboding sense of losing him begins to echo inside of you, making you nauseous.                                                                                 There’s only one way to get rid of this feeling. Taking in a deep breath, you settle to give him a piece of your mind about sneaking off so much and also to bite the bullet to confess your feelings. 

It was only a matter of waiting for him to actually return home and to get your heightened nerves to stop firing in every direction in the meantime. 

By the time you heard the door to the apartment creaking open, you’d nearly fallen asleep in the wicker swing chair. You swallow down the bitter taste of fear, ignoring the tumultuous waves it makes when it hits your stomach. You’d never get anywhere if you didn’t face him. 

Carefully, you hop up from your seat and make slow strides into the apartment. It’s still dark in the house; you hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights earlier. Yet Xavier carries a lightness around him, mostly imagined by yourself, that makes him easy to spot in the darkness. 

For a moment, things seem normal as he takes a few stiff steps forward. Suddenly, he falls forward, the white of his uniform nearly a blur with how fast he collapses onto the sofa, but it is nothing compared to the speed at which you rush to his side. 

You call his name, press two fingers to his throat, and let your eyes slip closed with a desperate concentration as you search for his pulse behind the blaring red of his collar. 

It’s a gradual pace, averaging twenty beats a minute and slowly rising. For anyone else, you’d immediately rush them to the hospital. For Xavier, that number is a relief. 

You hold your hand to your pounding heart, practicing deep measured inhales to calm it. It appears he fell asleep as soon as he entered the room, with only enough awareness to kick off his shoes at the door. 

It looks like your lecture will have to be postponed for another day. 

You’re thankful for all the training you had to take to become a hunter because it takes an enormous amount of effort to throw one of his arms over your shoulders and drag him to his bedroom. You make a mental note to never let him question your ability to carry him again as you sit him on the bed and shuffle off his uniform jacket, leaving him only in his pants. 

In a tender motion, you gently cup his face and examine him. Dirt cakes his face; and when you brush it away, there’s a small cut on his cheek. It hits you again just how reckless and secretive he can be, echoing with a bitter thought that he didn’t bring you again. The only bright spot is the little cut is his only injury this time. 

Laying him on his back, you leave for only a moment to get a warm washcloth and an adhesive from the bathroom. It’s a blue band-aid with a cartoonish pink bunny on it, something a kid would love and has probably been collecting dust in the drawer longer than you’ve been alive. 

It takes all the seriousness out of your body when you return, clean his face off, and place the colorful bandage on his cheek. It’s hard to believe this narcoleptic pretty boy was the strongest member of the Hunters Association. 

“I didn’t think when we moved in together I was going to become a babysitter,” you commented with a little huff and poke of his cheek. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself. Can’t cook. Can’t stay awake. Can’t tell someone when you’re going out. I bet you didn’t even lock the door when you came in. …What if a Wanderer floated in after you and trampled all the flowers, or did you just not want to leave any for me tomorrow?”

You know your complaints are falling on deaf ears as he cuddles up to his pillow without a care in the world. But if you didn’t complain, you’d get depressed instead. Dropping to your knees, you sit on the floor and prop your elbow on the bed to get a better look at him. 

He looks so peaceful.

There’s no tension, no crease to his expression. It’d be easy to mistake him for a normal young man if it weren’t for the strong humming of his Evol tickling at the wall of your resonance.

“I’ll let you sleep, but you’re getting it in the morning! I expect answers. Otherwise, I won’t cook breakfast for you,” you attempt to sound threatening in your words with every poke to his cheek a not-so-silent promise to follow through. “I’ll take my missions with the new recruit all the ladies at work gossip about. And the next time I get a snack shipment, I’m letting Jeremiah have first pick!”

With one last prod to his face and no reaction otherwise, you stop your demands and sit back on your legs. 

Bit by bit, you feel your energy dissolving. It’s no use. It’s all empty threats. You’ll probably not cook for a few days, eat in front of him too, at least until he gives you those puppy eyes, and you’ll fold just like origami paper. You’ll still save him the snack you know he likes even if you allow Jeremiah first pick of the rest. And you’d never be interested in the new recruit or anyone else. 

Xavier can be distant and formal. For others, his hyper-independence was evident. Taking on missions alone and avoiding group settings is just the way Xavier’s personality works. He’s reliable and gets along with everyone at a surface level and he’s known to go out of his way to help others without seeking validation for it so it never ruffled any feathers when he goes off on his own or rejects an invitation to drink with the others after work. 

They didn’t see. They didn’t see how easy it was to care about him. They appreciate him but they weren’t aware of how intensely and passionately he could feel when he unfurls that independent nature. How he always quietly adjusts his dominant foot to point your direction whenever a Wanderer appears. How his voice drops and his touch becomes the smallest bit more graceful and careful when he sees you upset. How sweetly he looks when he sleeps.

It makes your resolve crumble and your heart squeeze, something only he can do without even being awake to know it. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you mumble to him. 

As you lean closer, you easily ignore the stirring in your gut that tells you to stop. 

The bandage is a little rough against your lips as you seize the chance to kiss him. It’s a short and small thing, much more delicate than your prodding from earlier because you want to indulge the romantic in you. You want him to somehow sense the feelings cultivated in your heart over the past few months though impossible when he’s asleep.

You don’t let it last long. Instead, the desperate urge to feel his heat against you spurs you to rest your forehead against his cheek. It’s warm and soft, and the faint scent of pine trees of the no-hunt zone fills your nose. You savor being this close to him, allowing yourself to indulge in it until the heat on your skin starts to match his, and you finally let him have peace for the night.

With no need to remain in his room, you stand and pivot towards the door, wondering how you’ll manage to grasp any form of sleep tonight. However, you don’t make it two steps before there’s a tug at your arm.

You yelp as you’re pulled towards the bed while the shock has you stumbling forward into it. The hand leaving your arm in favor of grasping around your wrist stops you from falling completely but your knees have already buckled. You’re left nearly a head under him when he finally swings his legs over the side of the bed and shifts into a full sitting position. This position is oddly familiar. When you uncertainly force your eyes up to meet his face, this vulnerable angle becomes unmistakable.  

His voice is husked and rasped from sleep, sending a chill up your spine when paired with the swirling shadows darkening his blue eyes under his hooded lids and dark lashes. That’s the look of a predator, of the association’s strongest hunter, and you face the inkling realization that you’re the prey. 

Nervously, you begin to divert your eyes. He takes a page out of your own playbook and reaches under your chin to guide your sight back to him as you fight not to whimper at the pressure of his thumb pushing down as if he wants to part your lips. It isn’t until now that you notice how close you are to his lap and how another few inches would drop you to your knees.

“Why worry about Wanderers following me home when you’re so much scarier.”

“What do you mean?” 

Memory has never been your friend. This though is the first time you’ve forgotten how to breathe when his fingers completely close around your wrist. His hold is firm, preventing you from wringing your way out of his grasp, but it doesn’t hurt.

He might as well take that grasp and use it to squeeze your heart instead when he brings your hand to his face. You’re unsure what he’s planning; the awkwardness of the situation makes your fingers straighten and twitch away as he holds your hand closer to his face. Sensing your trepidation, he closes the last of the distance instead by tilting his head into your hand with the same affection as always as he lets your fingertip brush against the silly little bunny bandage. 

The familiarity of the motion puts your heart a little more at ease but not enough to bring your breathing back to you as he mumbles, “I don’t remember giving you permission to kiss me.”

Your lips part with a silent puff while your brows push forward, highlighting the confusion in your mind onto your face. He takes advantage of the moment to nuzzle your hand. It’s a notion you can’t appreciate as his words finally sink into your mind and reform into a horrifying conclusion.

“…You were awake the whole time.”

He chuckles so easily at the dry peep that echoes from you, the rivet of that warm sound collects in your palm and makes your face scalding hot. You didn’t face a burning heat like this even when fighting one of those flame dragons. All the while, Xavier was laughing at you…

“Not the whole time.”

With your head catching up, you find enough of yourself again to actually glare at him and smack his shoulder. “That’s not the point!”

With another display of strength, he locks your other wrist, pulls you up, and then snatches you into him. Luckily, you’re able to flatten your palms against his chest to brace yourself. His heart as well as his face is unnervingly calm compared to your own organ that’s currently orchestrating its escape from your chest, battering your ribcage even harder as you unconsciously stretch your fingers over his naked skin. 

You don’t like this. This bullying, which you only describe as such because you can’t think of a word more fitting for the way he’s treating you, is too one-sided. 

“It was on the cheek,” you argue with a steeled voice. You fake the confidence to stare him back down, choosing to trade your determination to confess to him tonight in exchange for preserving your pride. “It was friendly.”

To your satisfaction, your declaration of war makes him the one to pause this time. His eyes widen and there’s a quiver in those waves of blue that he hides by glancing down and away. 

“…Is that what it was?”

You nod. “I wasn’t…going to do anything else.”

Xavier smiles, shaking his head, and there’s a new determination in his eyes that causes your teeth to clench down on the inside of your cheek as he leans closer. 

“In that case, is it okay to return the favor?”

He doesn’t give you the time to answer. He’s already closing the distance, his dark lashes already fluttering, and his lips already puckering to kiss you as you’re squeezed flushed against him, only your palms stopping your chest from colliding with his. 

“Wait!”

Hearing your disapproval, he pauses, but that cheeky grin still doesn’t dissipate. 

“What's wrong?” he asks with a sigh. You’re sure it’s not a true question. “Am I not allowed to give you a friendly kiss as well.”

The implications make your stomach twist while your thighs squeeze together pathetically with the sudden throbbing of arousal that spikes through you as you tumble further and further into this rabbit’s trap.

“I—that’s!”

“So, you were misbehaving,” he concludes from your sheepishness. “I guess that means I need to punish you instead.” He breaks his hold around one of your wrists to ghost his fingertips along your cheek and down your neck until all you can do in response is breathe out a moan, much to his surprise given by the rise of his eyebrows and the slight dust of pink on his bewildered face. “…I didn’t think you were that sensitive there.”

Your mind swims with the traitorous thought of wanting to show him where you’re more sensitive dancing in your mind before you can sweep it away. When his fingers dance along your neck again, you whimper and hold in another moan.

“Don’t hold back on my account. You know my most sensitive spot after all, as hunting partners, it only makes sense for me to know yours, right?”

You can hardly think of a response to that. It’s true. You know his biggest weaknesses and as you come to terms with the situation you run your thumb over the plump inside of your thigh hesitantly. It takes you almost an entire minute to decide on what you want to say, and you don’t notice his hold on your wrist weakening.  

“My weakness—” 

Suddenly, your arm drops back to your side.

“I’m kidding,” Xavier states; the small smile he normally wears comes back to his face as you look up at him with wide eyes. “I was only curious as to what your reaction would be.”

The tension in the air wanes and buries itself in your heart. The embarrassment clings to every cell living in you, unshakeable as you try to keep a brave face. “You’re cruel.”

“Am I? You were the one touching me, all the while promising to run off with some rookie,” he reminds you. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t—you’re so frustrating,” you scream at him, and this is the first time he appears to take you seriously all night.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, with less teasing and more concern. He wraps an arm around your waist. His legs slot between yours, leaving your knees to collide with the plush of the bed as he hugs you tighter and tighter until you’re nearly seated in his lap. “Don’t be mad. I only thought—” 

“Xavier?”

“Did you really mean it then?” he redirects. He snakes his other arm around your waist, this time when he holds you it feels…weak, and his pursed lips and narrowed eyes hold back a troubled emotion. “That it was in a friendly way?”

Your breath hitches at the swirl of his thumbs nervously circling the small of your waist. Nervously, he waits for an answer you long lost in the rapids of the constantly changing tides of the last few minutes. 

“If you meant it…if you truly wanted to kiss me,” he pauses, trying to find his voice. The one to tell you that you’re all he thinks about. “Then you should have woken me up.” His face holds a serene glow that completely enraptures you as he looks up at you. “I wouldn’t have rejected you,” he swore.

He loved you so much it ached. Moving in together should have been enough to prove it. He guesses not; because when he thinks you want him back, you’re so hesitant to accept. Even now, you’re unable to respond. 

This cycle has become painful, even for someone as patient as himself, the wait when you’re this close to him is agonizing. So, he decides now to be the one to end this circle the two of you found yourself in with one decisive motion. 

He tests the waters, not knowing if he’ll swim or drown, but he has confidence in his ability to read your personality and actions as he cups the back of your head and pulls you in for a kiss. 

Your mind empties immediately, your body on autopilot when it registers the warm, silky skin of his lips on yours. Closing your eyes, you willingly tumble and fall into the taste of him, chasing after it when he breaks away. 

“There. We’re even,” he says, but to you, that’s far from the truth. You’re far from even after all the heartache and sleepless nights he’s been putting you through, after all the push and pull that left you aching and wanting both in your heart and between your thighs. 

The self-satisfied smile on his face quickly fades as you grope his shoulders, digging your nails in like you’re afraid he’ll escape. Your knees press to the top of the bed as you plant yourself more onto his lap. He braces his hands on your hips to catch you as you run your hand into his hair and crane his head back, so he has to look you in the eye.

His ears pinken at your sudden brazenness, but it doesn’t reflect in his voice as he smiles at you. “Are you trying to get more?” 

“Am I being too greedy?” you ask. He chuckles at the jut of your lips and the pleading eyes before you press another demanding kiss to the corner of his lips. 

Xavier moans from his throat as he latches onto your jaw to redirect your kisses to his lips. Kissing him is nearly maddening, the twitch of his muscular thighs under your ass making your mind hazy. With one hard squeeze at your hips, he catches up to the zealousness of your kisses. 

His tongue pokes and prods at your mouth. However, he doesn’t need much permission to keep going as you open your mouth wider. His mind skips and lags at just how quickly your mouth overtakes the slick appendage. It leaves him more than a little out of breath and flustered with the rate your mouths keep parting and meeting, tongues desperately searching and licking the inside your mouths as if this is the first meal you’ve had in weeks.

You’re hungry to memorize each other despite having all the time in the world now to do just that. When the two of you finally indulged enough and earned enough satisfaction, you’re able to calm down and readjust the pace. 

“I think we’re both greedy,” he jokes about the both of you before sliding his tongue back into your mouth. This time he’s slower as he presses down on your tongue, causing your teeth to lightly graze over the top of his.

There are too many sensations going on for you to keep up. The way your breasts hug his hard chest has you feeling sensitive while the heat seeping from his tongue stroking in your mouth has your stomach bundled in tight knots that won’t know release until he’s inside of you. 

Dreams were nothing compared to this. Nights filled with nothing but inappropriate thoughts of him turn into nightmares at the slim chance of having to face them again should this go wrong. 

Impatiently, his fingers curve into the hump of your ass to anchor you and encourage you to grind on his lap, or rather grind against the hard tent brazenly making its presence known with each hurried roll of your hips.

You whine from the separation of your sexes when he begins to lift you up, but your complaints quickly die in your throat. They’re replaced by a squeal as he flips you and your back bounces on the mattress.  

Xavier climbs over you, his face flushed, breath ragged, and overall, he’s just absolutely beautiful to you. Reaching up, you cup his cheek and play with the ends of his hair, unable to recall the last time you’ve felt this high. 

“Xavier,” you whisper breathlessly as you swoop his bangs back to see more of his handsome face and save it to memory. “What are we?”

Xavier tilts his head, furrowing his brow at your question, and there’s a second where a ray of doubt breaks through the clouds of lust in his irises. “We’re…whatever you want to be.”

“I want to be with you,” you say. Those words tumble out more effortlessly than you ever thought. 

Xavier overlaps your hand with his, holding on tight as if to prove a point. “You are with me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t,” he corrects. Then, he dazzles you as he always does, “I want you to tell me so there’s no mistake, and you can’t take it back later.”

You inwardly become embarrassed when it crosses your mind that this is the first time you’ve ever confessed to him without multiple drinks in your system. It’s too late to turn back now that you’ve crossed the Milky Way and landed on the other side. 

But why would you when you’re so close?

“I want to be with you always. Whenever and wherever you are. Whether that’s having fun together or fighting. I-I love you, and—”

“And I love you,” he answers. You’re not sure if you’re jealous or relieved that he can say those three words without hesitation.

“I don’t want anything to be between us. I don’t want any more secrets or hidden things. I’m tired of this. I just want to be real, more than partners or roommates or whatever other title that isn’t boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Okay,” Xavier agrees as easily as he agreed to be roommates with you in the first place. 

“Okay?”

“I want that too,” he agrees as he repositions himself on top of you and his lips curve into a small smirk, “girlfriend.”

You’re accustomed to the finicky organ known as your heart tightening with pain when you’re overwhelmed; this time when it skips a beat, it’s welcomed. Smiling, you gaze up at him as he releases a slow, strained breath. It’s validating to know he’s been just as nervous as you.

Everything suddenly becomes full force again when his knees move to either side of your legs while he pins your hands above your head in one tight fist. His teeth nip at your earlobe, and his free hand gropes at your breast, fingers outstretching to fully take it in his grasp. Wet kisses burn on your throat, each one firing off a rapid signal to arch your back. 

“Slow down,” you whine before cutting it off with a moan as he hits a particular delicate spot. The discovery spurs him on, like a pet with a new toy, and he bites your nape once again causing your hips to jerk. With a burning desire building in your stomach at every touch, you pitifully hug your thighs together to try to ease it. “I didn’t get a chance to absorb all that,” you tell him, mostly to get some time to catch up. It backfires wonderfully as he grips onto the bottom of your tank top.

“I have a better way to help you understand.”

The sheets shift with his movement, your lower half dipping towards him as if he holds his own gravitational field. He settles between your legs and strokes against you with one slow, languid rock. It instantly makes you throb. It’s painful how hard you clench over absolutely nothing, panties gathering the lust that’s dripping from you.  

You simultaneously hate and love him for causing this need that’s bubbling inside you. 

Large hands press your shirt further up your torso. “Arms up,” he demands softly, which you have no problem obeying, and he quickly lifts your shirt over your head.

He lowers his hands to hold at your waist, and they fall still on you as he takes in your naked skin. You’re not privy to his thoughts. The silence of the room feels defean-ing now that your needy gasps of air aren’t filling it.

He pauses, eyes taking you in as you raise your eyebrows at his hesitancy. Xavier smiles, mumbling out, “Just thinking where to start.”

Xavier smiles at you so tenderly. Everything about him is incredibly soft on first appearance. He has big blue puppy eyes, he prefers white, cozy clothes, and his voice is just as gentle as his appearance. Everything about him is soft except for his hands. 

Those are hardy and battle-honed, worn with calluses built up with every swing of the sword he’s taken since he was a child, enough of them to slay thousands of Wanderers over the years. 

They drag.

Oh, they drag so dangerously slow over your skin, dipping into the pudge of your stomach and highlighting a small circle in the warm, buzzing glow of his Evol. The rays shine gold over your flesh, shimmering brightly in the dark of the room. 

“Here,” he states before hunting down another spot on your torso. A beauty mark, like a beacon, earns the sharp eyes of a hunter. He zones in on the vulnerable location, creating a golden target. “Maybe here.”

You squirm with every mapped spot he creates. “Xavier.”

The residue of his power leaves your skin humming; you’re overly aware of each spot he highlights with his power. You like to think your senses would still be heightened regardless of this little game. After all, you’ve been wanting him to touch you forever.

Every night next to him felt like torture, being unable to touch him more than a hug when all you could feel on your back was his hard chest, his arm tight around your waist, and the outline of his cock against your ass as he sighed in your ear.

It runs through your head that he must have put more thought into touching you than you assumed as he continues to stripe lines over the top of your thighs right under your night shorts, making your breath heavy in your throat. You’re no longer sure if he’s marking you to tease you, to track what parts of your body he’s claimed for himself, or to simply make you laugh from the humming of his Evol tickling you like fuzzy static on an old tv screen. Even as he smiles at your shallow giggles, there’s no denying the aura of possession radiating from him that makes you antsy when he finally presses his finger to your sternum.

“Let’s start here,” he says followed by a soft hum as he tattoos a line straight between your breasts, leaving you highlighted in slowly fading graffiti.

“About time you decided,” you say with an playfully exaggerated roll of your eyes. He cocks his head at you with a sly smile.

“I can’t help if I want to touch all of you,” he murmurs. Any response you had ready dies when he licks the encircled zone of your shoulder then swiftly to the notch of your throat, drawing a moan out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of until you met him.

Tilting your head, you allow him more room to work as he kisses your chest. His warm tongue slips through the line he marked, his nose dragging against you as he litters your engorged skin with kisses. 

“More,” you beg. Who was he to keep you waiting any longer?

He slips a fingerpad over the tip of your nipple, gently pressing down and then rolling it. It does nothing to satiate you. Satisfaction keeps escaping your grasp, the goalpost of what’s enough moving further out of reach with every pinch and pull of your pebbling nipples. Chasing it makes you brash, and you give a hard push to the back of his head. 

Just as you want, he spoils you. He bites and nips the supple skin, drawing out soft pleas from your angelic lips. When he finally graces you with the slick, velvety lap of his tongue on your pert nipple, you mewl and arch. His lips are a little rough after being out all night, his hunger for you more palpable than ever as he gropes harder and sucks at your wet skin. 

Your aching pussy throbs with every brush of his clothed cock. Your patience drains more and more as you crave something to fill you. It isn’t until he switches sides and gently nips and suckles around your other teat that you realize he’s been fingerprinting you with his Evol, the polka dots slowly fade away each time he adjusts his hand to knead your breast.  

“You’re still being cruel,” you manage between moans. 

“I think I’m being very fair,” he reasons, recapturing your lips to silence your complaints, and it works as your mind keeps repeating when his tongue makes a temporary reservation back in the confines of your mouth. 

When he parts with you again, he cements it with a soft kiss then another. He keeps peppering them on you so fast that you almost miss the way his tongue darts over your bottom lip before his teeth bite down. 

Xavier sighs between his kisses, each one adding more pressure, turning from loving, adoration-filled into needy, heavy smooches.

“Wanted.”

Another kiss that leaves you whimpering.

“To.”

He fondles your chest again, alternating between rolling and pinching your sensitive, puffed nipple then grasping your bare tits in his hands, molding and kneading them.

“With you.”

With your thighs closing at his waist, you curve your back and meet the sloppy buck of his hips. There’s a rush of excitement leaking from you when his kisses trail back over your breasts, hitting the tiny ring of bite marks he seared on you before tracing across the targets of light decorating your belly. 

“So bad.”

Skin on fire, legs spread wide to accommodate his chest as he sinks lower to press wet kisses to your stomach, you call out to him. “Xavier, baby,” you whisper and brush his hair to get his attention. And does he give it to you when his eyes flick up to look at you from under the grey tuffs of his hair.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. 

You bring your finger to your lips, not only to pry them open so you can speak but also because you need to bite on it. Otherwise, the surge of lust in you at the sight of his head so close to your cunt and the back of your thighs resting on his broad shoulders would cause you to cum right there. 

“My most sensitive spot…is my legs…”

It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, and he quirks his eyebrows up at you with false concern. He lowers his head to kiss your stomach again, this time noticeably closer to your mound. “Are you sure you want to tell me that in this situation? It isn’t wise for the prey to put themselves at a disadvantage.”

“I said no secrets,” you remind him, curling a finger to beckon him back up. Inwardly, you curse that he decides to bring your legs with him by keeping them propped up on his shoulders. Somehow, you manage to ignore his obvious teasing and poke at the cutesy adhesive still stuck on his face. “If you were listening, you should know you’re still in trouble for sneaking off so much without telling me.”

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he tells you, a layer of remorse riding his explanation. “I wasn’t expecting to go anywhere.”

Amused, you shake your head at how boyish he sounds as he defends himself while he pulls off that wide and pleading look to bolster his cause. Even with your amusement, you’re not willing to let him off just yet. Sternly, you tap his cheek again. 

“That’s not going to work this time.”

Pouting, Xavier holds onto your hand, stopping your playful jabs. “Please give me a chance to lighten my sentence, Miss Hunter, it was unintentional,” he negotiates with a kiss on your palm. The sincerity in his request eases your heart enough to allow him a little wiggle room, or perhaps it’s the slick trailing more between your folds. 

“You only got until morning to make a case for yourself.”

“I’ll make you forget by then.” He snatches up your ankle towards his face, a much more pleasant position than your last, as your muscles were starting to ache from having your knees pushed to your face. 

He caresses your ankle, pressing an airy kiss. The little bump of his nose against the ball of your ankle tickles, making a giggle cascade from your lips as you slide lower with the pull of your leg.  

“Silly,” he mumbles before shuffling off your shorts. Your underwear comes off with more of a fight, the stickiness soaked into it causing the dainty fabric to cling lewdly to your skin and outline to the shape of your cunt. 

You don’t often hear Xavier curse but that’s what happens along with his tongue rolling over his upper lip when he catches the image. He reaches out and his fingers twitch, threatening to curve against the spreading stain in your panties but he resists and hooks his fingers into the waistband. He takes his sweet time watching the doused material peeling from you with thin strands of cum sticking to it.

It takes him more effort than he’d like to admit to resist diving straight in. Instead, he keeps it slow, sensual, as much for his sake as yours as he skims his lips up your calf.

He does the same with your center, carefully pressing two fingers against you as he holds your leg up on his shoulder. His mouth stays on your inner thigh, but his eyes are entirely locked on his fingers and the way they effortlessly collect your cum and slip between your lips with barely a push. You can feel his breath shudder out against you before he forces it down with a bite of your thigh but that does nothing to hide the way his entire body tenses when his fingers slip from your clit all the way to your clenching hole. 

It does nothing good for your ego or your sanity to think how normally calm and collected Xavier is losing his composure just by touching you. How he’s so obviously turned on when you haven’t nearly returned as much as he’s been giving you. 

He presses his hands at the crook of your thighs, pushing your legs further apart, and quenches himself between your legs. His name leaves you in one low drawn-out sigh. Sure, you were baiting him when you told him your weakness, but you weren’t expecting him to abuse the knowledge so readily. 

He held your legs blood cuttingly tight to keep you from squirming away from his wriggling tongue, and by the moan that reverberates from his chest and the strong jerk against the mattress when your juices hit his tongue, you think he would only be satisfied if you crushed his head between your straining thighs. When he suckles your clit; when his voice, muffled, hits your pussy; when his biceps tighten around your legs as if encouraging you to do so, and when his eyes meet yours with a silent demand, you know that’s exactly what he wants.

At the plunging of his fingers in you, you break down, catch his head in a vice-like grip, and push him into you. Your heart flutters and the remaining butterflies in your stomach migrate away at the growl he lets out. Your walls happily clench around those thick fingers, your dripping hole making it easy and smooth work to pump in and out of you. You’re not sure when he decides he would rather feel your muscle tightening around his tongue instead, but you can only respond with the tilt of your head back into the sheets and the stroke of your heel on his bare back when it happens. 

The only thing better is his palm grinding down on your clit, alternating between slow rotations and rough sporadic grinding that has your toes curling and your eyes glossing with the buildup of tears.

“You’re too loud,” he comments yet he doesn’t stop, in fact, he presses down harder, making you whine. “You’re going to wake the neighbors.”

“Since when have you cared what the neighbors think?” you barely manage to whimper out. 

“I’m not worried about them. I just don’t want anyone else to hear what only I should,” he remarks, lapping up the juices spilling down your legs.

His confession is a surprise to you. You never took him to be so possessive. But if that possessiveness is what kept his tongue swirling on your swollen clit and an intense moan escaping your lips then you didn’t mind. 

However…

His fingers weren’t enough anymore. 

Choosing to surprise him, you decide to turn the tables on him. You jerk your legs, catching him off guard but not enough to tip him over. He looks at you with concern. It doesn’t stop you from trying again with extra force this time until you can weaken his grasp and force him down on his back. 

Having the world’s strongest hunter under you was only something you could dream of—first as a rival and now as a lover. The adrenaline has you tunnel-visioned as you straddle his stomach, your soaked cunt making a waterboard out of his abs, which Xavier has also picked up on if the dusky pink on his cheeks is anything to go by.

You grab his hands, gripping tight to regain his attention. Xavier looks taken back especially when your fingers interlock his and pin them back. Whether he’s shocked or curious you don’t know, and you also don’t ask to borrow his power. 

“You’ve been having too much fun,” you tell him as you check to make sure your finger is sufficiently coated with light. “For my turn, I’ll attack here and here,” you whisper, marking off his chest and drawing a line across his neck.

There’s a hint of worry finally when he sees you’re aiming for his weak spot. “If you’re trying to teach me the best spot to kill Wanderers, I already know.”

“More like the best spots to defeat a Xavier,” you remark, flattening your palm over his heart, finding your own thumping when you verify that you finally managed to raise his heart rate to the levels of a normal human.

“You’re pretty forward today.” Xavier reaches out to hold your hips and cocks his head at you with an inquisitive glance. “Are you always this easy to excite or is it because of me?” 

You feel your face heat at his question. As if he didn’t already know the answer. No one else could make you like this. Needy. Shy. Aroused. Flustered. Confused. Infatuated and in love more than you’ve ever been. 

Your eyes soften. “And if I said it was you?”

“Then, you can use me all you want,” he confesses and gently coaxes you back to sit on his hard cock. You smoothly slide your hands to his shoulders, rotating loving strokes into his fair skin before you stop to free his cock from his pants.

It springs readily into your palm, so responsive. You reward him by letting him have a little taste of you. He tries to hide the hitch of his breath as if he could hide any reaction from you right now. It’s so hard to get him to react to anything, and your brain won’t let you miss a single moment as you sit back onto his lap and grind.

His cock slides between your lips, so big that you can feel it stroking you fully, his swollen, dribbling head making you whimper whenever it bumps your clit. 

“You, you’re so—” he begins, his eyes flitting from the gentle shake of your tits to his cock glistening between your folds, but he loses his voice to a low whimper when you increase your pace. It’s not on purpose but you can’t help yourself; you’re aching for him just as much as he is for you. “Hah, please...” 

His cock is leaking onto him with each sleek thrust, a little pool of precum glistening on his belly as your hips buck. It makes your stomach twist and your insides twitch to see him so excited for you.

“Not yet,” you tell him, brushing fingers across the length of his throat. His mouth parts with a croak that plasters a crooked smile on your face.

His eyebrows knit, and he frowns as you decide to tease him a little by slowing your strokes while your nails continue to follow the thick vein protruding from his neck as he desperately holds down his whines. 

“And you call me the cruel one.”

He was gorgeous under you. Beautifully flushed and sheened with sweat. His lips were so close to quivering each time his swollen head was swallowed back under your heat. It’s strange how his pitiful expression actually excites you, leaving you wetter and funneling this cycle of him repeatedly scrunching his face before relaxing it with a moan. 

“Please,” he asks again, this time more politely, pleadingly, and downright cutely. He knows what he’s doing because you decide to take pity on him when he gazes at you. “Please let me have you?”

It takes only a second for you to reposition yourself and hover over him. There’s a split hesitation when it registers that you’re actually going to have sex with him and how large he actually is with his cock standing tall and the tip kissing at your entrance.  You press downward anyway.

The stretch is both painful and pleasurable, straining your nerves as you lower. The wince on your face is accompanied by a hiss on your lips. However, Xavier is there again to catch you.

“Let’s take our time,” he instructs.

You nod, slowly thrusting halfway onto him. Each rise and fall of your hips coating him with your cream little by little makes it a bit easier to sheath him each bounce. 

“Good girl,” he whispers soothingly. Face constricting, he bites down on his lip to hold in a weak groan. It’s not your fault that the praise made your walls flutter and tighten.

When you finally suck him in completely, your eyes roll. 

“There you go,” he continues. He slides his hand into one of yours, encouraging you to hold onto it as you slowly and pointedly follow the curve of his cock, “Just like that,” he rasps out.    As you take him in fully, your pussy reaching his lap and pushing against his balls, you find it hard to concentrate on the exact words leaving him.

You take a minute to sit with him fully sheathed inside of you, allowing your stretched core to get more accustomed to his cock and also for the high of joining with him to cool off. Otherwise, you’d lose control.

You feel so full. It’s a wonderful sensation, and the pleasure increases tenfold when you lift your hips then have him stretch you again.

Rubbing your fingertips into the back of his palm, you lift and slam back onto him again, causing a ragged groan from you both that ricochets off the walls of the room. It isn’t until now that you recognize how bad you’ve been needing this.

Needed him. 

You’re still nowhere near understanding why this need is inside of you. Anyone can give you pleasure, and he’s not the first, but nothing quite matched the warmth overtaking you when his cock pistons and rubs against your nerves as you ride him. 

The thought that Xavier was right about fate being written in the stars barely breaks through the thick fog of arousal clouding your brain. The heat spurs you to bounce harder to meet his jerking thrusts. 

He sighs under you; the pressure on his lower half increases while your eyesight blurs and your head angles back. You’ll both be each other’s undoing at this rate, he thinks, as he watches the beads of sweat accumulating in little shiny droplets on your forehead and on your bouncing chest in a light sheen.

Chasing that desire to see you undone, he pulls you to a halt, burying himself deep inside of you, before pressing his hand to your mound, brushing past the patch of damp hair to zone in on your sticky, swollen clit. 

The instant whine of his name makes him dizzy. Centuries have gone by, and he’s never heard you say his name with such wanton desperation nor seen you grind onto him, stirring his cock in you as if your sanity depended on it.  

His certainly depended on you. Always has especially in the many decades he thought he’d never see you again. That need is even clearer from how sensitive yet eager his cock is to you squeezing around it as you shudder on top of him while keeping an unbearably tight hold on his hand. Your movements come to a near stop except for the occasional rut to prolong the rush of your orgasm. 

The sight of you breaking down on top of him threatens to make his eyes roll back as he squeezes onto your legs for grounding. Your strangled gasp followed by your muscles relaxing tells him that you’re coming down.  

“I take it you’ve finished,” Xavier says with a smirk, and you only have half the mind to swat at his chest like a lazy cat. Your legs burn, your chest unable to fill with enough oxygen to catch your breath. You think you’ll skip the gym tomorrow but Xavier has other plans.

“I’m not finished,” he reminds you. 

You look down at Xavier; you’d been so busy finding your own pleasure, you didn’t realize he hadn’t cum yet. You feel a lingering guilt but he swiftly takes the situation into his own hands.

You’re still too sensitive to fight back as he slides his cock out of you with a wet pop. It takes two swift movements for him to lift you off of him and roll you onto your stomach.

Your chest feels restricted, tight to the mattress as he presses on top of you, his grey-brown hair rubbing your shoulder as he cuddles your back. It’s an affectionate notion, distracting from the pressure in your lower half as he slides off the last of his clothes and thrusts his cock back inside of you. 

You thought you were filled to the brim the first time, yet this angle was different. It felt much tighter, and the slightest shift of his hips had you muffling moans into your arms. 

“I want to hear you,” he sweetly requests, yanking on your hips to raise your ass higher and pull you further away from the muffling effects of the bed. Your fracturing mewls mix into his grunts, both sounds washing out the sloppy, wet paps of his cock pounding into you. 

His hand swoops down your bending back in one long soothing stroke before his head collapses onto you. His grunts are loud, tumbling right into your ear along with the slapping sound of his hips meeting your ass. Your legs feel like jelly, and the rest of your body becomes weightless as your mind only focuses on his cock recklessly burning its way through you.

Xavier’s breath rolls against your back along with his forehead as he buries you under his weight; his grip on your thighs tightens to an unbearable degree, leaving you to wonder if you’ll have marks in the morning. 

You don’t really care if he does when he moans your name and heat fills you, spreading with each sporadic thrust until he finally bottoms out inside you one last time and holds until he completely empties. 

Taking his time to enjoy the sensation, he waits before pulling out of you, making you whimper with the sudden void. Shakily, you collapse back into the sheets and flip onto your back with a sigh. His eyes are still half-lidded as he watches you; he chews briefly on his bottom lip, reminding you of the look in his eyes earlier. 

“Xavier,” you question but he silences you with a kiss, which you tiredly return. His fingertips slide down from your knee to your thigh, and he teases your opening, the mixture of cum making it easy for him to stroke your still spasming pussy. 

Xavier sighs against your lips before moving his kisses to the swoop of your neck. “You’re so beautiful and all mine.”

Your mouth parts with a dry moan as he slides thick fingers over your clit. It starts to ache from his touch but it’s hard to deny him, even as he tortures you with his methodic and precise rotations over the bead.

His name is on your mouth, each syllable heavy on your tongue. You leave garbled gasps in his mouth as he makes out with you while your hand draws down his chest, attempting to make a mental map of every twitching muscle and healed wound on the way down.

Your heart jumps with the twitch of his cock when you wrap your hand around it. There’s going to be no trouble getting him to rebound, you think. He’s already thickening again with the warm strokes of your hand and tracing of your fingers over the slowly beating vein lining the underside of his shaft. 

Xavier doesn’t even let you finish exciting him before he rolls back on top of you and settles his head between your breasts. Between all the cum in between your legs and his half-hard cock, it isn’t as mind-numbing to have him inside you. What is different is to feel him twitching and growing inside you with his renewed thrusts. 

You’re hiccupping by the time he pushes your legs back and starts to hit deep inside of you, leaving the corner of your eyes tearing. You’re overwhelmed with everything. The uncharacteristic amount of energy he possesses as his hips snap into you. How each powerful rock leaves tingles aftershock-ing inside you, ruining your chances to recover before he does it again. The heavy scent of sex mixed with pine overwhelms your nose. His sweaty chest blocks out any light in the room, sealing any notion that you can be distracted by anything other than him as he pushes up your knee towards your chest.

You’re quickly working up to your second orgasm; the painful cramping in your foot tells you it’ll be bigger than the last. You’re right. When you come undone again, it’s with a shrill sob. You’re too out of it to even register when he finishes until he starts kissing your neck again.

He’s still inside you, you realize once your mind finally lands back on earth. His cock is resting in the heat inside you, waiting for him to work the two of you back up again. You know that’s the goal when his thumb gently brushes over one of your nipples again. Your sore insides constrict and strain. You don’t think you could survive a third round. 

“Xavier, please, no more.”

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice dry and husky in your ear as he kisses under it. 

“Too much,” you tell him, pushing on his chest to make some space between the two of you.  

“I didn’t catch that,” he coos defiantly. When he notices that you’re being serious, he obediently pulls out of you. His kisses become smoother as he pecks your lips. “What’s wrong? Is it aching?”

You nod then puff your cheeks in frustration when you see the amusement on his face.

“It’s not funny!” you say, holding onto that angry, childish pout until his smile turns sympathetic. 

“You’re right,” he agrees and shifts off you. Quickly, he locates his briefs on the corner of the bed. He steps out of bed and pulls them on. To your surprise, he leaves you, alone and cold.  

“Where are you going?”

Xavier disappears without answering you and only the sound of running water gives you any sort of hint of where he might’ve gone. When he returns, it’s with a rag dangled in his hand. 

“A boyfriend should help clean his girlfriend up after times like this,” he explains and leans over you; he presses the wet cloth between your legs; the rag is incredibly soothing on your bloated skin. It’s a blessing to your sore muscles as he starts to massage and clean you. “It feels better already, doesn’t it?”

“I guess,” you answer pitifully, grumbling a bit because the look on his face still seems like he’s teasing about your neediness. 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s my fault you’re a little sore.” He’s definitely taunting you, but you don’t have the energy to fight about it. “All done,” he remarks, tossing the rag to a forgotten section of the dresser. He carefully climbs back on top of you, waiting for the moment your hand finds his bicep to guide him down next to you. 

It isn’t the first time he’s been this affectionate, and it won’t be the last time. However, this time feels more special than any time you’ve slept together, and not just because you can feel the stickiness of his sex-clad skin against your naked body. Well, that’s part of the reason.

“Something on your mind?”

“Nothing. I’m really happy,” you explain. 

“If it really makes you that happy, maybe we should do it more often,” he offers, and you pinch his unwounded cheek to punish him. Jumping back, he knocks your hand away and caresses his wounded face. “I’ll need another bandage if you keep doing that,” he complains weakly. 

“You only have yourself to blame!”

Xavier sighs. “You’re always right,” he concedes, more so that he can cuddle you without fighting rather than actually agreeing with you, you fear. 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Are you really doubting your boyfriend?” he asks. Heartbeat skipped, you clamp your mouth shut as he unfolds the blankets over the two of you. 

It’s finally settling back into your mind that the two of you are a couple now. “I’m still…not used to it yet with you being that.”

“You will get used to it the longer we’re together. The same as I will.” Xavier sighs, happily so. “Although, we might run into the same problem again.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

Thoughtful, Xavier hums then explains, “First comes love then comes marriage as they say.”

He catches you off-guard once more. As always, Xavier is forever forging on ahead with little regard for convention. “Aren’t you thinking too far ahead?”

“Maybe,” he agrees but there’s no drop in his confidence as he smiles at you and draws his hand over your hairline. “But I loved you since we met.”

“Xavier, please,” you beg, finding your favorite place to hide your flustered face in the crook of his elbow. 

He can’t help but laugh at you as he curls his arm around you. “Especially that,” he confesses and places one more kiss on the top of your head before inviting you to go to sleep. 

You do, falling asleep against his chest less than thirty minutes later. For him, sleep is elusive for once as he mulls over the day’s events.

The word girlfriend on his tongue is sweet. The idea itself burns wonderfully in his chest, but it isn’t enough. He knows he still needs to wait a bit longer, take his time, your bashful response to his prodding was enough to tell him that it isn’t time yet. It’s hard not to rush when this is the closest he’s ever been to the one thing he truly wants. 

Xavier guesses he’ll still have to rely on his dreams for a little while longer. It’s okay, he tells himself, it’ll work out this time. He’ll find a place to settle with you and have a quiet life, a place where he can see stars. 

And this lifetime, when he asks you to marry him, he hopes you’ll say yes.

[megistusdiary]

"𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘬𝘰𝘯𝘴"

this was sitting in my drafts for months, and i opened it and realized i kind of cooked on the first 6 paragraphs i wrote, so i wanted to finish it. also, bun yelled at me :(

dom!blade x sub fem!reader x dom!kafka

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, penetration (reader receiving), fellatio, face-riding, fingering, size difference, leash + collar

you tiptoed quietly down the hall, hands busied with wringing and interlocking your fingers as you made your way down to the common area you shared with the other stellaron hunters.

really, it wasn't quite clear if you actually were a hunter, or rather, just a companion of sorts they liked to keep around.

you tried to be quiet, not wanting to wake anyone on the ship as you approached the area.

just as you reached out towards the panel on the wall, the door opened noisily, making you cringe and immediately flinch when you realized you weren't alone.

both blade and kafka's eyes were on you. the sword blade was previously sharpening laid still on his lap, and kafka's gun dematerialized as her lips quirked up.

the fake fireplace crackled behind them to fill the silence as she rose from the couch, trailing her hand across blade's shoulders as she made her way towards you.

"i didn't know you two were still awake." you spoke softly, standing a little straighter when kafka approached you. she pressed her finger beneath your chin, gently lifting your gaze to meet hers.

"couldn't sleep, hm?" she questioned, prompting you to nod.

"i was coming down to sit by the fire. i didn't mean to disturb anyone." your eyes moved away from kafka's, reflecting the orange glow from the fireplace.

"that's alright. why don't you come in for a bit, hm?" kafka leaned down, recapturing your attention as her finger turned your chin back towards her.

"i really don't want to impose-"

"just come in already, or you really will wake up the entire ship." blade's voice came from behind kafka, as sharp as his name.

"it's just us," kafka smiled, removing her hand from your jaw and resting it on your shoulder. she leaned down, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. "we don't bite."

blade let out a soft puff of air at that comment, sheathing his sword and standing from the couch.

kafka stifled a laugh as your cheeks heated up. you nodded, allowing kafka to gently guide you into the room, pressing the panel on the wall behind you, causing the door to lock with a clicking noise.

you glanced back at the door once more before moving further into the room. blade had moved into a different armchair, freeing the couch for you and kafka. "have a seat." kafka gestured, gently pushing you down by her firm hold on your shoulders.

it was rather warm, nearly stifling as kafka sat down near you, crossing her legs in an elegant fashion. her body heat radiated onto you, prompting you to slide over slightly to give her more room.

her lips quirked up, and she leaned towards you. "why so shy all of a sudden? it's just us." her voice was sultry as she wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her side. she tugged you over to her side of the couch, gesturing for blade to join the both of you.

he was stoic, but he did what she asked, sitting next to both of you, putting you in between the hunters. you shrunk down, feeling their thighs touching yours.

kafka's hand trailed across your knee, up your thigh, your stomach, up past your chest to your chin. she gently held your chin for a moment, lifting it to make you meet her gaze.

"such a pretty little thing, aren't you?" she hummed to herself, gently tilting your face. she peered around you towards her partner. "don't you think so, bladie?" she turned your jaw to face him.

"she's...pretty." is all she could squeeze out of him. she tutted, shaking her head.

"aw, come on. if you keep talking like that, she's gonna think you hate her. tell her how you really feel." she probed, prompting a deep sigh from him.

you looked up at him expectantly, wide-eyed as he frowned. "she already knows what i think about her."

"oh, bladie's so stubborn, isn't he?" she turned you back towards her, her hand on your shoulder trailing down to your waist as she pulled you into her lap.

you knelt over her lap, facing her as she kept a grip on your chin. "such a pretty girl, and he says nothing at all. you deserve better, sweetheart."

"i already have you." comes your reply and she grins.

"oh? are you implying i'm better than him?" she teases and delights in how you immediately try to recover, but she shuts you up by squeezing your cheeks into a puffy pout. "don't sweat it. i already know that i am."

she glances towards blade who is now leaning forward, looking mildly irritated. "who said you're better than me?"

"she did." kafka answers. "unless you want to prove her wrong-"

without warning, he yanks you off her lap, pulling you closer. he holds you tenderly, albeit rather stiffly, on his lap, a hand on your back and another on your waist. he presses you against his chest, his hair tickling your neck.

he was never one to talk more than necessary, so he simply held you there before guiding your lips towards his. kafka grins cheekily at the sight, leaning closer to play with your hair while blade steals the air right from your lips.

"aren't you two just adorable." she gently pulls you back, hearing your soft pants before she kisses you deeper, licking over the seam of your lips.

while blade's kisses were firm and full of caged desire, kafka's were like passion out in the open. there was no reason for kafka to hide her lust for you, so why should she?

her tongue slid across yours, her thumb swiping over your cheek before blade grunted. "you're being greedy, kafka."

"can you blame me?" kafka asked as she pulled away, gently caressing your face. "or is it because someone's a little... pent up?"

her words caused you to glance down, neck heating up at the sight of blade's cock straining through his pants.

"all from a little kissing." kafka hid a laugh behind her hand as she leaned down, breath washing over your ear. "why don't you help our bladie out, hm?" she whispers.

your eyes never leave blade's as you nod, leaning down to free him from the confinements.

his size never failed to impress, even kafka could admit that. you leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to the tip as blade let out a soft groan. you dragged your tongue from his base to the tip, traveling up one of the more prominent veins. the precum collecting at the tip was smeared across your lips, giving them a glossy, sticky appearance.

his hand found the back of your head, urging you to take more of him as your lips wrapped around his tip snugly. you slowly inched down, hearing rustling of fabric behind you.

once he hit a little too deep, you let out a little noise of discomfort. he allowed you to pull away a little, fingers flexing as he restrained himself. he let you find a comfortable rhythm, head tilting back as your mouth felt so warm and wet around him.

"such a good girl for us." kafka smiles, gently rubbing your back. "but i think we want to actually see you, sweetheart. come here." she urges you up, hearing the soft pop of blade leaving your mouth as you wipe the spit off your lips.

she tugs your night clothes off, leaving you bare for their eyes as she smiles, appraising you like a work of art. "you're gorgeous." she praises you sweetly, drawing you in for a kiss. her tongue drags over yours languidly, pulling whimpers from you as she drags you onto her lap.

blade fists his cock while he watches kafka smother you in affection, her hand gripping your hip firmly as she grinds you on her thigh. "you're so wet, sweetie. look at that." she coos, pulling you up enough to see your slick coating her thigh.

"i'm sorry-"

"shush, we love a messy little thing, don't we, bladie?" she tilts her head back to smirk at him. she turns right back to you, giving you her full attention. "i think he's getting desperate. why don't we get nice and cozy so we can all feel good." she taps your nose, laying you down before tugging her shorts off.

she rips a hole in her tights easily, settling over your face.

"no panties?" you ask and she laughs.

"what a bold little comment. you're feeling cheeky today, aren't you?" she pinches your cheek before lowering herself onto your tongue.

you feel blade pull your thighs up, spreading your cunt while he slides himself over your clit. you whimper into kafka, wide eyes finding hers as she laughs. "don't be so greedy. at least stretch her out a little first." she chastises blade.

she turns over her shoulder to watch him finger you. he's careful, diligent, ensuring you're ready to take his cock. she hums thoughtfully. "how does she feel?"

"tight....wet. she feels good." he answers, curling his fingers, making you moan into kafka's pussy. she grins, petting your head.

he withdraws his fingers slowly, sliding himself into you gently. his thumb rubs rough circles into your clit to ease the stretch, not wanting to break you just yet.

kafka rubs herself on your tongue, taking the pleasure as she wants it, enjoying your helpless little whimpers, your scrunched up expression as you try to adjust to blade's size.

she moans softly, grinding down while blade fucks you. he grabs your hips, yanking you towards him with each thrust, jostling kafka above you. she feels you feebly grabbing onto her thighs, trying to steady yourself from his rough movements.

"just a bit longer. let bladie feel good, and then i'll take care of you myself." she whispers, petting you.

she allows blade his time with you, letting him fuck you roughly. he prods into your g-spot, sending you spiraling while kafka cums onto your tongue.

once she recovers, she lays at your side, lapping over your nipples, sucking marks into your chest while blade uses you. though, before he can cum, she stops him.

"ah-ah, not inside." she warns, hearing him grunt, annoyed as he pulls out. he strokes himself to completion, spilling all over your stomach while kafka slides two fingers through it. "so thick today. go ahead and fetch my harness."

she smiles at you, wiping the cum off with her shorts before discarding them. blade returns like a puppy, handing her what she needs as you look up curiously. you're still twitching from the orgasm he gave you, yet kafka knows she can do better.

attaching her strap-on to the harness over her hips, she lets you take a good look at what she plans to use on you. it's pink, much like her abilities, and big. she seems to take pride in it, laying it on your stomach to show you how deep she'll be.

"aren't you just the cutest little thing." kafka sighs, kissing your neck, nipping at your chest before sliding her strap inside of you.

and, oh, do you moan for her. it's hot, tapering off into a needy whine as she rubs your clit. it feels different when she fucks you. as if she's using your body to prove a point. as if the only thing she needs to survive is your pleasure.

you thought blade would've disappeared, but he watches from the side, entranced by how well you take kafka, how you sing for her so beautifully. you might even say he's jealous on some level...

she materializes a leash around your neck, yanking at it to get your cunt to tighten up around her. she laughs at how pliant you are for her, easily falling to her whims. "good girl, that's it. just a little toy for me."

she fucks you with perfect precision and accuracy, hitting the spots she knows you love. she doesn't stop, fucking you right through your orgasms, even when you're reduced to mewling and whining beneath her. she merely wipes your tears, changing your position, shoving your head deeper into the pillows.

whatever she desires, she plans to take it from you, leaving you with nothing but dreams of her and her alone.

[k1ng-ej]

Also for Soldier Boy my beloved,

A s/o that doesn’t like fighting or arguing or anything along those lines but has a really destructive power? Could be something like pyrokinesis or dematerialization or whatever you’d like? Basically a pacifist that’s twice as powerful/strong as him

note: tbh didnt know what power to go with without it being way over the top, im a nerd about superpowers so reality warping was as down to earth as i could get while still making it stronger than soldier boy (maybe not in physical strength but you get what i mean) :)

Stronger? Nah (Soldier Boy x Powerful!Reader) ⭑.ᐟ

𓂃۶ৎ Soldier boy is skeptical when you reveal your ability. He thinks you're bluffing and insists he wont believe it until he sees proof. You're not helping your case when you explain to him the consequences of warping reality, even explain that you could erase him from existence if you really wanted to.

𓂃۶ৎ He would try to push you to use your ability, you refused every time, telling him again, there are consequences, and you don't like getting your hands dirty. Originally he thinks you're weak, you're always sitting out missions with The Boys, you never do real work for them, he says.

𓂃۶ৎ It takes time for him to warm up to you, and understand that you don't like fighting or having blood on your hands. He still thinks it's weird, you have such a powerful ability, why not use it?

𓂃۶ৎ Although he would never confess it, the fact that he's the weaker partner in the relationships stings his pride. Everyone would always look to you for help, even though the chances of you actually helping are slim. He hates it. He hates that he's not the first option when it comes down to business.

𓂃۶ৎ Maybe he despises you a little bit for it, he snaps at you in team meetings. He will turn to you and ask why you can't just "do funky shit and help them take down Vought", or "Why are you being so useless?"

𓂃۶ৎ It stings, it destroys your relationship, it pushes you away. You never argue back with him, instead you lock yourself away in the bedroom of the small apartment you share.

𓂃۶ৎ He doesn't notice for days, he wonders why you're avoiding him. It finally clicks in his head that maybe he did or said something wrong, and he confronts you. Knowing him, you were expecting an argument, for him to get annoyed and tell you to stop being so sensitive. You didn't want to argue with him, so you tried to tell him everything was fine but he could see right through you. He was your boyfriend, after all, he knew when something might be up.

𓂃۶ৎ So, when you finally tell him what's wrong, he surprises you. He actually…apologizes? He tells you it's okay that you don't want to use your ability, and even makes a small comment about how it's okay that you might be the stronger one out of the two of you. You could see it bugged him that you had such a destructive power, that you could change reality as you know it.

𓂃۶ৎ He won't let his ego get too hurt, though. If anything, he treats you like a damsel in distress during any minor inconvenience. He thinks he's coming to your rescue, even if it means having to do a quick food run for you while you're nose deep in articles about Vought. He likes to think he's saving you, and you let him think that, because what would you do without him?

𓂃۶ৎ There are still times when he tries to coax you into using your power, even if it's for something minor, something fun. He will butter you up, kisses, praising you, sweet nothings spilling from those plush lips of his. You hate that it almost works on you, that you're tempted to play around with your power a little bit. But, you never give in, even if it disappoints him, even if he tries to pout at you, which honestly looks so unnatural for him, it never works.

𓂃۶ৎ However, when you finally do show him the extent of your power, he is in awe, perhaps afraid if he can even feel that. He isn't usually one to give compliments so easily, but that day he praises the very ground you stand on.

[gtwscratch]

Here's some fun "what ifs"!

What if Grian was hit by Scar instead of Skizz?

What if Ren looked at the camera instead of Martyn and he found out?

What if Cub saved Scar from being taken?

What if Lizzie was taken before Joel?

What if Gem had Grian's powers?

What if Pearl could fly out of the labs?

What if Etho gave Joel his hammer, saying he doesn't want to use it anymore?

What if Bdubs saw Cleo as a mother figure and wishes she could comfort him again?

What if Tango accidently caused a fire with his super speed?

What if Cleo could get Skizz and Mumbo to free the others?

What if Mumbo got a power?

What if Scar could break through the glass?

What if Impulse could visit Bdubs in their dreams?

What if Sausage found clues of Cubs work?

What if Joel had an argument with Etho after a particularly bad day?

What if Big B was allowed one free day to move wherever he wanted?

What if Jimmy was stuck being invisible?

What if Scott could turn into inanimate objects?

What if Skizz could speak to Impulse?

What if Martyn had a sonic scream instead of hearing?

WOW that’s a lot!! :DDD

1.) Oh, Skizz wasn’t hit by Scar. Skizz died during the scientists’ experiments on him.

2.) Assuming you mean if Martyn would have been taken regardless if he noticed his picture being taken, he would’ve been absolutely furious. Honestly? Might have caused a causality. He would rather be completely alone in the facility than have to suffer alongside Ren.

3.) Cub would have tried way harder to report Ex to the head of Lacuna Labs and the police. He hadn’t realized how serious Ex was, and he’d be damned if his efforts to protect his brother went to waste.

4.) Joel would’ve been just as worried as Lizzie was about him. Maybe he would’ve filed a missing persons report sooner.

5.) I don’t think things would change too much since Gem and Grian are in the same cell.

6.) If you mean if she could fly but was still captive, she’d feel waaay less claustrophobic and less like she was losing her mind. If you mean if she could fly and escape, she might not ever come back. What would people say if she approaches them, maniples and antennae and wings?

7.) Sadly, no one else can use the mace. It dematerializes when other people try to wield it (unless it’s Grian and he’s copying Etho’s power).

8.) Awww.. They certainly grew close in the short time they shared a cell.

9.) Luckily there are fire extinguishers and other items that are readily available to prevent major damage. And it would probably have happened during a test, so Tango would get no punishment or anything since they were testing the limits of his speed.

10.) Then she 100% would. If she could summon them past the walls of her cell, she would have gotten herself and as many people out of the facility as she could.

11.) He actually did before he died!

12.) Oh, he can. Scar is just too afraid of his own strength to utilize it.

13.) I’m not sure. I haven’t put any thought into if Impulse and Bdubs would have much of a relationship in this AU.

14.) Then he’d do everything he could to meet up with Cub and figure out where Pearl went. They’d work together with the others to figure out where they are.

15.) They’d stay pretty quiet, but they wouldn’t stay mad at each other for long. At the end of the day, they both know that the other isn’t actually mad at them.

16.) He would take as much advantage of it as he could. He’d take out security cameras as subtly as possible and hope the others figured out what he’d done.

17.) Oh, he would be so much worse mentally than he currently is. He’s constantly holding onto Lizzie or the thin blanket from his bed so that he can see that he’s touching something—so that he can see that he’s still there.

18.) He probably would have escaped a lot sooner.

19.) If Imoulse could hear him, then Skizz would let him know anything and everything that he saw. He’d let him know the perfect time to make a move, the fastest route to escape, all that jazz. And if they had to wait a while for an escape opportunity, then Skizz is feeding him words of encouragement and urging him to home on just a little bit longer.

20.) Many scientists would have gone deaf early on before they put a power suppression collar on him.

[rootspiral]

I was rewatching the end of WandaVision recently and I was struck by the parallels between Wanda and Vision's last kiss and Agatha and Rio's, with how both Wanda and Rio are left standing frozen, hands outstretched as if they're still holding their lover's face even as Vision dematerializes/Agatha slowly falls. I just think it's kind of interesting how the two shows echo each other in so many ways. This isn't really a question lol I just remembered while reading your posts and thought I'd share.

There is a lot of intentional rhyming between WandaVision and AAA, you're absolutely right. Even down to the structure of the episodes and overall arc, we start with hilarious little episodes and then the comedy gives way more and more to big scale tragedy. (And I suspect the two last WV episodes would have been much angstier if not for the stupid CGI battles they were forced to add.)

Wanda/Vision and Agatha/Rio exist on the same narrative wavelengths, they are doomed from the start and yet you root for them because they are so so deeply in love - despite the happy ending being so completely unlikely (Vision is a figment of Wanda's imagination, Rio is literally Death) we leave them at the end of the show with a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe they'll meet again and things will work out. Like I said, it is rhyming and it's intentional, there are some very specific themes that Jac and Co. set out to explore.

I find it funny though that despite the parallels between Agatha/Wanda and Rio/Vision, one couple works so well together while the other is such an egregious dysfunctional mess. The endings are complementary, but on one hand we have Vision and Wanda being so sweet and reassuring and helping each other through this horrible ordeal. Like, Vision is so suave and wise, "stands to reason we'll say hello again" etc. Meanwhile Agatha who cannot talk about 1 (one) feeling without screaming in terror kinda just... sticks her tongue down Rio's troath and dies. The icon, the legend, the clown she is.

[narcjsistx]

𝐔𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃 | kaiser x reader

— part ten

plot: kaiser comforted you after a bad and slow breakup, but what will happen now considering what you two shared? is everything still unexpected or is there something you both simply have yet to realize?. fluff shit 'cause yeah!!

words: 1.9k (1967)

extra: it will probably become a multi part story, tell me if you're interested in a part eleven! I also realized that maybe I write shorter chapters better, so abandon the 2.5/3k word chapters

Since the parade had taken place you had completely returned to the path you were on, as if the hatred that so many had directed at you had dematerialized: on the one hand you appreciated this thing, but on the other it still made you so angry when you remembered how they had treated you. Many agencies, both German and foreign, had asked you to collaborate, but you had decided that for the moment you would only stay with TraumLaufsteg, which still had many answers to give you; you still wanted to understand what kind of relationship there was between Ursula and Gabriel, and how he was one of the founders. These were questions that tormented you at night, but for some time now you have been spending them more peacefully in Kaiser's arms, where you felt good

The media had begun to suspect the alleged relationship between you and the German prodigy, but beyond speculation there was obviously nothing confirmed. You and Michael were careful to keep things low profile, as complicated as it was for both of you. No one had yet understood that you had moved back in with him, and no one should have understood that now hugs weren't the only thing you exchanged

Michael had been on tour in the Berlin border areas for a week now, and for convenience he didn't come home, as much as he wanted to. You missed him, but he would be back in less than a few days, so you were happy. Life with Kaiser was going great, and that made you fall in love with him even more. The only problem was that Gabriel had suddenly started managing the company's models, including you: this meant being in contact with him more than necessary, and as much as I didn't want to, it was work

"Okay, one last time, whole runway" says the man sitting in his comfortable chair, while you and the other seven models return to the starting position. You had been doing the exact same thing since this morning only with different clothes, and if it hadn't been for the presence of your ex you would surely have been happier. You take a deep breath, taking the first position as the top model. You start walking, gaze fixed and movements flowing, swinging the wide skirt you had to wear as a test. You walk the entire length, reaching the tip where you put a hand on your hip, looking at the imaginary audience and then walking back, always with the same grace. The other models repeat the gesture taking their time, but you always feel Gabriel's gaze on you

He always looks at you, as if it were something that would make him breathe. Even when the attention should be on the other models, his gaze doesn't move from your figure, and you can't do much more than glare at him. Since he started working with you again, he has this toxic habit, which always makes you feel bad even though you haven't done anything. It gets worse when Ursula is with him, who occasionally attends the rehearsals next to the man: it makes you laugh a little how she tries to get his attention, failing miserably... and yet on the day of the show they seemed like best friends. Ursula doesn't talk much with her models, much less with you, so you don't know much about this woman who, in your opinion, knows a lot about you

"Okay ladies. Monica, more movement, you're modeling, not going shopping... and Iseut, more expressions, you have a cute face, use it. Also for our top model..." says the man, waking you up from your thoughts and noticing that everyone has modeled "Nothing to say, we all know she's a professional" he says giggling slightly, and while the others nod you want to do nothing more than go to him and strangle him. You hate his behavior, you hate everything about him and how he tries to flatter you every time. You'd be tempted to intentionally screw up everything to see his reaction, but at the same time it's not like you to ruin your always impeccable work for someone like that, unworthy of so much fame

You are about to leave the room to go to your dressing room and finally call your boyfriend, when you hear the doors of the rehearsal room open, and two video cameras enter followed by Ursula herself. You are surprised by this, because from what you knew from the other models in the agency access to the video cameras is prohibited

The cameras are roaming around the room, as you and the other models stare at them. You hear someone muttering something confused about this, and you don't know how to react even though you've been used to being in the spotlight for years now. You don't know why, but it stinks

Ursula stands next to Gabriel, and from the knowing smile they exchange you understand that the bomb you were waiting for is probably about to explode right now. The stylist's snake-like gaze looks you over, and a cold shiver runs down your spine as you watch the cameras finally settle in front of the two buddies, who are now scenographically side by side. You need to leave now, because the situation is feeling stranger by the second, and you don't like

"Welcome to the agency! Gabriel and I are very honored to be able to give you the opportunity to document life in the TraumLaufsteg, which for a long time has not given such a chance to anyone. Feel free to ask me and our models anything you have in mind" says Ursula in front of the first camera, while Gabriel nods "You have entered at the end of the shift of the models who will participate in the next fashion show, I was just taking care of that" he says charismatically, and the woman nods. One of the two video cameras is put down, while the man holding it comes in front of the screen, probably taking the place of the interviewer "Could you tell us more about the next show?" says the man "You can ask our models, they are ready to answer" says Gabriel, and the object moves towards you, catching you off guard. You and all the others know how to handle the situation, it is a quality that you have to acquire if you do this job, but it is still strange

The interviewer approaches, taking the girl at your side "Could you tell me how a normal shift goes?" he asks, and the woman shows off her best smile while improvising some cool answers, but in truth you don't listen to. Gabriel's oppressive gaze, now a few meters away from you, continues to stare at you with an almost maniacal smile, the same one that Ursula gives you. You gulp down a lump of saliva as you fix your hair, trying to ignore the situation. "How does it feel to walk with an internationally famous model?" the interviewer suddenly asks, and the woman remains silent for a few seconds, honestly not knowing how to respond. They all know who the man is referring to, and you can't help but smile at the camera filming you, one that actually hides a bit of anxiety and perplexity underneath

The woman remains silent, smiling nervously. The interviewer now turns to you, the microphone pointed at your mouth. “This would be the first interview you’ve had since the break” he says, and you nod. “It would have come sooner or later. You’ve obviously had more luck than the others” you say, trying to sound as nonchalant as usual. The man nods “You’re probably right. How does it feel to be back on the catwalk?” he asks “Oh, it feels great. I’ve missed doing the usual things, and going back to the catwalk was like getting some fresh air after keeping my face under water for too long” you say. The microphone shakes a bit "And why choose an agency right here in Germany? And then, such a small one" he says, and you understand why Gabriel was smiling before. You suspect that they are ready-made questions, that they are aimed at putting you in difficulty and make you look like an idiot

"Well, I moved to Germany a while ago, and starting again with an Italian agency would have been uncomfortable because of the country difference. I chose TraumLaufsteg because I saw potential, and I would say I made the right choice when I see the results of the last show" you say, using all the trump cards you can give. It's a smooth answer, but it doesn't reveal anything wrong, or at least that's what you think

"How coincidental, however, to choose TraumLaufsteg, which is precisely the agency where Gabriel is the founder. Is there something in between this choice? After all, there has been a lot of chaos between your boyfriend and you in the last few weeks" says the man, and finally you understand that it is all a trap from the beginning, designed only to advance the main topic, that is, you and Gabriel. You see an immense satisfaction in the man, and you can't help but want to kill him

"There is absolutely no correlation between my choice and the situation you are talking about, since my ex and I are no longer together. I saw potential in the TraumLaufsteg without asking myself too many questions about who the founders were" you say in a serious tone, one that has the aim of not letting anything but your disgust transpire. The interviewer looks surprised, as does Gabriel who leaves Ursula's side, taking steps towards you. You watch him approach, feeling yourself suffocated with each step that brings you closer. He comes to your side, making his way through the models, putting his arm around your waist. Your eyes widen, moving to step aside, but his firm grip doesn't let you move. He smiles at the camera, as if nothing's wrong. If he wants to play like a jerk he's doing it perfectly

"My Y/n is just kidding, we all know in the industry how her humor can almost seem truthful. I don't know what's going on in her head, I just know that we are definitely not exes" he says playfully in front of the camera, which frames the two of you while you are doing everything you can to keep him away. You look at him disgusted, like you have never looked at anyone before. He wants to change the story every time to suit his own convenience, first calling you a traitor and now again calling you his girlfriend

It only takes a second for you to feel his lips crush yours. Your blood runs cold as you feel the sickening sensation you had forgotten and that had comforted you for so many years. He lingers on your lips, feeling them as he always has. You move to pull away, but it's no use because of his firm grip. You would like to cry, slap him, push him as far away from you as possible, but you can't do anything but remain perplexed by the gesture, appearing in front of the camera like a dead person. Now that you've gotten used to only Kaiser's lips, why do you feel those who have only spoken badly of you?

"See? Couple as always" says Gabriel, joking with the interviewer. You watch it disgusted, and everyone on television could tell that you were clearly not comfortable. Because yes, unbeknownst to you this was live nationally

And a certain blond German soccer player was watching the scene in his cold hotel room

tag(s): @rroxii ; @kittenish0 ; @bungoustraydogsno1fan (if you want to be tagged tell me!)

[plethora-of-imagines]

Self Care

AN: First fic of the year! As was voted by the people a fic focusing on one of the Masters! Delgado!Master, one of my clear favorites!

The basic concept for this fic as exsisted since 2021, but other than a few smaller details and the vague idea of comfort it is almost unrecognizable!

Word Count: 2025 (hehe fun word count for the first fic of the year)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, dissociation, injured!reader, unintentional self-harm (health wise, not physical), nudity, non-sexual intamacy

Description: You've had a rough day, and the Master has decided that you need to be taken care of.

You were uncomfortable.

Panting in the entrance to the Master’s TARDIS. Struggling to breathe instead of inhaling the water dripping down your face. Clothing soaked, creating a puddle below your feet as it dripped onto the floor. Leg aching. The water mixed with blood to create a stinging pain from the jagged cut you had obtained while escaping the danger you had managed to stumble- literally- into.

You were physically and emotionally exhausted.

The groaning and wheezing of dematerialization only served to make you slump further.

Minutes of silence passed as you failed to work up the energy to move. Unable to jump in surprise when warm fingers tilted your face as a clear “tsk” was let out by the unharmed and only slightly damp man in front of you.

“You’re ice cold, my dear. We need to get you warmed up.”

Unable to focus your gaze on him, drifting in your painful dissociation.

A quiet, “hmm,” was the only response you could muster up. Dizzy when your body began to move unexpectedly.

The Master’s arms wrapped securely around you, bringing a distant sense of comfort. Clinging to him once set down as he attempted to pull away. The feeling of safety being pried away from your hands, fingers unable to continue gripping onto the clammy fabric being yanked away.

A hurt, distressed animal. That’s what your whine sounded like to your own ears.

Weakly bating at the hands that were undressing you. Not wanting them to remove the clothing that your mind swore was keeping you warm. Clothing equaled warmth, right? The room was shaking, no wait, that was your body. Pinned down by a weight as something pressed against your skin. Squealing as pain flooded your mind. Begging with useless words for it to stop. Pain- now your only companion, your unwanted lover. SIlent sobs wracking your body as the pain slowly abandoned you along with the little warmth that had remained against your skin. Nonsensical sounds reaching your ears and adding to the confusion that wrapped itself around your head- a noose that only seemed to tighten.

The warm scent of vanilla flooding your nose eventually broke through your hazy mind. The ability to focus slowly returning, like the slow drip of the faucet next to you. No matter how many times the Master tried to fix it, it always needed to be kept in the oddest of positions to be fully shut off. Weighted down limbs struggled to grasp and move the knob enough to halt it.

Your attempts were aided by his hand, resting overtop of yours. The small bottle in his hands being unceremoniously left on the counter nearby.

“If your mind has managed to return to the present time, I would like to hold your attention for a moment, my dear.”

Leaning carefully into the bare chest in front of you, the double heart beat soothing the racing of your own heart.

“Why are we naked?”

You could feel the smile in his words.

“Our clothes were rather soaked, and your sensitive human constitution is simply too prone to illness to allow you to remain in those waterlogged things.”

“And this means that you also had to strip down,” you slowly teased back after a lengthy pause.

“Naturally,” he smoothly replied with an inflection as smooth as butter. “Now are you going to continue to question my desires to share a bath to warm you up, or may I get on with drawing it for us.”

“Oh by all means, proceed.”

The wince as you shifted and pulled at the gash on your leg didn’t go unnoticed.

“Of course we will have to deal with that pesky injury first.”

“Please.”

A tiny glass jar was being opened in his hands just a few moments later. Tiny glowing fireflies bursting out into the room. Reminding you of the meteor shower the two of you had gone to see months ago. They remained suspended like stars, slowly drifting down over the two of you. Scrunching your nose when the first one landed on your open wound.

As if a hive mind, the rest of the little glowing lights followed suit. Swarming around your leg. A tingling sensation overtaking your nerves. An uncontrollable giggle bursting forth.

“What-”

“I have found having a small supply of nanobots to be helpful for cases like this.”

It was only a few minutes later that your giggles were able to subside, smooth skin being left behind where the gash had previously taken residence. The nanobots collecting together back into the small jar after tickling the rest of your skin briefly. Like little kisses against your skin.

Remaining where you were, watching as the Master filled the large bathtub with hot water, and some of the liquid from the bottle from earlier that he had picked back up. The gentle sound of running water the only noise in the quiet bathroom. The smell of vanilla growing more potent with the mountain of bubbles that formed near the tap.

Positioning himself between your legs, his beard tickled your cheek as your face was cradled against his. The difference in temperature between your still cold skin and his almost burning. His hands trailing along your body, rubbing warmth into you as he kissed you deeply. He cupped your hands between his own for a while, letting his forehead rest against yours. The steam slowly filled the room until you were certain that the mirror must be fogged up behind you.

“I will be just a moment, my dear. If you would not mind turning off the tap once the bath is full.”

Humming an affirmative as he released you to leave the bathroom. Focusing on the bathtub once more you watched as the bubbles threatened to overflow out onto the floor. Hopping down from your perch on the counter onto slightly unsteady feet, you pushed the bubbles around so that they could remain within the tub.

Feeling much better from the warmth already, you knew that you would have to sleep more tonight. Teeth picking at your cracked lips as you contemplated how to get the best rest while still being awake before the Master would start to do anything interesting without you.

The purposeful creaking of the door made you realize how you were harassing your lip, quickly releasing it to avoid the Master seeing. He set down a wooden bath tray filled with snacks on the floor next to you. Making your stomach growl in hunger, as you realized how hungry you were. Yet you didn’t dare to grab anything from the tray, at least not yet. Turning the tap off the Master slowly entered the water, bubbles clinging to his skin. Strong arms helped to steady you as you climbed in after him. Settling against his chest with a satisfied sigh. With one hand he lifted up the tray to settle across the width of the tub. Thankful for the heat that could be blamed for the blush that grew across your face at the show of his strength.

Those strong arms pulled you firmly against his chest, not allowing you to move a millimeter out of his embrace. It was then that you noticed that every bottle of product, soap, and all the washcloths were securely out of your reach. The only thing that you could reach was the spread he had brought for the two of you.

It was an impressive sight to see. An artfully arranged mix of fruits, cheeses,and surprisingly crackers. Those would leave crumbs in the bathwater no matter how careful you were eating them, which you knew the Master despised. The only sweets on the tray were the natural sugars that could be found in the alien fruits he had provided. While you would enjoy the added sweetness you knew that they were nourishing too. Filled with vitamins and antioxidants in their sweet and just slightly sour grape-like taste.

Fully submitting to the Master's desire to care for you, popping one of the bite sized fruits into your mouth, savoring the taste. Gathering cheese on a cracker next you brought it to the Master's mouth. He would hopefully at least indulge you by partaking in what he had provided you. He gently kissed your temple before accepting your offered food. Taking a bite and doing his best to ignore the crumbs it made. Without any words you could tell that he wanted you to have the rest of the offered snack. You obliged. Silently understanding his promise to partake in the offered platter, in his own time. 

Knowing that he was likely to bring food to your lips more often than his own. It was something you had learned to accept- his desire to provide for you. Your acceptance of his care warming both of his hearts.

Contentedly sighing as the Master began to absentmindedly trace patterns along your stomach. Twitching every so often when his fingers ghosted over sensitive skin. The comfortable silence lasted for several minutes while you lightly picked at the small feast provided. Once your hands stilled, no longer reaching for something from the tray, the Master took over. Lifting more food to your lips, taking something for himself only after he had fed you at least three things first.

“After an ordeal such as today, you should be pampered, my dear.”

Still chewing you looked up at him, furrowing your brow at his stern expression.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he scolded. “I have been planning to force you to allow me to care for you properly for weeks now. I have noticed you failing to take proper care of yourself.”

Swallowing heavily before answering, “I do take care of myself, Master.”

“Oh is that so? Tell me then when was the last time you ate a full meal?”

Your silence was its own answer.

“No? How about a full night of rest?”

At the continued lack of response, he pressed another piece of fruit against your thinly pressed lips. The silence as you chewed- both on the fruit and what he had said- was oppressive.

Still considering his words he continued while starting to slowly wash your skin with feather light touches.

“I know that you are only human, my dear. There is no need for you to push yourself to keep up with me all the time. Of course I am partly to blame for not reminding you of this prior to today. You were hurt due to my carelessness, something I refuse to allow to happen again.”

“I’m sorry.” 

The apology was choked out as you struggled to contain your emotions.

“As I said, you are only human, my dear. I should have anticipated your good intentioned attempt to adhere to a Time Lord schedule when I took you on as my traveling companion. We will break this silly little habit soon enough.”

“Should I expect a meal plan and a bedtime in the future,” pushing away your heavy emotions with an attempt to tease.

“Hmm perhaps if my reminders alone are not enough,” he dryly teased back. “Now let me finish taking care of you tonight.”

Lazing away in the warm water as he finished cleaning up the both of you, and continued to prompt you to eat more. The rougher texture of the towel as he dried you off made you squirm. Water still dripped down his chest, getting caught in the slightly curled hair that covered his chest. Unable to follow the water further down the path of his body by the towel wrapped around his hips. Standing side by side as he helped you with your nightly routine. Resting against him as he guided you from the bathroom to the bedroom. Lifting your feet enough to help him slide clothing onto your body. The silky smooth feeling was heavenly against your skin. It enveloped you almost as well as the blanket that he soon was tucking around your bodies. Nuzzling into him while he settled in with a book.

“Stay with me,” you asked in a weak whisper.

“I have no plans otherwise, my dear. Rest now.”

[lady-wallace]

Secret Garden - Chap 4 (Love and Deepspace)

New chapter up! And Sylus makes his appearance right in time for his birthday ^_^

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Read on Ao3

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Teaser:

“Who’s there?!” Xavier shouted, brandishing his sword.

The figure spun around and Zayne instantly used his Evol to freeze him into place. All the lights in the place suddenly flared bright and the figure grunted, lowering his head as he reached for something at his waist.

“Gun!” Rafayel shouted but Xavier was already behind the figure, sword across his throat as the lights died down again finally allowing Zayne to see the figure clearly.

He was tall with silver hair and crimson eyes. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, seeming generally unbothered for a man with a blade at his throat. A small smirk tugged at his lips despite his narrowed eyes.

Xavier seemed to recognize him. “You. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Easy,” the man spoke. “I have a feeling we’re not on opposing sides here. Put the sword away and let’s talk.”

“Why should I?” Xavier demanded.

“Guys, I think he’s one of Ari’s contacts,” Rafayel said, stepping forward.

The man lowered his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Something like that.”

Zayne watched him. He had no idea who this man was, but if he had information…

“Xavier,” he called after a long second when the hunter still hadn’t budged.

Xavier looked unhappy with the decision, but he dematerialized his sword and stepped away, folding his arms across his chest.

The man turned to Zayne, motioning to his feet. “Doctor?”

Zayne huffed and dispersed his Evol.

The man adjusted the coat he wore over his shoulders. “To get this out of the way, we’re not enemies. I just came for answers.”

“How did you get into Ariadne’s apartment?” Xavier demanded.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Even if she hadn’t given me an open invitation I would have found a way in, one way or another.”

“Enough, we’re not telling you anything until you tell us who you are and what you’re doing here,” Zayne said firmly.

“I’m Sylus,” the man said nonchalantly. “Ariadne met me while she was in the N109 Zone.”

“So, you really are him,” Xavier said darkly. “The leader of Onychinus.”

Zayne stood there speechless for a long moment. What the hell had Ari actually done while she was in the N109 Zone? No wonder she hadn’t been very forthcoming about it.

“If that’s true,” Rafayel said, “Then you probably know some stuff we don’t.”

“It’s possible,” Sylus said cryptically. “But you’ll have to tell me what you know first.”

Zayne didn’t like that at all. He didn’t like the fact that this man had shown up, with an ‘invitation’ to Ari’s apartment no less, but if he really was the leader of Onychinus then he might have the resources they needed to track Ariadne down.

Zayne set his jaw and stepped forward. “I’m willing to hear you out.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Xavier asked, hand clenching by his side.

“Like I said earlier, we don’t have the luxury of picking and choosing our allies right now.”

Rafayel nodded. “I agree. I just want to find Ari as soon as possible.”

“Then I’ll do my best to help with that,” Sylus said. “It seems we do share a common goal after all.”

He looked at all of them. “Now, tell me…who was bold enough to kidnap Ariadne Celest?”

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 5) - a Shigaraki x f! Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 5

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it, and you’re slowly coming around to the idea that what’s wrong with your house might be one of your favorite things about it. Part of it is how happy Phantom is – you feel guilty leaving her at home alone, but a lot less guilty when you know she’s with Tomura, who’s kind of crazy about her. Part of it is knowing that you’ll never find another insect in your house again, and that even if you do, you won’t have to kill it. Part of it is never worrying about a break-in, because based on how Tomura responds to even friendly people coming over, he could probably give any potential intruder a massive heart attack even without materializing.

All of that is nice. But if you’re being honest – and you try to make yourself be honest, with yourself if no one else – the main reason why you’re so happy with what’s wrong with your house is because you and Tomura are sort of, maybe, finally getting along.

You have to buy a new microwave after the soup can incident, and it wasn’t the only time Tomura tried to take care of you while you were sick. He ruined a lot of the stuff he tried to help with – flooded the hallway with bubbles after using liquid detergent in the washing machine, left the fridge open for eight hours and cranked up your electricity bill to unsustainable levels – but when you explained what went wrong, he didn’t get mad at you. He called you an idiot a lot, mostly for getting sick in the first place, but he also fed Phantom and brought you food so you wouldn’t have to get off the couch, and in the biggest shock of all, he let Keigo into the house to check on you. You’re pretty sure he only did it to piss Dabi off, but still.

There hasn’t been any more touching. Other than dragging you from the hallway to the couch the first day you were sick, Tomura doesn’t get close to you unless he’s dematerialized. That’s fine with you. You’re pretending the whole incident didn’t happen, or trying to. Sometimes the thought creeps into your head anyway. You’ll be doing something completely innocuous and all at once your mind will explode with the memory of Tomura’s raspy voice begging you to keep talking, not to leave him.

And then the images come in, things you never saw but things you can picture perfectly: His pale skin flushed and his shoulders rising and falling in unsteady pants and his hands frantic and shaking as he jerks himself off. It invariably turns your face into a furnace, and Tomura always notices. But Tomura thinks a flushed face means you’ve got a fever, so you’re safe from being found out. You don’t know what would happen if he did find out. The longer you go without anybody finding out anything at all, the better.

The flu sweeps through the neighborhood, but strangely enough, you’re the only non-ghost who catches it. Eri, Himiko, and Magne all get sick, and Hizashi spends a lot of time gloating until he comes down with it, too. The only sort-of-former ghost who avoids it is Dabi, but that’s because Dabi never goes outside. Or Keigo won’t let him go outside. You’re not sure which it is.

“It’s weird,” Spinner says. You’re giving him a ride to the grocery store because you both need to go, and because you owe him for somehow catching a whole anthill and leaving it on your porch. “That just the ghosts caught it. Usually they don’t get sick.”

“Shouldn’t they get sick more than we do? They don’t have immunity or anything.”

“I guess,” Spinner says, frowning. “But I brought home all kinds of weird shit when I was in school, and Magne never caught any of it until now.”

That is weird. “Jin says he and the others always got sick, but never Himiko before this time. If it wasn’t for me getting it, I’d think it was a ghost thing, too.”

“It could still be a ghost thing even if you got it,” Spinner says. “You spend all your time hanging out with the most powerful ghost anybody’s ever seen. Maybe you’ve got enough ghost on you to catch the – hey, are you okay?”

“Fine,” you wheeze. There’s no way you’re telling Spinner that you misheard “ghost on you” as “ghost in you” and choked on your own spit. “Go on. What were you saying?”

But Spinner’s changing the subject. “What’s that like, anyway? Living with a ghost that strong.”

“You should know. Magne’s pretty tough.”

“She’s got a body count, sure,” Spinner says. All the ghosts in the neighborhood have killed somebody, but Magne and Hizashi are the only ones who need both hands and both feet to count how many. “But I never got the feeling from her that the whole street gets from Tomura. That aura he projects is something else. Did you really not feel it when you were buying the place?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I knew there had to be something off about the house, or somebody else would have bought it. But I did everything I could think of to figure it out and there was nothing. I’ve never felt what you all are talking about from him. From Hizashi, sure. But not from him.”

“Hizashi’s scary even as a human,” Spinner agrees. “I don’t know how Aizawa handles it. I’d be pissing myself.”

“Aizawa seems pretty bomb-proof,” you say. “I guess that’s a good thing. Or they would have been in trouble when Eri’s conjurer showed up.”

The whole street knows the story, even if the Aizawa family never talks about it. You heard five separate versions of it, one each from Himiko, Jin, Jin’s little brother, a former ghost named Atsuhiro who lives at the top of the street, and Keigo. You’re inclined to trust Keigo’s version, but you see the look on Spinner’s face, and it makes you question things. “Do you know something about it that I don’t?”

“They had the same conjurer,” Spinner says. “Eri and Magne.”

Your jaw drops. “We’re pretty sure he was Atsuhiro’s, too,” Spinner continues, “but Atsuhiro says he doesn’t remember who conjured him. The circumstances are pretty close, though. That conjurer liked abandoned buildings, or ones that were in danger of falling in. When the building comes down, it turns the ghost loose.”

“He wanted to set them free?”

“I guess,” Spinner says. “Loose ghosts can cause a lot more trouble than trapped ones. I’m glad he’s dead. And I’m glad he found the Aizawas first.”

Eri’s conjurer sounds like a real creep, but Spinner didn’t strike you as the kind of guy who wishes he could shove the bad stuff off onto somebody else. “Why? You don’t think Magne could have taken him?”

“She probably could have,” Spinner says. He gets out of the car and heads for the store, leaving you to chase after him. “But there’s this legend. Or a myth. Maybe a ghost story. It says that if you kill your own conjurer, even after you’re embodied, it sends you back.”

“I thought they couldn’t go back to the world between,” you say. “Aizawa never said –”

“Aizawa doesn’t know everything,” Spinner says. His jaw is clenched, and the next words he speaks are hard to hear. “I didn’t want her to go back.”

“Oh.” Your feelings on Tomura are just mixed enough that the idea of him vanishing permanently doesn’t make you panic. Or at least you tell yourself that it doesn’t make you panic and try not to think about it any harder than that. But Spinner looks miserable just saying it out loud. “Um –”

“I need to grab my stuff. I’ll meet you back here when I’m done.”

“Okay,” you say. You want to say something else, but Spinner vanishes down the aisle before you can think of what it should be.

You’re turning a lot of things over in your head as you do your grocery shopping. The legend about ghosts returning to the world between. The world between itself, what it’s like there. The now-dead conjurer who summoned Magne and Eri. The maybe-still-alive conjurer who summoned Tomura. But Tomura’s still a ghost. Even if his conjurer came back, there’s nothing they could do to hurt him.

You remember Spinner saying that Magne didn’t like this world at first, all the way back on the first day you met Aizawa. Maybe he was worried she’d go back if she got the chance. You gather up your last items, pay for them, and go to wait for Spinner, who comes back five minutes after you with a bottle of soda, a bunch of bananas, and a whole bag full of makeup and nail polish from the discount bin. “It’s for Magne,” he says when he sees you looking at it. “She likes pretty stuff. I’d buy nicer stuff if I could afford it.”

“Sometimes the cheap stuff is best.” Your favorite sunscreen is a discount brand, and you’ve never had very much money. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier. I think I was being kind of insensitive.”

“You didn’t know or anything,” Spinner says. “I don’t talk about it very much. I, like – it’s not heartwarming. Or cute. Or anything like that.”

“It doesn’t have to be any of those things,” you say. It’s not like your ghost story fits, either. You struggle with what to say as the two of you walk back out to the parking lot. “You don’t have to tell me. You can if you want to.”

“Really? Everybody else wanted to drag it out of me,” Spinner says. “Somebody new shows up in the neighborhood, and everybody else cases the joint for a few days and comes crawling out of the woodwork. I’d been here two weeks when Aizawa ambushed me with a tape recorder. Everybody’s in everybody else’s business all the time.”

You didn’t get that treatment, but then again, you didn’t have a ghost when you moved in. “It makes sense,” you say as you start the car. Spinner raises his eyebrows. “Ghosts don’t have any boundaries at all. The more of them you hang out with, the less boundaries you have.”

Spinner snorts. “You wouldn’t believe what happens when they start talking to each other. The shit they’ll say – one time I heard Himiko telling Eri how cute it is that Jin picks his nose and farts in his sleep. And she wasn’t being sarcastic. Once they choose a human, they really commit.”

You wonder what Tomura would say about you to the other ghosts, if he ever talked to them. If he’d say anything about you at all. “How do you think about your relationship with Magne, then? Is she like your friend, your sister, your aunt –”

“My big sister,” Spinner says. You back out of the parking spot and steer towards the road, and the noise in the car almost covers up what he says next. “My mom.”

You’re not close with your parents. There was never any real reason why, and it’s not like you hate them. You’re an only child, and the three of you just never felt like a family – not like the families your friends were part of, or the ones you saw on TV, or even the weird ghost families in the neighborhood you live in now. Maybe it was different when you were too young to remember, but as you grew up, the three of you felt more like roommates than anything else. You always felt like you were alone. Moving out just made it official.

But it’s not that way for everybody. Not even most people. You glance sideways at Spinner. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, and then he tells you the story.

Spinner’s parents weren’t great. That’s not an uncommon story in the neighborhood – Jin’s dad was an all-purpose batterer, and Shinsou was in foster care – but unlike the two of them, there was no friendly ghost in Spinner’s house. Spinner ran away from home when he was twelve, and nobody looked for him. He went from town to town, building to building, alone. He was fifteen when he found himself staying in the abandoned warehouse Magne haunted.

At first, Spinner says, there was no way to tell that the place was haunted at all. When Magne showed herself, she was always embodied, and he thought she was human, just like him. And she was nice to him. She brought him things he needed, although she never said where she found them. She talked to him, although she never answered the questions he asked her about herself. “She cared about me,” Spinner says. “For real, not pretending like everybody else did. I never wanted to leave.”

But he had to. Spinner caught the attention of the wrong gang of criminals, and although Magne hid him, they found him anyway. Magne’s way of draining people was different than Tomura’s is. Spinner tells you about lying on his back on the concrete floor of the warehouse, watching the people who were attacking him implode, one by one. “And then, with the last one, something happened,” Spinner says. “The whole world – I don’t know how to describe it. It did something. Usually people aren’t conscious when their ghosts embody themselves permanently, but I was. I saw it happen. I knew before she did.”

You wish Spinner could describe it better. It’s not like you’re ever going to see for yourself. “It was scary for everybody,” Spinner says. “Me and her. There we are in that stupid warehouse and there are dead people everywhere and we can leave, finally – except I’m so beat I can’t tell which end is up. It was three whole days before we got anywhere it was safe to talk about stuff.”

“Was there a lot to talk about?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Spinner says, shaking his head. “All the human stuff? Even when they embody themselves, they never embody themselves long enough to get a feel for what it’s really like. And there’s no way for them to experience all the human stuff ahead of time. Like eating, sleeping, taking a piss –”

You imagine the look on Tomura’s face if he permanently embodied himself and then found out about having to pee, and then you’re struggling not to laugh. “That’s bad enough,” Spinner says. “But then there’s the thing where she’s, like – a whole human. A whole human who didn’t exist before. There was paperwork. It sucked.”

You hadn’t thought about that. “How does that even work?”

“Honestly? That’s how we met Hizashi,” Spinner says. You blink. “He spent so long blending into the human world before he embodied himself full-time that he had to learn to forge documents to do stuff, and he’s creepy good at it. He gets you the basic stuff – birth certificate, ID – and then he builds a whole paper trail. Somebody who looks at Magne’s documents is never going to know she didn’t exist five years ago.”

“So that’s how you found this place, too,” you realize. That means Hizashi and Aizawa were here before Spinner and Magne, but when did the rest of them move in? “Who was here first?”

Spinner gives you an odd look. “Your ghost,” he says. “Tomura.”

“He’s not mine,” you say, almost on reflex. “He’d be mad if he heard you say that.”

Spinner basically straight up ignores you. “I gotta say, it was weird to hear you name-drop him that first time. We’ve all always known he’s there, but we know so little about him that he’s basically got legend status – and to you he’s just Tomura. And that’s it.”

“What else was he supposed to be? I didn’t know anything about any of this until I moved here.” You feel hurt, even though you shouldn’t. Spinner’s not saying any of the things your brain is telling you he’s saying – not that you shouldn’t be here, not that you don’t deserve to be in the same house as Tomura, not that you don’t understand. “I’m glad he does what he does for everybody in the neighborhood. I don’t think it’s conscious –”

“Oh, we know that. He doesn’t give a shit,” Spinner says, and laughs. “Maybe that’s why it’s weird. Because he clearly gives a shit about you.”

You knew that. Hearing somebody else say it, somebody like Spinner who doesn’t have a weird relationship with their ghost, makes you all kinds of uncomfortable. “Like, he got on the phone for you. Live ghosts hate technology. They hate anything they can’t haunt. For a ghost like him to get on the phone, he must care a lot.”

You laugh, wondering if it sounds as uncomfortable as you feel. “I still have to apologize to Aizawa for that phone call. Tomura was kind of a dick.”

“They’re all kind of dicks,” Spinner says, and your laughter feels a little less uncomfortable this time. “They can’t really help it when they don’t understand. The embodied ones learn eventually.”

You’re not so sure about that. Dabi’s still very much of a dick. Magne was a dick when she was sick, but so was everybody who got the ghost flu, you included. Hizashi’s a dick on purpose sometimes, but most of the time he isn’t. He can’t be. Aizawa wouldn’t have stayed with him otherwise.

Out of all the ghost families in the neighborhood, you’ve spent the most time observing Aizawa’s. You don’t know why, when you’ve got Keigo and Dabi right across the street, but your eyes are consistently drawn to the house where Aizawa and Hizashi and their kids live. At first it might have been because you needed to confirm your conclusion. You needed to know whether Aizawa married Hizashi because he wanted to or because he had to. And you’ve watched them long enough that you’re sure: Aizawa loves Hizashi, in the same weird way Hizashi loves him.

It’s not like you can’t see why, even if you’re legitimately spooked by Hizashi. There’s nobody more committed to a relationship than an embodied ghost. Hizashi likes to make sweeping statements about all the things he’d do if Aizawa asked him to – like fighting God, or bringing him a piece of the sun, or breaking into the cat shelter and stealing all the cats – but what he actually does is quieter. Aizawa’s relaxed when Hizashi’s around. He doesn’t look so tired. He smiles more. Hizashi makes him comfortable. Hizashi makes him happy.

There’s a line in one of the few ghost books Aizawa didn’t write that’s been playing in your head lately: Ghosts haunt the space they’re given. That’s how they haunt houses. Maybe that’s how they haunt people, too.

“Thanks,” Spinner says, and you glance at him. Somehow you’re parked in front of his house already, when you barely remember driving home. “For the ride. And for not being weird about things.”

“Any time,” you say, and you mean it. You watch as Spinner makes his way up the front steps and opens the door, only to find Magne waiting there already. She hugs him so hard she lifts him off his feet.

You drive the rest of the way back to your house, lost in thought, and greet Phantom on autopilot before you start unpacking the groceries. You know Tomura’s around somewhere, and sure enough, there’s a puff of cold air against the back of your neck – the air chilling and then displacing in response to his presence. “Spinner,” he says without preamble. “Do you like him?”

For once you don’t play dumb. “He’s a nice guy. Kind of young for me.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” you say. “How old are you?”

“A hundred and ten,” Tomura says, and your jaw drops. “I think. It was hard to count in here before. It never felt like anything changed.”

“It probably didn’t.” The first time you stepped into the house, you felt almost like time had stopped. “Me and Phantom change. I bet that helps.”

“Whatever,” Tomura says. At his heart, Tomura’s still an asshole most of the time. When he speaks up again, his voice sounds different. “When you say change, you mean age. Don’t you?”

You nod. There’s an edge to Tomura’s voice now. “How long do you live?”

You don’t like thinking about how long Phantom will live. Your vocal cords feel pinched and tight when you speak. “Phantom’s breed of dog can live to be thirteen or fourteen if you take good care of them. I take good care of her, and she’s only two. That’s – eleven more years.”

“That’s not long enough,” Tomura says. He’s telling you. Your eyes well up. “What about you?”

“If I’m lucky?” It’s easier to think about this for you than for Phantom. “I might make it to ninety. If nothing goes wrong.”

“That’s not long enough, either,” Tomura snaps. “What do you mean, if nothing goes wrong?”

If you’re not allowed to play dumb, Tomura isn’t, either. “You’ve watched medical dramas with me. Car accidents. Heart attacks. Alzheimer’s – the one where you forget everything. Cancer. All those things can happen to humans at any time. And they do, every day.”

“No,” Tomura says.

“It’s mortality. You can’t just say ‘no’ and opt out.”

“No,” Tomura says again. “That’s not how this works. You don’t get to leave me.”

Your stomach twists. “I’m sixty-four years away from being ninety. That’s a long time.”

“It’s not long enough!” There’s a light thud from behind you, the sound of Tomura’s feet hitting the floor as he materializes. A pair of ice-cold arms wrap around your waist, gripping you tightly and yanking you backwards against an equally cold chest. He’s breathing hard, even though he doesn’t have to breathe. His heart is beating harder, even though there’s no reason for him to have one. If not for the chill spreading over you, you couldn’t tell a difference between him and someone human.

His voice, when he speaks, is full of menace. “It can try to take you. I won’t let it.”

“There’s not a grim reaper,” you say. At least, you think there isn’t. But the world has ghosts in it. Maybe it’s got a personification of death, too. “There’s nothing for you to fight. This is just how things are.”

“No, it isn’t. You and Phantom are mine.” Phantom comes running at the sound of her name and drops her ball at your feet. You kick it away and she runs off in pursuit. “The others are stupid. They did it wrong. I know better.”

Your teeth are starting to chatter. “What do you mean?”

“They embodied themselves so they could follow their humans,” Tomura says. “Wherever they go. Even after they’re dead. I’m going to make you follow me.”

You want to tell him to quit talking like a lunatic. Remind him that ghosts and humans are two different species, that ghosts can become human but not the other way around. Tell him that this isn’t a fairytale, that the rules won’t bend just because he wants them to, that you’re going to die one day and there’s nothing he can do about it. “Don’t be so sentimental,” you say, like an idiot. Like an asshole. “What kind of ghost are you?”

The last time you said something like that to Tomura, he vanished, haunted your house all night, and then got so turned on from touching your hand that he flooded the entire neighborhood with horniness. This time he doesn’t vanish, but he doesn’t answer, either. He stays exactly where he is, arms lashed tightly around your waist, cheek resting against your hair, and the cold seeps into your bones.

“Is that really why they did it?” you ask after a while. Tomura makes some kind of noise that’s muffled by your hair. “The others.”

“Why do you care?” Tomura’s quiet for a second. “I get it. That human thing where you have to understand stuff so it won’t scare you.”

“I guess.”

“Then ask somebody else,” Tomura says, almost derisive. “I’d never do something that stupid.”

“Yeah,” you say. Your heart sinks, and you compartmentalize like you haven’t done since the first few months after you moved in. It’s almost been a year. A year ago you’d never have imagined this, and you wish you’d stayed that way. Don’t you? “I know.”

[bookishfeylin]

Of Beast and Beauty

@feylinweek

For Feylin Week Day 4: Beauty and the Beast. This references some of my other oneshots where I delve into Tamlin's childhood and adolescence.

It begins when Beron makes a small, snide comment to Feyre at the first meeting of all the High Lords around a year after Amarantha.

“How can you love a monster like that?”

At the time she’d rolled her eyes and turned to talk to Tarquin instead, not noticing how Tamlin had stiffened beside her.

Tamlin had implied that he was viewed as more… animalistic, perhaps, than other Lords due to his shapeshifting abilities. And Feyre sensed that there was something very important about Tamlin’s past that he was refusing to share with her, as her lover himself seemed to have a curious love-hate relationship with his magic. And after Beron’s comment, Tamlin had grown more distant. 

But after days of her seeking him out and being relentlessly affectionate, Tamlin was acting normal, and had seemingly forgotten what Beron had said. 

Seemingly.

But it's after they announce their engagement that the drama truly begins, in the form of Rhysand winnowing directly into Rosehall manor one bright spring day. He’d walked through the hallways, dodged Tamlin as he attempted to throw Rhysand out, and casually slid into Feyre’s painting room, closing the door behind him. 

Then Rhysand turned around on his heels and said, “you do know what he is, don’t you?”

Feyre had been stunned, at first, that Rhysand would be so bold that he’d stroll into her painting room in broad daylight, but she quickly recovered and glared at him. “Get out.”

“Hush, and listen to me. You know that your fiance is a beast, don’t you?”

“Get out of here, Rhysand, and don’t speak of him that way.” Her voice trembled, and Feyre slowly sat down her tray of paints on the easel she’d been using. With a flick of her hand, Feyre summoned a small flame between her fingers, but Rhysand merely looked at the fire and shrugged. 

“I’m trying to talk to you,” Rhysand began, before dematerializing into a cloud of shadow when Feyre attempted to flick her flames onto him. He rematerialized behind Feyre and grabbed her, holding her arms together tightly and preventing her from using her magic. “Perhaps you haven’t been told that Tamlin spent a decade straight of his life as an animal?”

That made Feyre freeze, and she turned around to look at Rhysand, frowning. Tamlin had what?

“As I said, your fiancé is a beast, Feyre. Do not let the façade of civility he wears convince you otherwise.”

Then Rhysand was gone, and soon even the shadows had retreated so hard it was almost impossible to believe he’d been there.

With a sigh, Feyre walked over to the doors of her painting room, opening them to reveal a stricken-looking Tamlin.

“Tam—“

Her fiancé flinches at the sound of her voice and pulls away from her touch, and a heartbeat later he’s gone, disappeared out the window in a flash of light. 

~~~

Tamlin doesn’t return for hours, and by the time dusk begins to bleed into night he’s still gone.

After a quick conversation with Lucien, asking him to look after the manor while she’s gone, Feyre grabs a blanket and pillow and heads off into the woods, determined to track Tamlin down so she can, at the very least, sleep beside him tonight. 

Feyre spends several hours checking all of Tamlin’s favorite hiding places, and glares at any puca who attempt to follow her—though they know to keep their distance from the future spouse of their High Lord—and in the end winds up in a meadow on one of the rolling hills overlooking the manor. It’s beautiful view, looking at Tamlin’s lands—their lands, and Feyre is content to sit and stare at their home and the night sky beyond it while the gentle breeze carries her scent around the forest, trusting she knows Tamlin well enough to know he won’t leave her alone, at night, in the middle of the forest. 

It’s not long before her patience is rewarded when a giant, golden beast slowly emerges from the woods, giving her an exasperated look, before trotting toward and curling around her.

Leaning against Tamlin with the blanket over her shoulders and the pillow at the back of her head, Feyre begins to stroke the fur around his antlers, before whispering, “Tell me, if you want.”

He looks at her, his green eyes oh-so-recognizable even in his beast form, before nuzzling against her torso as he begins to speak. As he speaks of his father and his older brothers, of railing against injustice and years forced in a form not his own as punishment. 

The truth wears on Feyre like a cold, heavy stone. 

She’s not sure how to comfort him, or what she can say, to tell him his father was wrong about him, to voice the absolute horror she feels that a parent could do that to their own child, to convince Tamlin that he’s not a monster or creature or beast when he has spent centuries thinking otherwise. A few loving words cannot ease centuries of pain. Telling him he’s not a beast won’t do anything to prevent him from ignoring her and continuing his self-loathing.

So in the end, she declares something else. “I love you no matter what you are, Tamlin. If you are a man then you are mine. If you are High Fae then you are mine. And if you are a beast, then you are my beast.” And she holds him close.

And as beauty holds her beast and her beast cradles her, they finally, finally manage to find peace and fall asleep.

[lightholdcr]

@gcmmage said: painted alicia, saying nothing, wearing her mask, and looking up at him before very gently, tentatively, tugging his sleeve. don't leave, being the implication. you know before the whole casting himself away from his painted family of it all (: so very long ago.

-- me when i write an unhinged drabble that requires a readmore,

‘ so this is how it is, then? you would turn your back on us? on your mother? your sister, who needs you ’ —

verso nearly barks a laugh, sound bitter. his father’s disappointment is a familiar, cold grip at the back of his neck. and it threatens to paralyze him in place, as it has done so many times before.

‘ do you hear yourself — what family? you see how she deteriorates, and we do nothing! you know it’s wrong, and you just — let it go on. you live in an illusion. you force us all to live in her illusion! ’ —

‘ enough. ’ a short, clipped warning, which verso ignores. they're well past that, now. have been for some time. verso stares at him hard.

‘ … clea’s gone. maman is slowly killing herself. — you will never have this family back. not how you want it. ’

‘ ENOUGH. ‘

verso suppresses a flinch at the crack that resounds across the dining room; where cane strikes the floor so hard, he swears he hears the marble splinter.

bad as he knows it is — there’s some sick satisfaction to be found in staring back into his father’s eyes, and digging at a shared wound. he was already sorry the moment he said it. but not enough to move his stubbornness, or take it back. neither of them are sorry enough. the evidence of their argument has dented a column. what had once been the scene of their family dinners is spattered red. an old portrait hangs barely by a nail, sliced and singed by verso’s blade.

it felt fitting. or good, in some petty way, to see it all marred and imperfect.

they watch each other for a long time. verso half-expects him to continue. but he doesn't. it's a hollow victory. no one speaks. so verso steels himself. straightens up.

‘ … i’m going, papa. ’

' fine ', his father says, unreadable.

' fine ', verso answers, hoarsely. it feels like a cold draft has cut through him.

he forces himself to step back, one step after another. half stumbling, with the blood trickling in his eye.

and now, a strained silence rests familiar over the dessendre manor, as verso leaves his father behind. walks, unsteady into the foyer.

there is nowhere for him to go. but he’ll take nowhere. wherever. anywhere. the furthest corner of this canvas, if he has to. if it eases this crushing weight, somehow. his mind is reeling in a nonspecific freefall; the gestral village would take him in, maybe. or esquie. anywhere, god, anywhere else. he can’t stomach another day playing pretend; acting as though none of them see the strings holding them in suspension.

... like it doesn’t matter. like living forever is worth any of this.

but he deserves it, doesn’t he? this torturously slow asphyxiation. this inescapable existence. what he gets, he supposes, for playing his part wrong. for not being good enough, at the very role he was created to fill.

the slightest tug at his sleeve removes him from his careening thoughts. tentative, but insistent. he feels her quiet, pleading gaze on his back. the house, hollow as it is, had barely whispered back her footsteps.

his little shadow.

his reason for sticking around at all, as long as he has — she shouldn’t have had to see this. she shouldn’t have to be in the middle of their war of attrition.

❝ ... alicia, ❞ he hesitates.

the blade at his side dematerializes in an instant, forgotten. he halts there by the heavy oak door. eyes lowered, ashamed. of himself. of the mess he's made. of the blood slipping down the brooks between his fingers, dripping imperfectly on his father’s marble floor. and all the hardness in his shoulders sinks low in exhaustion.

his father is something he has learned to weather. but it's his little sister, peeking up at him from behind her curtain of white hair, that threatens to undo him entirely.

you're a coward, to be leaving her again.

guilt crawls up, as it always does, from the recess where he’s tried many a time to bury it. ( bury it ten feet down. it unearths. so you bury it again. it floods out. the bones. they always come back up, and you're always burying them. there's a room on fire at the end of the hall, and you never make it there — )

he won’t do this anymore. he can’t.

verso turns slightly. looks down over his shoulder. his hand lowers slightly, from the deep wound struck vertical across his eye.

it's fine. he had done worse to his father, after —

after julie.

verso suddenly wants to be sick. the nauseating sting of split skin is the only thing grounding him. preventing him from slipping over some hysterical cliff. no — he is utterly vacant, now, of the venom spat in the face of his father’s infuriating conviction, just moments ago. instead, he lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. shaky and tired.

you could take her with you, couldn't you? it is unfair to still treat her as a child. yet — you can’t stomach that, either. it's dangerous. too dangerous. she is safer here.

verso settles to one knee before her. unbloodied hand coming up to squeeze her shoulder gently. he looks over her face. the side baring scarred skin, unhidden by that cruel porcelain mask. he endures another stab of guilt; how many times will you let her down?

she reaches for him slightly in return, worried. fingers flinching just shy of his cheek. wound tugs when he tries to warm his expression for her. ❝ i’m fine. i — just need… ❞ voice cracks, thin. to be somewhere else. or possibly, to be somebody else. he struggles gracelessly for the right words. the ones that will make him feel like something less horrible. he clears his throat roughly; ❝ — i... need to go, for a little while. you'll be safer here, with papa. ❞

not more than a room away from him, and he can hear his father’s voice again, needling him in the back of his mind; who are you truly sparing, with your lies?

verso blinks back a stinging in his eyes. rises to his feet again slowly, unsteadily. alicia still has him by the sleeve. not wanting him to go. he hesitates, again, expression softening.

❝ alicia… ❞ he sighs, again, a little helplessly. his resolve threatens to waver, as he pulls her into him, against his chest. hand comes to cradle at the back of her head, his other arm hugging her tightly. resting his chin on her head, he murmurs; ❝ we'll see each other again soon — before you can even miss me, huh? ❞ his smile is watery. he hopes she doesn't hear it in his voice.

at the top of the staircase, he meets their father’s silent stare.

a hundred times before, they might have stopped it here. both of them are sorry. but it doesn't change anything.

verso's tired. and it doesn't change anything at all.

you were just looking for a good enough reason to go.

he lowers his gaze. to his sister; ❝ should you ever need me, you need only call for me — and i will be there. i promise you. ❞ when he finally parts from her, he can’t bring himself to meet her look. her hurt is felt distinctly, as clutching fingers slowly release the fabric of his shirt. and she retreats back a step, eyes on the ground, too.

there is a numbness in him that grows, when no one tries to stop him again.

[neeraj943]

Dematerialization of Shares in India: Digitizing Equity Ownership

In the journey toward a more digital and secure financial system, the dematerialization of shares in India has proven to be a game changer. This move from physical to electronic shareholding has made investing in the stock market significantly more efficient and investor-friendly. The transition not only streamlines transactions but also enhances transparency, safety, and convenience for shareholders.

What Does Dematerialization Mean?

Dematerialization is the process through which physical share certificates are converted into digital form. Once dematerialized, these shares are stored in a demat account, eliminating the need for paper-based securities. The system is facilitated by depositories—NSDL (National Securities Depository Limited) and CDSL (Central Depository Services Limited)—that work through intermediaries called Depository Participants (DPs).

Every investor intending to hold or trade shares in the Indian stock market must now operate through a demat account. This account functions similarly to a bank account but holds securities instead of money.

Key Advantages of Dematerialization

The popularity of dematerialization stems from the multiple benefits it offers:

Elimination of Risks: Physical share certificates are susceptible to loss, theft, forgery, and natural damage. Dematerialization completely removes these risks.

Streamlined Transactions: Buying, selling, and transferring shares is much faster and more reliable.

Lower Administrative Costs: No physical handling or courier expenses; stamp duty on transfers is also waived.

Online Access: Investors can manage their portfolios digitally from anywhere at any time.

Better Record-Keeping: Each transaction is accurately recorded, making it easier to monitor investments and comply with tax regulations.

Steps in the Dematerialization Process

To dematerialize physical shares, follow these basic steps:

Open a Demat Account: Choose a DP registered with either NSDL or CDSL.

Fill Out a DRF: The Dematerialization Request Form must be submitted along with the original physical share certificates.

Submission to Registrar: The DP forwards these to the concerned company’s registrar for verification.

Electronic Credit: Upon successful verification, the shares are credited electronically to the investor’s demat account.

Regulatory Framework Supporting Dematerialization

The Securities and Exchange Board of India (SEBI) has mandated dematerialization for all publicly traded shares. The Depositories Act, 1996 provides the legal foundation for this digital system, ensuring that the rights of investors are protected and that markets operate smoothly.

Moreover, SEBI's ongoing efforts to enhance investor awareness and improve operational standards among DPs and brokers have further strengthened trust in the demat system.

Growing Importance in Today’s Market

With the rise in retail investing and the popularity of online trading platforms, dematerialization has become more critical than ever. It supports fast-paced transactions, easy tracking of holdings, and digital reporting—all vital in today’s financial ecosystem.

Even for new investors entering the market via mutual funds or IPOs, a demat account is essential. Many companies now issue shares only in dematerialized form, making it impossible to participate in equity investments without going digital.

Conclusion

The dematerialization of shares in India represents a fundamental shift in how equity ownership is managed and transferred. It has introduced unmatched ease, security, and reliability into the Indian capital market system. For investors, holding shares in demat form is not just an option—it’s the new standard that aligns with India’s digital future.

[hplovecraftmuseum]

Part 1, Afterlife, immortality and reanimation in Lovecraft's fiction: Comments from visitors to our virtual museum here have brought up an interesting point. Concerning afterlife, artificially extended life, reanimated life, enlightened existence, and an afterlife in some unearthly realm of the heaven or hell variety, are not the same thing. In H. P. Lovecraft's fiction each of these concepts is explored to some degree. In COOL AIR a doctor origionally from Spain but now residing in a run down section of NYC has been reanimated by a fellow Spanish physician. Apparently the shock of bringing a dead man back to life kills the doctor who performs the miracle! We are never told exactly how this deed is accomplished. Dr. Munoz is brought back to life, but he is certainly not able to live exactly as he did before. For one thing he must keep his body artificially cooled. He tells the narrator of the tale that in some cases a person brought back from death might be able to exist without a beating heart! In HERBERT WEST REANIMATOR we are presented with another tale of a scientist bringing a corpse back to life. Almost certainly this story pays homage to Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Well, reanimated corpses are one thing, corporeal bodies able to live for extended periods is another. Though Lovecraft knew that nothing lasts eternally, the idea that certain individual lifeforms might exist for hundreds or even thousands of years was presented several times in his stories. Members of the 'proto-humans' living in a vast, blue-litten, realm beneath the surface of the earth in THE MOUND have the ability to live for thousands of years. This humanoid race as a group is able to dematerialize and reintegrate their bodies at will! Almost like ghosts they are able to pass through solid walls when using this technique. Though highly intelligent these people engage in cannibalism, torture, and sex orgies. Lovecraft suggests that all manner of other deviant behavior is practiced by this group. They also worship Great Cthulhu as their primary God and believe that it was he who brought them to earth untold ages ago. Though the people of THE MOUND possess incredible powers and intellect they are generally as a group unhappy with their lot. Some of them actually chose to die, willing themselves to cease existence. In THE SHADOW OVER INNSMOUTH we are again presented with a species of humanoid beings capable of living for spectacular periods. The 'fish- frog'- humanoid creatures who are loyal children of the amphibious diety Dagon can apparently live for thousands of years in their earthly bodies. Not only are they capable of living in or out of water, but they can produce offspring with normal human beings as well. In the case of Randolph Carter, considered by many critics to be a fictional alter ego of Lovecraft himself, another secondary form of life is available to some people who are skilled at dreaming. While asleep Carter is able to explore a dream world that apparently has actual physical legitimacy for any dreamers skilled enough to travel there. The idea is at least suggested that in some cases this dream world and or waking world share points of physical existence. Kadath and Leng for instance might exist in both realms simultaneously? In the "transitional" story THE STRANGE HIGH HOUSE IN THE MIST a seeker and educator from the fictional town of Kingsport climbs to a house perched upon a cliff above the town. He meets eventually with a group of sea gods from Roman mythology and the British/Roman diety, Nodens who accompanies them. At first this group appears as a glowing light. The seeker, Thomas Olney, achieves some sort of transformation from this visit. Though he returns to his home apparently unharmed, he leaves part of his essence or soul behind. The lights seen glowing at times in the HIGH HOUSE now glow even brighter. The painting at top rt. was the work of Nicolas Roerich. Middle right is an example of the WORLD FANTASY AWARDS statuette designed by Gahan Wilson.

[kiaroscuro]

Title: as the world caves in

Warnings: descriptions of violence, major character death

Rating: Mature

Main Pairing: Ren Amamiya / Arsene

Main Tags: post-canon, zombie au, angst, hurt / comfort, road trips

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Arsene goes first, this time, leading Ren towards an apartment complex and then to the higher floors, checking any doors they come across until he finds a locked one. The persona tells Ren to wait, breaks the lock, and disappears inside, and Ren bites his lip in guilt because he knows what Arsene is looking for.

"Everything seems safe," he rasps after the third apartment he's done that, wingtips trembling from where they're winched against his back, and Ren steps forward and hugs him tightly, feeling the tense muscles relax marginally. Ren is allowed to enter the apartment, no sight of any dead around -- the door to what he assumes is the bedroom is tightly locked with a chair placed before it as a warning, and Ren can see from the swirling dust that Arsene was the one to place it there. Ren coughs, once, and Arsene is by his side in an instant, mask lighting up and glancing around in worry.

"I'm fine," Ren mutters, dropping his packs onto the ground next to the couch. The apartment is deceptively normal-looking, no mold and no plant-life intruding into its frozen stillness. Arsene drops down unceremoniously onto the couch itself, dematerializing his heels and jacket until he's left in black slacks and his vest and shirt, groaning and brushing the palm of his hand over his mask, head leaning back and exposing the long line of his neck.

"We should go back-- to the market and get thee a box of facemasks... nonetheless," he rasped, voice cracking dangerously. Ren frowns, steps closer -- unheeding of how dirty he is, because that can't be helped -- and ghosts his fingers over the wire-thin line crossing over Arsene's throat, warmer to the touch than the rest of the persona's body temperature.

"Stop talking out loud, Arsene," Ren murmurs. "You're hurt." He brushes over the reminder of how closely he'd gotten to loosing his persona a second time, lips touching the soft, snake-like skin reverently. They've been dancing around each other like gossamer silk for a few weeks now, tightly-woven as all persona and humans are, dependent on one another unlike they'd been before. Ren doesn't find it in himself to care.

Ah, Arsene sighs, inside their shared mind-space this time. It is not good for thou if thou never hear voices out loud, mon cher. It makes thee feel even lonelier.

I'd rather feel lonely than have you lose your voice, pigeon,Ren remarks, softly. There's not much reason for us to talk out loud surrounded by mutated anyways.

Arsene remains tellingly silent, the fire of his eyes dimming until it disappears, and Ren lets him rest while he glances around the apartment, drawing the curtains shut and finding enough candles to both light their room and stow away some for later use. He examines the signs of life surrounding him, peeks into the kitchen and the bathroom both, finds a baseball bat smeared with blood next to the main entrance. Ren lights a candle and places it on the chair in front of the bedroom, the family picture he'd found next to it, and scribbles down on a piece of paper: here lie Daisuke and Ichigo Morimiya.  May they rest in peace.

With that done, Ren sends a prayer to anyone willing to listen -- shadow or false god or real god, it doesn't matter -- before he wanders back to the bathroom, eyeing over the bathtub with a critical glance. Everything is western-style, but they're far away from civilization that the possibility of running water is pretty much halfway split. If he's lucky, a dam generates running water for the town, like back home, and a dam can run for longer without human interference than electrical works. Ren tests it out with a quick flick, and rusty water starts running in spurts before it becomes only slightly pinkish, at which point Ren plugs the bathtub and waits for the water to fill it up; he'll take a bit of rust for the chance to properly wash himself, because the last time had been in Konoe's camp a good ten days ago. He foregoes changing clothes because he has no change on him anyways, and while he could raid the closet of the family, that one's in the bedroom and Ren isn't going to go inside after Arsene made sure that he wouldn't see the bodies.

(It is unbelievably worse, seeing the people dead without any obvious signs of struggle, seeing unmarred bodies but for natural decay instead of gaping wounds on flesh. Even the infected and mutated shadows have become able to bleed and decay, the mutagen turning them into something tangible. Ren's run into unaffected shadows, covering from humans and mutated both, had run into people imprisoning shadows and using their natural abilities like fuel, had seen shadows torture humans to death and vice versa, because everyone was afraid of the strange.)

(A slime had stood vigil next to Morgana's grave with Ren, its soft mass deflated in sorrow. It had slinked away into the forest, and Ren doesn't want to know what had happened to it.)

--

Once the bathtub was filled to half, Ren takes off his crusted and matted layers of clothing, carefully and reverently clasps open his choker -- yellow, because it had been Morgana's collar once, before Ren had threaded a little iron chain into one of the bolt holes and the clasp to make it fit his neck -- and sets everything onto a dusty chair. Two candles illuminate him as he carefully wets a towel and wipes the worst of the grime off of himself, scrubbing at his skin until it is pink and raw, and then Ren carefully enters the tub. The water is freezing and smells metallic, but it is otherwise clean in a way that the rivers hadn't really been, and Ren relaxes inside and watches his skin pebble, traces the scars that cover him. Many are from the Metaverse, his skill in phantom thieving translating into his skills of survival for the ongoing apocalypse that they're having, and not for the first time Ren wonders if all of this is happening as a last huzza for Yaldabaoth, the not-god angry enough at its defeat that it would curse humanity. Many more he's acquired ever since the cataclysm, wounds like the five bitemarks, after each of which Arsene begs with him to be more careful, or all of the smaller and larger cuts he's gotten while he figured out how to survive in a wilderness that is trying to kill him.

Fifteen minutes into Ren's soak, Arsene shuffles into the bathroom, mask dimly lit and wings hanging loosely against his back. There's running water? He thinks-asks, surveying everything. Let me wash thine hair, Ren. He murmurs, and Ren blinks at him, at how wrong-footed the persona looks inside the regular bathroom inside of this regular apartment. Okay, Ren says, turning softly, water sloshing, until he can feel Arsene's claws in his hair. The persona scratches over Ren's scalp once, before he finds the shampoo and lathes it into Ren's dark curls, massaging it in until Ren's eyes droop, heavy with fatigue. Arsene doesn't stop his ministrations, slides his clawed fingers over Ren's shoulders and kneads into the flesh there, the only sound apart of the water his heavy breathing and Arsene's feathers shuffling.

You should also soak, Ren says after a while, turning slightly. It'll do you good.

Mh, is Arsene's answer, the persona stepping aside now that he's got no good excuse to keep touching Ren. Finish first, and then we'll see if there's still running water left. With that he's gone, probably to rummage around the apartment as well. Ren sighs, glances at one of the candles for a long moment, before he turns to find the body wash. It takes him about five minutes to feel clean again, and then he washes out all of the shampoo and carefully exits the tub, lets the water drain down before he starts to fill it up again, after which he starts to dry himself with a second towel. That's about when Arsene reappears, clean (if dusty) clothes in hand, and Ren blinks at the persona in surprise. These should be about thy size, he says, softly, and Ren has no words because Arsene had gone back into the bedroom to get those. I made the bed.

"Thank you," Ren murmurs. Arsene puts the clean clothes down, eyes Ren over critically, and then tugs at the towel still in Ren's hands. Ren lets him, watches as Arsene takes it, clutching it between his claws once before he carefully grabs hold of Ren's cauterized arm and gently towels the red skin dry. Ren knows that the persona feels guilty about it, can feel it himself across their bond, and so he lets Arsene do as he pleases. Claws flitter over Ren's skin before the towel follows, up his arm and over his shoulders and towards his other arm. Arsene holds it apart from Ren's body, gently, while he softly pats over Ren's flank and ribs, his stomach, pivoting around the human to dry his back, the pads of his fingers lingering over a nasty cut from a mutated shadow's garudyne that had hit Ren.

A shudder passes through him, a curl of heat low inside of his belly that has Ren's cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn't interrupt Arsene, stands still while the persona carefully patters the towel over Ren's groin, the soft fabric almost ghosting over his cock before Arsene nudges Ren's legs apart to reach at his testes, cupping each gently and continuing. Ren's breathing and heartbeat are picking up, but he doesn't say anything, the towel at his thighs now, Arsene still as careful as before. Only once he reached Ren's calves did Arsene stop, his mask low-lit, fire curling over his horns. "Thank you, Arsene," Ren murmurs as the persona stands up.

"Always," Arsene whispers, and they look at each other for a moment longer, before the persona turns around to put the towel away. The bathtub is full, too, and Ren watches Arsene dematerialize his clothes before he carefully enters the tub, sitting closer to the middle so that his wings don't get crushed by his body. Some of the tenseness in his shoulders leaves while Arsene moves to hug his knees, resting his head on top of them, one wing extended while the other is winched in. He looks tired as well, obsidian skin marred and discolored in patches, specks of white that hadn't been there before. They share the metaphysical scars on Ren's soul, after all, all of the ugly things, and Arsene's own conscience has him become mottled, their shared guilt over having to kill people a heavy weight to bear.

Leave, please, Arsene says, a breath of a thought, and Ren nods after ghosting his fingers along the lines of his flight feathers.

He exits the bathroom, closes the door slightly to allow Arsene more privacy because the persona is vain about his looks and currently ashamed of his appearance and actions, and turns towards the Morimiya's pantry in hopes of finding something edible so that he can stretch his own rations further. Ren's found some slightly stale crackers and beef pâté, both of which would suffice as dinner. He'll have to probably cook something tomorrow, but he doesn't want to disrupt the strange silence of the night. By the time he's eaten his food Arsene emerged, and Ren is staring at the couch -- now with a duvet and two pillows. The chair to the bedroom had been disturbed. "Do you think the couch can be opened?" He asks.

Arsene blinks placidly. Yes. I can also simply dematerialize, though.

Ren knows, but also... Stay. I don't want to be alone tonight.

(They end up huddled together, Arsene on his side and Ren curled into the crook of his elbow, covered in both the duvet and one wing, and it's the best rest he's had in a long while.)

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[bluebudgie]

random ask and dunno if you said this anywhere else before, but how did Lahpp and Luqqah end up together? How was their relationship?

Lahpp seems the kinda guy who doesn't know where to start with anything romantic and somehow fell into it without knowing why (and why Luq went for him in the first place), and I'm curious to know.

Hi anon!! Glad you ask :> (Edit from Future-Budgie who has answered the ask: Oops this got long! Enjoy, I hope.)

They were assigned to work on the same project together in Thaumanova, a fairly standard asura tale I imagine.

The first time they met was... memorable for Lahpp at the very least. So he's introducing himself in the most proper way imaginable, mentions that he wonders if he hasn't seen her before - they did both go to Statics but considering he's a few years older they never shared classes directly. Still, might have crossed each other at some point.

Now Luqqah's introduction is essentially "Oh. You. I know about you. I looked through your medical records as part of a thesis-" Which, considering Lahpp's been trying his damn hardest to keep his medical history a secret from pretty much everyone at all costs, kinda makes him want to dematerialize on the spot. Until a second later... "Ultimately I decided to study someone else's case, yours was too mundane. Nice to meet you."

And for a moment he's not sure if he should be offended that she has the audacity to imply everything he's struggled with all life long is too mundane but... quite frankly he's just relieved to know she doesn't care. His biggest fear, dismantled right there. Off to a great start!

--

So they start working together in the following weeks, work goes really smooth, communication's spot on, they find out they've got some interests in common (mainly music theory), the chemistry's just right, you know. No pun intended. So they decide to give it a go, why not after all? They're stuck together for a while anyway.

Suboptimal decision, as they'll find out later. Their relationship is... a mixed bag. Platonically they're absolutely on the same wavelength, no issues here. Now the whole romance and intimacy part on the other hand.... ...that's pretty damn miserable. I'll leave the details up to your imagination but let's say there's... not much going on. For a good while they try, talk it over and over, really - Luqqah especially is invested - but it's so, so awkward everytime.

They still have amazing quality time sharing hobbies in the little spare time they've got allocated but unfortunately the longer the Awkward Romance drags on the more it seeps into the rest of their relationship and just... kinda sours the overall experience a little. Apparently not enough for either of them to end it. Perhaps it's the underlying fear of losing a good friend.

--

So they're in this kinda miserable "we would really be off better as friends" relationship for what... 2... 3 years? Luqqah goes having a little affair in the meantime (Inquisitor Dunnh, anyone?), time goes on, and on a fairly mundane but fateful day (that I won't describe in further detail now because this is already getting too long once again) Lahpp finally has the realization that'll free them both: "Oh I'm gay."

At this point he really doesn't wait much longer and just sits Luqqah down to have a talk. He feels like he owes her a quick end now and not waste her time much longer.

And he's so anxious. The generally collected, at this point fairly well-adjusted guy is stammering his soul out of his body dancing around the actual break up. Starting with the all time classic "I promise it's not your fault" and going into long-winded spirals of "you still mean a lot to me, but..." Lots of apologetic blah-blah that's going nowhere. Very unlike him. Anyway, Luqqah decides to gently cut him off with "Just get to the point." Well, turns out he thinks he may be gay. She stares. It's quiet for a moment. She smiles. "Well that explains a lot."

It's still a little awkward for a few weeks after that, but they remain close friends. Their relationship gets better. More relaxed. Oh, and Luqqah does tell Lahpp she cheated on him. He doesn't hold it against her.

And then some time later the reactor blows up and they go completely separate ways. After 10 long years they meet again during the events of End of Dragons in Cantha :>