#I don’t can’t that she’s actual wind and darkness

[tortillamastersblog]

♕ No Matter What - Part 12 | Lena Luthor ♕

Pairing: Lena Luthor x reader

Warnings: violence

Summary: The dinner with Lena doesn’t exactly go as planned. . .

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A permanent smile is etched on my face as I hurry to the convenience store. Not even the rain, or the cold can dampen my mood right now.

A gust of wind whips some rain in my face, so I pull my hood even further over my head and look down, focusing on not stepping into puddles.

I’ve always liked the rain, especially the sound of it against the pavement or a window, but I don’t like the cold that is starting to set in.

It’s the beginning of October and as I keep walking I think of everything that’s going to happen from now on.

Will Lena and I spend Halloween together? Is she one for dressing up?

What about Thanksgiving? Would she be up to celebrate with me, Sam, and Ruby, or does she want to keep what we have between just the two of us for a while?

And what about Christmas? And New Year’s?

What about my contract? When do I sign my resignation letter? When will I officially no longer be Lena’s bodyguard?

All those questions fill my head as I keep walking with my head down.

When I get to the store, I make quick work of getting everything we need before heading back out with a spring in my step.

I can’t wait to get back and see where the rest of the night goes. We’ll probably cook together, listening to music, then eat on the couch, watching a movie.

I’m not so sure about our sleeping arrangements from now on, but I’ll just wait and see how the night goes.

I grin like an idiot and think of Lena and how her lips tasted on mine. They were warm and soft and the kiss was more than I could have ever dreamed of.

She is incredible and I can’t believe she actually likes me even after I told her about Noah.

I’m so lost in thought that I don’t notice a figure stepping out of a dark alley to my left until it’s already too late.

With a sickening thud, a baseball bat makes contact with my back and I yelp, dropping to the ground. The groceries I just bought spill out of the paper bag and the bottle of Lena’s favorite wine I had enough afterthought to buy breaks on the curb. My whole back stings and my arms and legs tingle as a numb feeling spreads through them.

I writhe in pain and gasp for air like a fish out of water as the rain pelts down on me.

The guy that attacked me, bends down beside me. He has his hood pulled over his head and I can’t make out his face, but I do see the sickening smile that pulls at his lips.

“Tell Ms. Luthor her brother sends his regards.”

That’s all the he says before stalking off, his long coat billowing behind him as he vanishes around a corner.

I continue to try and catch my breath, whimpering every time I move because a blinding pain shoots up my spine and into my head.

I close my eyes and focus on breathing, partly aware of my now wet sweatpants sticking to my skin.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Who was that guy? And what does Lex want from Lena? Have they been in contact? If so, why hasn’t she told me about it?

Minutes go by and I continue to stay on the ground, shaking. I haven’t been in this much pain since being shot in the shoulder.

A tear trickles down my cheek, mixing with the rain on my skin and I let out an involuntary sob.

Just a few minutes ago everything was perfect and the prospect of cooking dinner with Lena made me feel warm all over.

Now, I’m just cold.

After what feels like forever the sharp pain in my back finally subsides, leaving behind a dull ache.

It hurts when I breathe and I assume it’s because my spine and ribs are injured, but I have to get home somehow and because there’s not a single soul around to help me, I drag myself to my feet with a groan after gathering all the groceries off the ground.

The paper bag they were in is wet and falling apart, so I leave it along with the broken bottle of wine and carry everything else scooped up against my stomach.

I stumble back home, my back throbbing painfully in time with my racing heart and my uneven breaths and open the door to the apartment with trembling hands.

The warmth from inside does little to comfort me in my soaked clothes and I shudder, putting the groceries down by the door before slipping off my shoes.

Just then, Lena comes walking out of the bedroom, running a brush through her damp hair. She looks cozy in my shirt and sweatpants and for a split second I forget about what just happened.

“You sure did take your time,” she jokes, not really looking at me as she heads to her phone on the kitchen island.

I chuckle softly and slump back against the door. My eyes flutter shut and I lift a shaky hand to unzip my drenched jacket.

“You know, I was thinking we could watch that movie you told me about last week. What was it again? The Imitation Game?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, wincing when I peel my jacket off my body. It lands on the ground with a wet thud and I slump back against the door to catch my breath.

“Great. Now, did you get everything we need or— Oh my God ?!” I feel hands on my face within the next few seconds and I revel in the way the simple touch makes my skin tingle.

My eyes open slowly to find Lena watching me with wide and worry-filled eyes. Her hands rund down my neck and over my shoulders and I wince when the light pressure makes my back sting.

She immediately moves her hands back up and cups my cheeks again. “What happened? Where does it hurt?”

“M-my back. . .” Is all I manage to get out and Lena is quick to grab the hem of my hoodie.

Her eyes meet mine in silent question and I just nod, letting her guide the fabric up and over my head. I choke back a whimper when my arms drop back down to my side and don’t object when Lena’s hands land on my hips to turn me around.

Under different circumstances I’d be swooning, feeling her hands on me like this, but right now I just feel miserable.

“Oh my God, Y/N. . . Who did this to you?” she asks quietly, her voice breaking. Her warm hands travel up the side of my waist, but stop below where the bat struck.

She doesn’t dare to touch what I’m assuming is an already angry looking bruise and I’m thankful for it.

“We have to get you to a hospital,” she says. “Your spleen could have ruptured, or your lungs could be bruised. I’ll call Alfred to come and pick us up. Just wait here.”

“No, Lena we can’t. It’s too public,” I object, turning back around to face her.

Her eyebrows are pulled together in disbelief and she takes my hand, squeezing it. “It doesn’t matter. You’re hurt and—“

“No,” I say sternly. “We can’t.”

She pulls her hand back and clenches her jaw. “Why are you being so stubborn about this?! This isn’t about me! This is about you. You’re hurt and I’m not just going to stand here and do nothing about it. You need to see a doctor, Y/N!”

“It is about you!” I snap. “The guy who did this told me to tell you that Lex sends his regards!”

Lena’s whole face drops and she pales visibly. “What?”

I nod and hang my head shamefully, feeling bad for having snapped at her. I made it sound like she’s the reason this happened, so I step forward and take her hand, lacing our fingers together.

“I’m sorry. That came out wrong,” I say softly. “It’s not your fault this happened.”

Lena shakes her head with watery eyes and her chin begins to wobble. “No, no it is. I can’t believe this. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop, this is not your fault,” I say, closing the distance between us to wrap my arms around her in a hug. My back protests when she reciprocates the embrace, but I do my best to ignore it and focus on her. “Your brother is a grade A asshole and you have nothing to apologize for. Got it?”

Lena stays silent and I lean back to meet her eyes with raised eyebrows. “Got it?”

She sighs and blinks back her tears before nodding. I hum, satisfied, and press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“You should still get your back looked at,” she argues weakly, one of her hands moving to lay flat against the small of my back.

“Lena, I can’t—“

“Yes you can,” she interrupts, her eyes widening when an idea comes to her. She pulls away completely and grabs her phone from the kitchen island. “Kara’s sister, Alex, is a doctor at a nearby government research facility. I’m sure she’ll be able help.”

I want to object but Lena’s already on the phone with Alex, explaining the situation and nodding along to whatever the woman on the other end is saying.

I shiver, still soaking wet, and head to the bedroom to change into a new set of comfortable clothes.

It’s a bit of a struggle to get a sweatshirt over my head, so I opt for a zip-up hoodie, sighing when the soft fabric makes contact with my tender back.

I sit on the edge of my bed and rub my eyes with a tired sigh.

“You ready?” Lena asks a few minutes later, appearing in the doorway with her phone in her hand.

“I guess,” I say quietly. “But what about dinner?”

Her eyes soften. “Let’s postpone it until you’re feeling better.”

I pout and hang my head. I was really looking forward to cooking with her but she’s right. I really need to get checked out to make sure I don’t have any internal bleeding.

“Okay, let’s go,” I say, getting up and following Lena out of the apartment after we both put on some shoes and a jacket.

Alfred’s already waiting for us and ushers us into the car before driving off.

The radio is turned off and the only sound I can focus on is the rain against the windshield and Lena’s soft breathing next to me.

I can feel her watching me, especially when we drive over a bump in the road and I wince, but I don’t acknowledge it. I’m still trying to process what happened and I’m not in the mood to talk right now.

So, instead, I move my hand to the space between us and turn it so my palm is facing up.

Lena’s eyes drop down and she gets what I want immediately, sliding her hand into mine and intertwining our fingers with a soft squeeze.

I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.

I must have drifted off for a few minutes because when Lena squeezes my hand and I open my eyes, I notice that we’re parked outside a huge glass skyscraper with two towers.

Lena gives me an encouraging nod and disconnects our hands so we can get out after Alfred opens the door from outside.

It’s still raining, so we hurry toward the dimly-lit lobby where I noticed a dark figure already waiting for us.

As we come closer I recognize her as Kara’s sister and she wordlessly leads us inside, past two security guards who eye us with some curiosity.

We take a glass elevator up a couple of floors and when we step out, I’m blinded by fluorescent lights.

The lobby was mostly dark and deserted, but up here the place is bustling with people. We get a few weird looks here and there, but no one actually seems to mind our presence.

Alex leads us down a hallway before turning right and entering a spacious room. Theres an examination table right in the middle of it and it’s surrounded by a heart rate monitor and other medical equipment I can’t put a name to.

“So, Lena told me what happened and I think it’s best if we do an ultrasound first,” Alex says, gesturing for me to get on the examination table.

I nod wordlessly and get on the table, looking up to find Lena standing by the door, anxiously chewing on her thumb. She hasn’t said a word since we left the apartment and I have the feeling it’s because she feels guilty for what happened.

“Could you maybe take off your hoodie?” Alex asks, pulling my attention away from the young CEO and I nod, taking it off with a wince.

I don’t know her all that well, but I have met her a couple of times because she sometimes joins Kara and Lena’s lunch get-togethers.

“Alright, now just lie back and try to relax,” she says, smiling softly when she senses my ever growing anxiety.

What if I’m actually seriously injured? Will I need surgery? Where will I stay? More importantly, where will Lena stay?

I swallow thickly and do as I’m told, lying down with a poorly suppressed whimper. It seems to snap Lena out of her trance and she wordlessly joins my side, tentatively placing her hand on my shoulder.

Alex glances between the two of us with an unreadable expression before squirting some ultrasound gel onto the transducer.

She turns off the light and takes a seat next to the examination table before getting to work.

The gel is cold on my skin and I suck in a breath, feeling Lena tense beside me.

Alex raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

I nod sheepishly and ball my hands into fists. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s just a little cold.”

She smiles softly and gets back to doing whatever it is she’s doing, running the transducer all over my abdomen.

I look at the screen of the ultrasound machine even though I don’t know what I’m supposed to be looking for. Everything looks blurry, a mix of grays, blacks and whites, but it must mean something to Alex because after a while she stops and hands me some paper towels to wipe off the excess gel.

“Well, you don’t have any internal bleeding as far as I can tell. You’re kidneys and your spleen are both in tact,” she says, getting up to turn the lights back on.

Lena lets out a barely audible breath of relief and helps me sit up.

“Thank you, Alex.” I say. “For doing this, I mean.”

“Of course,” she says softly, gesturing for me to stand up and turn around so she can examine my back and ribs.

Her hands carefully run down the length of my spine and I gasp, biting my tongue to stop myself from crying out in pain. Then, she moves her hands to press on either side of my ribcage and again I squeeze my eyes shut to will away the tears pooling in the corner of my eyes.

When she finally stops touching me, I start shaking and I stumble sideways. Lena is quick to put her hands on my shoulders and guides me to lean against the examination table.

Her eyes are filled with worry, raking up and down my body before they meet mine. Her eyebrows are furrowed and the look she’s giving me is heartbreaking, so I try to reassure her with a small smile.

It has the exact opposite effect though because it’s more of a grimace than a smile, and Lena bites the inside of her cheek and averts her eyes.

“Alright, as far as I can tell nothing is broken, but we should get an x-Ray of your back just to make sure,” Alex says, scribbling something down on a notepad.

I nod and let her lead me into a small, adjacent room, leaving Lena behind.

The room is equipped with an x-ray machine and Alex makes quick work of getting all the shots she needs before taking me back to the other room.

“You can put your clothes back on,” she says, taking a seat by one of the computers.

Lena grabs my hoodie and holds it up so I can slip it on without straining my back too much. I thank her quietly and go to stand next to Alex who while I got dressed, pulled up the images of my x-rays on the computer.

She zooms in on my spine and ribs, looking for fractures while explaining what exactly she’s looking for.

Lena joins my side, her shoulder brushing against my arms as she leans forward to get a better look herself.

Her eyebrows are furrowed in concentration and her eyes shine with interest as Alex goes on talking and I can’t help but watch her rather than listen to what Alex is saying.

Only when she sighs in relief do I direct my attention back to Alex who’s smiling softly, having obviously noticed my distraction.

“So?” I asks, feeling slightly embarrassed that I didn’t hear what she ultimately said.

“You’re going to be okay,” she says. “Just take it easy for a couple of days and put ice on your back if necessary.”

I smile, relieved, and thank her with a heartfelt handshake.

“No problem,” she says, turning off all the lights and leading us back to the elevator.

When we get to the lobby, Lena hugs her tightly, something I didn’t dare to do because I don’t know her that well.

They exchange a few hushed pleasantries and after Alex assures her she’ll say hi to Kara from her, we part ways.

Alfred, who hasn’t moved the car, gets out of it and opens the door for us with a polite nod.

The drive home is silent just like the way over and I close my eyes, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me.

I noticed Lena keeping somewhat of a distance between the two of us while Alex was around, probably because this thing between us, whatever it is, is still brand new, but now she’s basically glued to my side.

She’s sitting in the middle seat, one of her hands in mine while the other is curled around my arm.

She looks at our intertwined hands, lost in thought, but I don’t ask her about it until we’re back at the apartment.

“Are you alright?” I ask when we settle down on the couch after ordering some takeout. “You’re awfully quiet. . .”

Lena cuddles into my side, mindful of my back, and takes my hand to run her fingers over my knuckles. “I just. . . I’m scared, Y/N. I knew Lex wanted to get back at me for testifying against him during his trial, but I never thought he’d target you.”

“I get it,” I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You have a right to be scared, but you need to know that it’s not your fault. This scares me, too, I’m not going to lie, but my number one priority— no matter what happens between us— is to keep you safe.”

Lena hums and rests her head against my chest, her eyes focused on the black screen of the turned-off TV.

I know I’m not getting through to her, but I don’t want to push her, so I close my eyes and rest my cheek against the top of her head.

Tomorrow’s a new day and we can talk more then. For now I just want to eat dinner and go to bed.

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Hi! Sorry for the delay, but like I said I’m super busy at the moment, so updates will be a little slow.

Tag list: @nerethos @orange15quote @nuianced-tck-enby @autorasexy @unexpected-character @nothisismax @wandatasha

[shyvioletlife]

I am in absolute shambles over andhera’s confession to binx. Omar has made it very known that something was up with andhera by calling attention to the way they will reach for the back of their neck during certain moments, but I thought those aborted motions were just a continuation of andhera’s mask to come across as cooler and more put together than they actually are. A habit betraying his residual shyness and awkwardness

I was *not* expecting fucking psychological torment. Are you shitting me?? The rain cloud that follows andhera almost everywhere they go?! I thought that was more of the mask. A need to come across as dark and brooding that they were choosing to subject themself to. not something being literally shoved down andhera’s throat and used to publicly humiliate them. This is so many kinds of fucked up

[luveline]

You mentioned in one post that bombshell!reader was furious with the team for not helping Reid with his addiction (as she should be)…. Would you maybe write about her helping him thru withdrawal or thru the cravings that follow? Maybe subtly at first, then just making sure he knew he wasn’t alone? Just some tender moments where Spencer starts to realize she actually cares about him, even if he doesn’t believe her flirting yet.

-🌕

I love every single thing you write, even for fandoms I’m not even in. You’re amazing!!

thank you for requesting my sweetheart!!! I really hope this is what you wanted, love you <3 fem!reader

cw past drug abuse

“Hi, Spencer Reid.” 

You perch on the edge of his desk with no further introduction. You’ve changed perfumes, to his immediate recognition, the rich smell of your usual parfum swapped for a less consuming scent. He detects apple blossom, and rose, the smallest hint of jasmine, a contrast to your usual vanilla and peony. The human brain can remember 50,000 scents, and Spencer can remember all of yours. Or, he could. 

“You’re not saying hi anymore?” 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hi. It’s nice to see you.” You put your hand on his. Spencer isn’t sure you’ve ever touched his hand before, he’s never really let you, but he doesn’t move away. A huge winding of tension between his shoulders begins to unspool. “It’s really nice to see you, babe. I’ve missed you tons and tons.” 

He looks up tentatively. “You have?” 

“I have. I haven’t really been invited, today. I’m just here to see you.” 

“Why?” Spencer asks. 

You tighten your fingers on his hand. “Missed you. Thought maybe we should, like…” And that’s unusual, for you to use filler words, Spencer doesn’t know what to think of it. “Well, I have something to say to you, and it’s going to either sound reassuring or ridiculous.” 

“Okay.” 

You give him a withering look. “Don’t make it any easier for me.” 

He laughs. The sound alone fosters your smile. “Sorry,” he says softly, “I doubt it’ll be ridiculous.” 

“Spencer Reid, we are friends. We are. But we never do anything outside of work, so I was thinking you could come over tonight and we’d make dinner and watch TV and stuff.” 

“And stuff.” 

“I’m a bit nervous,” you confess, looking down at your lap, then quickly back up into his face, “I’m worried you won’t want to.” 

You’re kind to avoid saying what he’s sure you’re thinking; you’re worried he won’t want to spend the night with you, and instead will look down the long barrel of a small needle. Or, he thinks that’s what you’re thinking. He does it to everyone. 

“What do you want to make for dinner?” he asks. 

“What are you enjoying lately?” 

“I… I don’t know. I’m not really eating.”

“Cereal?” 

“Yes,” he laughs. “Lots of cereal.” 

You tap the wheel of his chair with your heel. You’re dressed as though you aren’t working, wearing a sweet dark dress with a starched collar and baby sleeves, stockings, and a necklace at your neck that glows with a small white crystal. You look amazing. It never makes any sense to Spencer, why you’d taken an interest in him, and why you bother now. He knows he’s hard to care for. He knows he’s making it worse. 

You look up and down his face. You must see the purple half circles beneath his eyes, the crack at the corner of his mouth, the cut he can’t stop picking on his cheek. Every time it scabs, he opens it again. One second he’s sitting there and the next he’s got blood under his fingernail. 

“Hug?” you ask hopefully. 

He goes to stand. You move in too fast and wrap your arms around him, leg slotting between his, leaning over his shoulders with a distinct sense of protectiveness. You squeeze him, a little sigh escaping you that sounds loud so close to his ear. 

“How has it been this week?” you ask quietly. 

“It’s fine.” He cups your back in his arm carefully. The other wraps tight around the small of it. He soaks you up, scared you’re gonna pull away any second. 

“How are you feeling about it? Do you need any extra help?” 

He cringes. “No,” he says. “It’s really fine.” 

“When you texted me, about the cravings? What are they like today?” 

He wishes he could breathe in the smell of your perfume and your skin and tell you they’re all better now. It would make sense; there isn’t much in his life that hasn’t been made better by your attention. He’d struggle to do this without you. You’re his only friend who actually cared enough to say the problem out loud, but you’re just a woman, you can’t work the sort of magic necessary to kick this for him. 

“Spencer?” You pull away, nudging his cheek with the back of your finger. 

“They’re okay. I’m not gonna do anything.” 

“Good, honey. I’m proud of you. I know how hard this is.” 

He bites the inside of his lip, surprised at your caring. He shouldn’t be.

“What are you two whispering about?”

You and Spencer have different reactions to Emily’s sudden question. He flinches like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and you, still vaguely pissed with everyone for not telling you Spencer was struggling and not afraid to show it, keep your eyes trained on his face. 

“Nothing,” Spencer says. 

You turn to her with a small smile. You still like her, Spencer knows. Secretly, he’s pleased you’re angry for him. It’s nice to have someone so obviously on his side. “We’re just deciding what to get for dinner.” 

“Oh, nice. Date night?” she teases. 

You press your cheek to his forehead. “Date night,” you agree, your hand unmissable where it bunches in his sweater near his heart. 

[diejager]

JAKAJWIH I just saw this post and https://www.tumblr.com/citrusbunnies/732151502028898304

I can’t help but imagine deer!hybrid reader that’s with 141, and they/she/he (it doesn’t matter lol) walked out of the bushes or woods to the team inside and their reaction to it!

Also I LOVE your work, every time I see that you have posted wether it be recently or if they are older and they just appear in my feed. I get excited! 😭 also if you don’t wanna do this, feel free to ignore COMPLETELY! I just saw this and I thought it was so cute😭😭

That deer image is actually funny… this drabble though, not so much.

Doe Cw: hybrid, DARKFIC, IMPLIED DUB-CON/NON-CON, kidnapping, training, implied sex, tell me if I missed any.

They cued in on the rustling sound, bushes ruffling against an unknown body hiding behind the tree line, moving as if they were unaware of the men or uncaring of danger. Rifles pointed towards the source, Price held control of the situation, aware of the danger when hunting feral hybrids. Ferals were unpredictable, unable to find the distinction between friend or foe, but they were smart, cunning and weren’t shy to group together, forming hunting packs. Those that were impossible to rehabilitate would stay in the wild, some causing trouble and others keeping to themselves, living alone or in a community they built on their own.

Despite the trepidataion and tension in their shoulders, the waited, breaths steady and unyielding to the harsh winds of early winter. They expected a wolf - or a few - or a bear to jump at them, but were released to see antlers poking out of the bush, tines interlocked with green and dried leaves still tied to a thin branch, followed by perked ears, rounded ends flicking against the leafage stuck around the antlers. A head soon followed, big, doe eyes with the dilated, rounded pupils staring at them with timid curiosity, uncertain of the danger.

Rather than a big brown bear or a deranged grey wolf, they found a curious deer hybrid. Price raised his fist, ordering the three of them to lower their weapons, holding it to his chest, he took a step towards you, slow and tentative. You jerked back, body moving out of your hiding place, fully exposing yourself to men —men deprived of the gentle touch of a woman and the loving embrace of one. You wore rags, hanging off the small straps of your shoulder and stopped mid-thigh, soft and plush skin; your dress hugged the promiscuous curves of your hips and the swell of your breasts and ass, leaving nothing to their imagination. You were a sight to hungry and deprived men like them, gruff and overworked, tired and wanting a moment of reprieve to relax and work off the stress.

“Hello,” it hadn’t crossed his mind whether or not you spoke, seeing that you were dressed in nothing but rags despite looking clean and untouched by filth, simply delicious to their eyes. “I’m John,” he gave you a smile, his eyes creased and cheeks wrinkled, his lips stretched under his bear-like beard, “Who are you?”

His softer approach made you compliant, mumbling out your name in a soft voice. You were skittish, looking as if a single abrupt movement would have you buck away from them, and they couldn’t have that, you were a source of information and much more. Soft curves and doe-eyed filled with a sort of innocence, able to thrive in the wild with feral hybrids, ye untouched by their rough and untamed character.

“Who… who are they?” Your eyes gazed over the three men behind Price, hands pulled to your chest in an effort to give yourself comfort and protection against the dark gleam in their brown and blue eyes.

“That’s Soap,” your eyes followed his hand, hovering towards the men with striking, blue irises and a weird haircut. “Gaz,” he motioned towards the man with warm, brown skin and a pretty face. “And Ghost,” he was the most intimidating, broad and big, it made you shudder. “What are you doing here?”

The question lingered in the air, you frowned, seemingly unwilling to divulge your reason because you had the same question, wanting to know why big, armed men were threading in your home. You looked away, staring at their feet rather than their strong gaze, feet shuffling around. They watched you bite your lip, pearly whites peaking under your lip to sink down in your glossy lips, perfect for kissing. How would you taste if they got their hands on you? Would your mouth taste as sweet and delicious as you looked? You were temptation on two feet.

“This is my home,” you reluctantly told them, becoming more anxieties by the second. It seemed like you were waiting for the right moment to skip away, to rush through the forest and hide away from the men who had a sudden interest in you. “You?”

“Classified, love.”

You perked up and shied away at the way he called you, his rumbling voice turning soft and disarming, near becoming for a sensitive hybrid like you. You were so adorable when you acted all shy, ears flicking and little nose scrunching up. You were naturally wary of anyone as a prey animal, vulnerable and without claws or sharp teeth against anything bigger than you. They could all see the tension building in your body, ears backed against your head and fingers fumbling around, his voice might’ve soothed you, but his reply made you fearful, suspicious enough to look more and more like you were going to flee.

If you ran, they would follow, Ghost would probably the one to catch you first, surprisingly fast and nimble for someone of his stature. He’d tackle you to the ground, scruff you and hold you down despite your wails and take you back, you had something they needed. Ghost would do the training, prepping you however he deemed fit and punish you if you lashed out. Gaz and Soap could easily break you in, their gentler countenance working in their favour. A push and pull, essentially, with Soap’s puppy-like aggression and mischievousness, and Gaz’s gentle care and grounding hand. Price would keep you in check, sometimes overseeing Ghost’s training and other times participating in it, being the disapproving and sympathetic one when faced with Ghost’s cruel and degrading ways.

You were pretty in rags - you would look pretty in anything you wore - but you’d be the prettiest naked and stuffed on their laps, eyes rolled back and breasts jostling. Taking you would take care of their needs, the temptation pulsing in their crotch. You wouldn’t mind it, would you? It would be better than sleeping on the rough, forest terrain, victim to both nature and the wilderness. You would be protected and taken care of, what else would you want?

“Why don’t you come with us, love,” it wasn’t an offer, it was a demand —an order.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

[keerysfreckles]

hey bby 💕 said you were looking a luke castellan plot so here’s one :) so like luke is actually exhausted coming back from a quest that didn’t go super well and he can’t sleep at night because he keeps having nightmares (maybe of the reader dying?), so he starts coming to the reader at night asking if he can sleep in their bed because he feels safer and can feel that they’re alright and then it’s just the evolution of the routine and how they get closer :) no worries if you don’t want to do it btw !

hope ur ok — luke castellan

pairing: luke castellan x demeter fem!reader

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, like one mention of blood/wounds, angst if you squint

a/n: I LOVE THIS ITS SO- UGH

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

luke sat upright in his bed. a thin coat of sweat covered his forehead. for the past three nights, ever since he got back from his quest, he's been having nightmares. the first two weren't special. they were the same as the others he normally got. tonight however was different.

he was in a desert, the sky was dark. there was a low wind, causing the sand beneath his feet to move slightly. a yellow fog spread throughout the desert, and suddenly, y/n appeared. at first he thought his dream self imagined it, almost like a hallucination. but no, y/n was surely there.

y/n was made out of sand, the wind blowing past her, making luke see her features more clearly.

"y/n?" luke calls out. he tries to walk closer to her, but the wind picks up and the sand starts covering his feet, halting his movements.

the wind starts to get stronger, pushing luke and y/n away from each other.

"luke!" she yells, trying to get closer to him.

a low growl is emitted from behind y/n, making her turn.

"y/n!" luke calls again, his voice becoming dry from the sand in the air. luke's eyes widen at the sight of a beast fully appearing behind the struggling girl.

luke's dream self continues to call for y/n, until his voice gets caught in his throat at the sight in front of him. he watches as the beast brings his clawed hand up, about to attack y/n.

luke looks out his window, trying his best to forget about the dream he had moments ago. yet it was worthless. he rubbed his eyes before throwing his blanket off of his lower body.

he grabbed his jacket, knowing it got cold at night, and made his way out of his own cabin and towards y/n's.

was the idea risky? yes.

but the hermes boy couldn't care. he was in risk of getting caught by a patrolling harpy. or he could get caught by chrion or mr d. (that was even worse in his opinion) or he was worried y/n wouldn't even want to see him at this time of night. but he just had to make sure the girl was okay.

luke stopped in front of cabin four, staring over the greenery around most of the wood planks and columns.

he didn't bother knocking, and as quietly as he could the boy opened the door covered in moss. it only creaked slightly. luke was quiet again as he shut the door.

the greenery theme followed throughout the cabin. it wasn't as prominent as it was on the exterior. green vines hung on the walls, and small purple and yellow flowers bloomed wherever grass patches were on the hardwood ground.

luke was hoping y/n wouldn't be mad at him for sneaking into her cabin. the two were friends, but don't talk much outside of archery.

there were seven beds in the cabin, none of them being bunk beds like the hermes cabin had. luke made it to the sixth bed and saw y/n asleep. her back was turned to luke, making her face the window.

luke nudged her shoulder. no response.

he did the motion again, hearing a small gasp come from the girl. "luke?" she turned around after rubbing her eyes, making sure they weren't playing tricks on her.

"what are you doing here?" her voice was soft, in order to not wake up any of her half sisters. (there weren't any sons of demeter, no one had really questioned it).

luke stammers, "i uh, couldn't sleep. had another nightmare."

y/n was full sitting now, with her blanket pooling around her waist. "what happened? in the nightmare?"

luke shakes his head, "i'd rather not talk about it." the more he thought about it, the more he only wanted to protect y/n.

y/n looked around her bed, before getting an idea.

"do you want to sleep here? with me?" she offered, quickly catching luke off guard.

"are you sure? what if someone catches us?"

y/n smiles and pulls her blanket down for luke to join her. "then we worry about it tomorrow. you need to get some rest. you have to teach archery tomorrow."

luke reciprocates a smile before sliding in the bed next to y/n. he tosses his jacket on the ground, now getting comfortable under y/n's dark green blanket. it reminded him of grass, but it wasn't itchy like the greenery in the door.

after a few moments of silence, luke turns to y/n, seeing she was facing the window again.

"can i hold you?" luke's voice is raspy and soft. he was worried y/n didn't hear him, until she turned again to face him.

she only nods, making the two maneuver in the bed. y/n is closer to luke now, as she's laying on her side to face him. he rests his head on her chest. both of his arms are wrapped around her waist gently, pulling the girl even closer to him.

luke can hear y/n's heartbeat, which instantly calms him down from the nightmare he had that night. a gesture she didn't even know she was doing, would calm him down more than she knew.

as luke started to fall asleep, he felt y/n's finger in his hair. her nails were lightly scratching his scalp, and her fingers played with his dark curls. she kisses the top of his head, before she whispers, "goodnight luke."

[s-4pphics]

click! 3 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you need a roommate, and you love eggplant. [college au]

WORD COUNT: 7.4k 

WARNINGS: photographer/roommate!ellie, ocs an artist with a rep and black :3, crack, light smut [masturbation], sexual tension… it’s starting, light angst, weed, brief mention of suicide, pretty cute tbh

one. two. four.

A/N: hi stinks :3 i’m obsessed with them….. taking my time with these two hope yall like it LOL bye

Butterflies are fluttering, birds are chirping, and the crops are watered when you wake. You slept through the entire night, and the beast inside you is satisfied. 

But the gorgeous scenery in your mind dies in an instant when you recall what the fuck you did last night. Maybe you are a low-down, dirty whore, just like your roomie said. She has the audacity to terrorize your subconscious enough to actually feature in one of your meat-beat sessions. Not only that, but you busted in two minutes to the thought of her demanding you to fix a window that isn’t even broken. 

You… are a hoe. How awkward. You just wanted to fight her days ago, and now your pussy’s got a crush. Not you, your pussy. You accepted that you and your cunt are two separate entities a long time ago. 

You lay in your bed, eyes melting holes into the ceiling; What the fuck is going on?

Ellie… sex… her asking for head… you asking for head from her… The math isn’t mathing. Ellie’s gay as a bitch, you know that for a fact, but why her? The math has never mathed, actually. You’re going to fail statistics, speaking of… Is statistics considered math? 

It’s still freezing in your apartment. Is Ellie still not back yet? Your shared space is never this silent or cold; A rat could be crawling around in search of cheese and you would hear it like a hounddog. 

You throw your blankets off and instantly regret it; You’re shocked snow isn’t falling from inside your fucking apartment. It has to be negative thirty in this bitch. If Ellie’s asleep, you don’t know how she survived the night. 

Your knees crack as you quietly pull your door open, light creaks from the hardwood sounding your walk to Ellie’s bedroom. You can’t imagine how crazy you look, ear pressed against her door, listening for any movement to prove that she’s alive and not a fucking block of ice. 

Either you’re hallucinating, or she’s mumbling in her sleep. Her voice is hushed and croaky, supposedly asking if Spider-man stole her fucking lunch money to pay the Pope back for stealing… something; You can’t pick up what she said from out here. Your hand flies over your mouth to hide a laugh. She must be exhausted; When did she get back last night? 

You let her sleep-talk in peace and head to the kitchen to brew your coffee. You really beat off to that bonehead. Go figure. 

For the first time since Ellie moved in, you’re gone before her. 

You’re strolling the icy streets, strutting to your heart’s content, Tina Snow vibrating your eardrums. Last night’s nut really did something incredible to your spirit; You’ve never felt lighter. One more unsuspecting gust of wind and you’re taking flight, for sure. Your brain gives subconscious Ellie knuckles. 

You burst through the coffee shop like you own it, silently celebrating when you realize there’s no line. You order and receive your dark drink in record time, taking a seat by the large window at the back of the shop. What gorgeous scenery! 

Your cup is almost empty when your phone vibrates on the table. It’s Maymay! You answer with the brightest smile. “My babyyy— “

“Bitch, cut the shit! Fuck you! Why haven’t you called?” She yells through the line. 

“Well, uh…” You almost committed arson in your building! “Just… just school stuff! You wouldn’t know about that, Ms. Celebrity!” 

Your best friend giggles, “Shut up! I’m a D-lister at most!” You shake your head in denial; That internship program doesn’t understand the blessing that Amaya holds. Her ear is godsend and she comprehends sound like no other. 

“How’s the roomie thing going? I haven’t heard much!” 

Oh, fuck. “… Fine.” 

She’s silent for a second, “The fuck does that mean?” 

Your fingernail snaps between your teeth. “I mean it’s fine, just like I said.” 

Amaya hums, clearly suspicious, “… Whatever you say, then.” 

“Yup.” 

She snorts. “Anyway… what’re you doing for Chri— “

“Ellie made me bust with her telepathy.” This is not the conversation you should be having in a coffee shop, but if people heard you, fuck it. 

“… Bitch… What?” 

“I didn’t wanna tell you, okay? I didn't! Incel made her way into my fucking brain and I busted! Sue me!” 

Silence passes, and then there’s laughter from the other line. “Are you high right now?” 

“No, it’s fucking nine in the morning— “

“Ain’t nothing wrong with a lil’ wake-and-bake— “

“I just told you I mentally fucked my roomie and that’s what you say?” 

She sighs, “I mean… I saw the picture you sent me. She's not ugly. Doesn’t seem like your type, though.” 

“She’s not my type! I thought about her for two seconds on accident and I came! Abby couldn’t even get me there and she—” 

“Woah, woah, pause… Abby couldn’t get you where?” 

“Not a location, bitch. I couldn’t bust!” A sharp gasp from her. Your brows furrow, “What?” 

“Oh, bitch…”

“What, Maya?” 

You hear the smile in her tone, “You gotta crush?” 

You gag, “Fuck no! Have you lost your mind! My…” You pause and check to see if anyone’s near. Nobody. You whisper-shout into the speaker, “My pussy’s crushing!” 

Amaya sucks her teeth in annoyance, “Girl…”

“It’s true! You know she gotta mind of her own! I can’t do anything about that!” 

Your bestie’s snickering to herself, “Whatever you say, mama. But for someone that thinks with her clit… you might wanna have a conversation with her. You know her better than anybody.” 

You’re stunned to say the least. You love Amaya to death, but she’s batshit crazy to suggest that you’re crushing on someone like Ellie. She called you a worthless tramp in broad daylight, for fucks sake. She wasn’t entirely wrong, but it still stung a little. 

You sip your coffee, “I love you… I gotta go.” 

“Mhm…” You hate how sure she sounds. “Love you, too.” 

You nervously twiddle your fingers until your first class, the day dragging even more than usual. Mainly due to the fact that you’re wondering if Amaya was right. Your lectures feel like a blur; All you can think about is Ellie. The spot-covered hermit. Squash-loving loser with a decent nose… and decent hands… and decently toned arms. 

Your pussy squeezes in the middle of class when you briefly envision them wrapped around you, and it sends a shockwave to your brain. 

Oh, shit. 

Raja was sweet enough to cover your shift for you; You can’t focus on credit card sales today. 

The second you enter your freezing apartment, you hear quiet sobs. Ellie sits at the small table as she scrolls through her phone, forms scattered all over the glass. She’s sniffling and wiping her face with her hoodie sleeve, and your brows crease. 

You shut the door behind you before making your way over to her. Not too close, though. 

“Uhh… you good?” 

“Yeah.” Her voice breaks, and something shifts in you. Somewhere in your chest. Why’re her cheeks so red?

“… You sure?” You cringe. 

“I said yeah.” 

She clearly doesn’t want to chat. Whatever’s going on, she can handle on her own. She doesn’t need coddling, especially from you. Why’re you still standing here?

“I, uh… I found a Snicker’s.” You slip. 

Ellie finally faces you, clearly confused. Why can’t you just shut the hell up for once? Another shift from your chest at her teary eyes. 

“What?” 

“I mean, uh, I bought a Snicker’s. Like, candy.” You pull said bar from your puffer pocket. You did buy it for Abby for when you see her to study, but it looks like your roomie needs it more. 

“… Okay?” 

You pull out and hand the wrapped chocolate out to her, “You’re not you when you’re hungry.” 

Her eyes switch between your face and the candy bar; She doesn’t look impressed. Maybe she’s allergic to nuts! You knew you should’ve got the fucking Sour Straws—

“Thanks.” 

You barely register her taking the bar, her cold fingers brushing against yours. Another zap in your brain. She rips it open and eats it in silence. An awkward chuckle from you, “Is it yummy?” You expect her to tell you to fuck off, but she doesn’t. She just nods and chews. 

Your nosiness gets the best of you, discreetly inspecting the forms on the table. A bunch of random names are crossed out in her notebook, a couple of signed forms crumpled up and raggedy. You don’t know what any of this means. 

“You’re not slick.” Ellie talks with her mouth full.

“Hm?” 

“You’re really gonna read my shit like that?” 

You take a seat next to her, “… I didn’t.” 

“Okay,” She mumbles. “Remember…” She scratches at her ear, “Remember that booking that got canceled because of the storm?” You nod. She swallows the last bits of her candy. “I was supposed to take pictures of this couple before their wedding, but…” 

“They, uh… They don’t wanna reschedule. Said it’s too hectic because of the holidays and there’s not enough time.” 

You hum, “Okay… So, what does that mean?” 

“I can’t submit my portfolio without those pictures. And it fucked my money up.” 

“Damn… how much were they paying?” 

She scoffs, “A lot. I don’t even wanna think about how much I lost trying to get the setup right.” 

You ponder for a second, “I mean, I’m sure there’s other people who want nice pics. You’ve been hustling this whole time— “

She interrupts, “I don’t wanna hustle anymore. I’m… I’m tired. It’s fucking exhausting doing promotions by yourself.” 

You hear the stress in her voice, and you feel for her. Being a full-time creative can be pretty shitty at times. Most times. The amount of attempts you’ve had in commissioning in your lifetime is astronomical; Some pick-ups, lots of disappointment. 

“What was the shoot about? Like… the scene, I guess.” 

Ellie nibbles at her lip, “Romance.” 

“Boooring,” You joke. Ellie doesn’t laugh, so you cough awkwardly. “You gotta come up with a new plan, I guess. It’s all about the grind mentality.” 

“You sound like a misogynist with a podcast.” 

You chuckle and she continues, “There’s no new plan. The portfolio I’m submitting is based on emotion. It’s not… complete if love isn’t somewhere in there. That’s how I see it.” 

“Speaking of see, can I?” You arch your brow, “Your portfolio, I mean.” 

“No.” She says plainly. 

“Wha— why not? You saw my paintings!” 

“They’re on the wall… in the living room. There’s no other choice but to look at them.” 

“Bro, what the fuck. You’re not the only visualist in this house! I might have some pointers you could use!” 

“I don’t need pointers from you.” Aggravation clouds her pupils. You try not to take offense to that, but it doesn’t work. 

“Why the fuck not?” You glare. 

Her tone gets louder, “Because you wouldn’t understand it! Why do you wanna help so badly, anyway!”

“I’m—“ But you don’t know what to say. Why do you want to help? Ellie squints, awaiting your answer, but nothing comes out. You’re uncomfortable; It’s suddenly not that cold in here. 

“Whatever. Forget I asked!” You rise and march to your room. Another slammed door, another pending noise complaint. 

Ellie hasn’t talked to you in days, and you’re not sure why it’s bothering you. You’ve been sending her looks throughout the entire stats lecture, but she hasn’t acknowledged you once. She’s just scribbling and tapping her ballpoint on her notebook. Her notetaking seems very intense from where you sit, her eyes scanning the board. 

Does Ellie like math? Or logistics? Or whatever statistics is considered? Curiosity pokes at you; You don’t know much about your roommate. You’ve been living together for nearly a month, and you haven’t had one valuable conversation yet. What about photography interests Ellie so much? Why does she enjoy disgusting vegetables? When did she get her tattoo? Is she actually gay or are you a dickhead for assuming? 

Your venturing thoughts makes class fly by; Another successful day of not taking useful notes! 

Ellie’s packing her run-down backpack and you watch. She’s meticulously placing her books on top of each, at least from what you can see from the big hole on the side. Her headphones are thrown on, and in one swift motion, her bag is on her shoulder and she’s heading towards the door, holding it open for everyone leaving. 

You swiftly pack and walk towards the exit. Ellie’s too distracted by her phone to notice you turn the corner to watch her. All the students vacant the room, and she lets the door shut. You follow from a distance as she moves towards the staircase, down the steps, out into the quad and onto the open field. She pauses, so you do too. 

You follow her line of vision, right at the sky. It’s pretty today: the sun’s peeking out, just barely, from underneath the dark gray clouds, rays of light highlighting various sections of the quad. 

Ellie unzips and digs in her bag, retrieving the olive-green polaroid before setting her bag down on the frosted grass. She maneuvers around the grass, trying to avoid obstruction from the trees, adjusting her stance, picking the best angle before holding her camera up. One quick flash, and she’s holding a photo of the sky. 

She shakes the picture a bit before squatting to search through her bag, pulling out a large binder and placing the photo in a laminated encasing. You can’t see any of the pictures in detail, but there must be a lot in there. That binder is thick as fuck. 

And just like that, she’s off into the cold. 

You wonder what else is in that binder. 

You’re starving. The second you get that direct deposit, you’re whipping up something fierce. Shrimp and eggplant have been calling your name for weeks; You’re ravenous for it. 

You run up to the apartment to snag a granola bar, Ellie already in the kitchen, propped against the counter eating Kraft mac and cheese. 

You shut the door behind you, “Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it?” 

Ellie stops chewing, eyes large and soft cheeks filled with creamy noodles. “Hm?” 

You walk to the cupboards, mouthwatering for Nature Valley, “It’s just beautiful outside! The trees, the sky! Almost pretty enough to paint, ain’t it!” 

More chewing. She just shrugs, but you’re not having it, “I wish I gotta picture!” 

“… Go take one.” 

“Oh, my fucking god,” you mutter to yourself, “Can I see the picture you took earlier?” 

“… How’d you know— “

“The details aren’t important! I was thinkiiing,” you rip open the wrapping, “if I can’t see your portfolio, I can see that giant photo book you have!” 

She glances around awkwardly, “Were you watching me earlier?” 

“… Well, yes— “

“What the fu— why?” 

“I like seeing people do shit they enjoy.” You shrug and bite your bar. Ellie isn’t looking at you, but her cheeks tint, and it makes you grin. Interesting. 

You chew and swallow, “Especially talented people.” You inch closer, just barely. “You should show me some pictures sometime… I’ll show you some of my secret creations, too. A little exchange, if you will.” 

Her fingers clench around her plastic spoon, and her breathing changes, cheeks even brighter. Her hands are very nice… They look so soft. 

“Think about it,” you say, quieter, just between the two of you, “Call it… roommate bonding.” You crunch and adjust your bag before walking towards the door. “I think it’s overdue!” You throw over your shoulder before shutting the door behind you. 

You’re not sure if Ellie likes or hates compliments. 

Closing was so hectic; you don’t make it home until one in the morning. Training rookies is probably the worst part about working in hardware; They never know where shit goes. 

You don’t feel tired, though. The drive back home is usually when your exhaustion takes over, but this ride was smooth. Sleep is going to be difficult to come by tonight. 

You unlock your front door and… push. And push. And push again. What the fuck. Something’s blocking the door. You fight with the wood until the crack is wide enough to slip through. The smell in the air is very telling as to why there’s a pile of hoodies blocking the slim opening at the bottom of the door. 

Your mouth gapes at the sight of Ellie on the couch with no pants on, blunt in her hand… blowing O’s. Her eyes are glistening and lazy when she opens them. You quickly shut the door and kick the hoodies in their original position before the scent escapes. 

“Hey,” she mutters. Goosebumps rise on your arms at her voice. 

“… Why the fuck are you chiefing in this no smoke building.” 

She stares like you’re stupid. “De-stressing.”

“Deez-fucking nuts! Ellie, we’re not gonna have a place to sleep if we get caught. Bitch ass Carol doesn’t play that shit.” You hate your landlord with every fiber of your being. The second anyone accidentally breaks a rule, she’s on their ass like grass. You can’t imagine how she’s going to react if she sees Ellie being disobedient on purpose. You’ll both be living out of your car. Fucking hag. 

Your roommate sighs and crosses her legs, boxer shorts riding up her taut thighs. Alright, okay. She pats the empty cushion next to her. 

“I'm bored.” 

“Okay, what about it.” 

She taps the cushion again. Your heartbeat spikes for some reason. “Roommate bonding.” 

You gawk. Ellie’s never been this relaxed in your presence. Her posture is incredibly comfortable, leaning back against the propped pillows, manspreading. Why is it attractive?

So, you drop your bag and unzip your puffer before plopping down next to her. She says nothing, just extends the lit herb to you. You look between her and the big B. “That’s a fat doinker.” 

“… Right.” Ellie puffs once more before attempting to share. 

You push her cold hand back softly, “I don’t smoke.” 

“Okay.” One last long pull from her, and she’s putting out the grass on the ashtray. “Do you wanna play checkers?” She exhales around smoke clouds, cold air blowing in from the barely cracked window. 

“… What.” 

“I said do you wanna play checke— “ 

“Are you a lesbian?” 

Your eyes widen at your own question. Interrogation? Fuck. Ellie’s looking around the warm space blankly as if she’s trying to register what the fuck you just said. You’re a fucking asshole. 

“E-Ellie, I’m sorry, I dunno why I asked— “

“Can you not tell.” 

“Well, yeah.” You stutter, “… But I thought it was like… fucked up to assume based on uh, appearances, or whatever. I don’t have good gay-dar, so.” 

“I’ve been called a carpet muncher since I was eight.” 

“… Fuck, really?” She nods, face flat. Your fist extends, silently asking for knuckles, “Me too! That’s what’s up.” 

“I almost killed myself.”

Your fist drops with your expression. “Oh… uh, damn… Sorry… I’m glad you didn’t, though, real shit.” 

“What does love feel like?” 

This conversation is giving you whiplash. “Are you one of those fake-deep potheads? Like, you believe in flat earth and all that other bullshit?” 

Ellie blinks dumbly, “Uhh… I don’t think so…” 

“Why do you ask?” 

Ellie points at the wall, at one of your paintings. Two women laying on a bed of grass, completely at peace, surrounded by colorful flowers and butterflies. A small smile spreads across your face, recalling how excited you were to show your first girlfriend what you made for her birthday. 

“Love feels like you're getting shot… but not in a bad way.” You ramble. “It’s like… like, fuck I’m really gonna die without this person next to me type shit.” You think back to when you made the painting on the wall, the memories of your younger self so deeply infatuated with another person for the first time. It felt eternal back then, souls interconnected. 

But then your eyes travel to the next painting, right below the latter. Complete void, no color, no life, just darkness, and your expression falls. The faceless girl trapped in the center of madness is calm, though, accepting her doom with grace. 

“That makes it worse, though…” You think of Dina and how you fought. How nasty it got. How disgusted she seemed with your presence. You almost want to cry as you relive it. “When they leave… something inside you really does die. That space never really gets filled again. You’re just kinda… stuck with a hole until you croak over.” 

“What if they don’t leave?” 

They all leave. “… I’m not sure yet.” 

Ellie hums and it goes quiet for a moment. You wonder what she’s thinking about. 

“Are you a lesbian?” Your roommate throws back at you. You laugh, “Are you asking if I eat coochie?” 

Ellie nods with a giggle. You stiffen; This is the first time you’ve heard her laugh. The hairs on your arms stand upright at the sound. 

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Ellie laughs harder, head resting against the back of the couch. You watch the apple of her cheeks heighten. But then the wind blows harder than normal and they drop. She's blank again. “The heater…” 

“What about it?” 

“It’s broken…” 

Fuck. “Did you put in a maintenance request?” Her head shakes. 

“Uh… why not?” 

“Because I heard you masturbating and forgot.” 

Your heart, stomach, pride is at your feet, “… What did you just say.” 

Ellie finally looks at you, eyes doe-like, guilt swimming in them. “I’m… I’m sorry! I was sleeping and I woke up to pee but I couldn’t because you were— “

“Ellie— “

“It kept… buzzing, and I couldn’t move! I kept asking

myself how is her stamina this fucking good! It didn’t turn off until like… an hour later! I almost pissed in my bed— “

Your body heats at her confession; She thought about your stamina? You place a hand on her shoulder to ease her, and she stops. “It’s okay. I just… Yeah, this is awkward… We gotta submit that request before that next blizzard or we’re fucked.” 

Ellie mutters in agreement, but she’s not listening. She’s eyeing your fingers, the ones resting on her shirt. If you move your thumb an inch, you’ll touch her collarbone. 

“We, um… We can send it in the morning…” She whispers okay, and your fingers curl around the fabric. A sharp inhale from her, and you sigh. Her warm breath is hitting your wrist and you’re trying not to squirm. You watch her chest rise and fall at a steady pace, eyes flicking between yours and your hand. 

You watch her and she watches you, hand inching up until you’re tracing the warm skin under her tee. Your nail scratches her collarbone, just barely, and the muscles in her thigh jerk. Nope. Not happening. You pull away and stand. 

“This was… you’re funny.” You stare at your feet; You never took your shoes off. “Uh… bye.” 

“Bye.” Her voice is flat. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you fucked up. 

Your shoes go flying and you rush to your room. You’re not sure if you slammed the door or not; The pounding in your ears is too loud. 

Ellie fucked up. She knows she did. 

I heard you masturbating and forgot? You left over an hour ago, and she’s still replaying that moment in her mind. What the fuck was she thinking? She wants to peel her skin off and her stomach is in knots. The ghost of your hand is still on her. She was freezing before you came home, and now she’s overheating. 

Ellie thinks she’s done a good job of acting normally around you after that night. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t think about it. All the time. 

She hates how, every night since it happened, she listens for you. When you come home in the wee hours of the night, the devil convinces her that you’re aching and desperate, dripping and ready to get yourself to the peak you crave. You’ve been working so hard; You deserve to wind down. 

It’s sick, she knows. She masks it well, but every time you're home, she’s hot. Roommate bonding, you’d said. Why did you say it like that, though? You sounded so alluring, like a siren preparing for a kill. 

Maybe she’s reading into it too much. You're a flirt and you’re good at it… 

It’s either hot or cold with you. Compliments, or cursing. Admiration or judgment. There’s no middle ground, and it’s driving her crazy. 

Why did you have to touch her? You could’ve kept your distance like you’ve been doing, like you did in the kitchen. You gave her a chance to run at arm's length. 

Ellie’s thoughts are racing; She needs to smoke again, but she’s too distracted to spark. That ache between her thighs is overpowering. 

Her eyes travel over the painting that captured her attention a few weeks ago. A small self portrait of you. She commends your attention to detail, but still, you’re so gorgeous in person; There’s no comparison. 

Two deep breaths, and her hand is shoved in her boxers, fingers slippery in seconds. She keeps her eyes glued to the painting as she rubs her clit in quick circles, the bud increasing her sensitivity. 

It’s like the painting moves with every squeeze of her walls: she can almost see your animated eyes rolling into your skull, your pink tongue out, drool dripping down your chin. And your voice… It’s tantalizing when you want something. She can almost hear you now: it’s so good, right there, I love when you touch me like that. 

Fuck, she wants your hands on her. Everywhere. Anywhere you want. She’s breathing so loud; She hopes you dozed off by now, even in your noticeably restless state. 

But what if you’re not? What if you forgot something in the living room, or need a drink of water before bed, and you walk in and see the mess you make her? Her hand moves faster at the thought of you angry, disappointed that she couldn’t keep her hands to herself. She’ll never say, but something wicked happens in her underwear when you're fuming. She likes how expressive your eyes are. 

Her free hand flies over her mouth as her stomach tightens, the beats in her clit and heart synced. She's so close. A few seconds, and she groans into her hand, the walls melting around her when it finally crashes. Tears jerk in her eyes as she rubs herself through it, riding it out for as long as she can. 

The hand on her mouth slides under her shirt, cold fingers prodding her nipple as her orgasm descends. She gasps into the cold air, trying to catch her breath. She palms her clit and her walls twitch. She tiredly plops onto the couch, hand still in her underwear, eyes glued to your portrait, scaling the wall until she revisits the depiction of you and your first girlfriend. 

The idea Ellie’s been sitting on for the last few days crashes down on her again. You’re soft, despite what others may say. You seem like a lover. 

It’s Friday. Rent is due. Fuck. 

You just got paid, and now more than half of your earnings is in your landlord's pocket. You haven’t even been grocery shopping yet. 

Ellie has, apparently. It smells so good in the kitchen. You take back whatever you said about her and her cheffing skills. That soup was delicious; You secretly hope she cooks more. She can get down… a little bit. 

You wipe the tired from your eyes and make way to the kitchen, and your jaw drops, stunned in your spot by the fridge. Empty grocery bags are stacked on the counter, and Ellie’s frying shrimp and eggplant. 

“Hi… you didn’t eat last night. I heard you talking about egg— “

Your whimper, followed by several guttural sobs interrupt her greeting, hand flying over your mouth. Ellie simply stands by the counter with wide eyes, fork in hand. 

Ellie thinks you’ve stopped crying, “Uh… I just wante— “

More loud sobs from you. Snot dribbles down from your nose and Ellie cringes, tearing a piece of paper towel and handing it to you. You take it graciously and blow your nose. 

“This is,” sob “the best thing a-anyone,” sniffle… sob “has ever done f-for me.”

Ellie just nods and flips the eggplant. You can’t control yourself, arms wrapping around her waist, sobbing into her back. 

“I, um… Consider it a peace offering, I guess.” 

“I take back,” heave “I take back whatever dumb shit I said about you before you moved in,” heave “You’re so… fuck you, Ellie!” You hug her tighter. 

“Queers gotta stick together.” She mumbles. 

“Like wet pussy lips!” You wail, fat tears seeping into her t-shirt. She snickers to herself, “Get a plate.” 

You sniffle all the way to the cupboards and set the tiny table. 

Chef Butch. That’s Ellie’s new name around these parts. 

For someone who supposedly “hates eggplant”, she seasoned and fried the fuck out of it. Get this bitch on the Food Network!

You’re full and energized before leaving the house for once. You don’t even need your morning coffee. 

“Hey, uh… can I ask you something?” Ellie calls from the table.

You pause dish scrubbing to look at her, “Mhm.” 

“It’s kinda… a big deal.” She mutters, eyes flickering nervously. 

“… Should I sit down, or?”

“It’s not bad. It’s just… I don’t know.” 

You rinse your hands and set the last plate on the rack to dry. You grab a clean towelette and sit across from her. Ellie can’t meet your eyes and her cheeks are fiery. You smirk. 

“Need help with something?” 

Her head bobs, eyes glued to the table. 

“Then ask me.” You lean closer. Ellie whispers your name. A deep sigh from her, lips parting around her question. 

“Do you wanna model for my portfolio— “

“Of course I’ll help you send nudes— “

Confusion paints her face, “What.”

“…What.” 

“What did you just say.” 

“Nothing.” You shrug, face burning. 

“You can say no. It’s not that serious.” That guarded twinge in Ellie’s voice has returned. You don’t like it. 

“You think I’m pretty?” You tease with a pout. 

“What.” 

“You think I’m sooo hot and sexy that you’re gonna make me the star of your— “

Ellie blushes, “You’re not the… star of anyth— “

Your hands wave excitedly, “I’m so honored! I’d love to! When do we start!” 

Ellie sighs, massaging her temples, “Do you have work on Sunday?” 

“Not anymore!” You do a little dance in your seat, “What am I gonna be doing in the pics, o ye camera master?” Her ears are so red. Why is she so fucking nervous? You’ve already accepted! 

“Just look like you’re in love.” 

“… Oh.” 

Ellie grimaces at your tone, “Listen, I only have two weeks to finish this submission. I haven’t had any luck finding people to help me out!” 

You pause, “Is this why you buttered me up with a buss down plate?” 

“… Would you hate me if I said yes?” 

“Fuck, Ellie— “

“I’m desperate!” She exclaims, “But I also don’t wanna just ask anybody! I need the photos to be believable! And you kinda… you kinda get it!” Ellie points to the painting of you and your first love. 

The silence is thick as you explore her face. Her forestry-filled eyes are nervous, but there’s a glimmer of hope in her pupils. You like it; Her orbs look brighter. Greener somehow.

“I wanna see it, then.” 

“See what?” 

“Your big ass binder… and your portfolio!” 

Her eyes roll. “Pick one.” 

“Wooow, you’re really gonna ruin another opportunity for roommate bonding? That’s wild. Alright.” 

“Pick one.” She’s stern with her demand… You like that, too. 

You smirk. “Show me your portfolio.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest. “You see it when it’s finished. After the pictures are done. Take it or leave it.” 

“Okay, damn,” You give up, “So… what do I gotta do for prep?” 

“Not much right now. I have to set up my equipment and all that…” She glances around the living room, “we’ll talk about the rest later.” 

“‘Kay.” You twiddle your fingers together before the biggest light bulb shines over your head. 

“I also get 40% of the earnings— “

“Fuck no.” She says with a small grin. You pout. 

You knew something was wrong when Abby randomly invited you over to study… on a Saturday night. You don’t know how she’s a STEM major; You haven’t seen her with a book since you’ve met her! 

The second she opened her door, something was off. It’s been days since you’ve seen her and she barely reacted to the grilled cheese you brought. Her answers have been curt and she’s not laughing at any of your jokes. Your Cheetos are doing a great job at soothing your anxiety. You want to comfort your friend with whatever’s bothering her, but you’re not sure how. 

So, you talk. And talk. And talk about Ellie.

“I’m not gonna lie,” You crunch, comfortable on Abby’s beanbag. “I’m kinda excited! I’ve never done a photoshoot before.” 

Abby shrugs from her work desk, voice monotone, “I mean, just be mindful. It’s obviously not a game for her so you needa take it seriously.” 

Your brows furrow, “What do you mean?” 

“Your roommate slash crush— “

Your head shakes, “I don’t have a crush— “

“Slash crush,” Your friend emphasizes, “asked you to be a part of probably one of the biggest creations of her life. If that photo book or whatever is as important as you say, it’s not just a “photoshoot” for her.” 

… Nah, you’re still confused. 

Abby scoffs, “A photoshoot about romance and you’re her only model, making you breakfast, and whatever else she’s done! How much does she have to spell it out for you?” 

“I don’t understand why you’re yelling!”

“I’m not fucking yelling! I’m watching out for you before you do something you regret!” 

You sit up straighter, “And what does that mean!”

“What have you been saying this entire time? I don’t wanna live with someone I fucked!” She mocks, “It seems like y’all are pretty close to that.” 

You stare pensively, “We haven’t fucked and we’re not going to! You’re doing the fucking most!” 

“Yeah, whatever.” She continues to scribble. 

“Abby… what’s wrong?” You clumsily stand from the bean bag. “I’m so con— “

“You wanna know what’s wrong?” She snaps, pen slamming on the desk. “Every time we see each other, you talk about her! I’m sick of hearing about… whatever the fuck you have going on at home, quite frankly! We can’t even joke around because you’re so pressed about someone you don’t even like!” 

You’re going to cry; You can feel it. Abby’s never been this upset with you, “Why did you wait so long to tell me this? I would’ve stopped coming to you a long time ago!” 

“Because I cared and didn’t want you to feel by yourself while Maya’s away! That’s why! But now, it’s like…” 

A tired sigh from her and she gives up, hand waving dismissively, “Talking about this shit is pointless. I’m going to bed. Shut the door behind you.” Abby rises and brushes past you, switching her lamp off and climbing into her warm bed. You allow your tears to fall as you gather your belongings, gently shutting her door behind you and attacking your face with your sleeve. You hate crying in public. 

The elevator ride feels much longer than it should’ve been as you weep. The doors shutter open, and you can see the weather is not on your side. It’s pelting bullets outside; You knew you shouldn’t have walked. 

“You got a ride?” 

You look over at the security guard perched behind the front desk. Fuck all feds, but Stanley’s cool. You shake your head. 

“You can’t walk home in that. Driving is also dangerous but,” He shrugs, and you sigh. You pull your phone out of your pocket. 

“Hey, Siri… Call Chef Butch…” 

“CALLING CHEF BUTCH.” 

Stanley’s warm laughter eases your shoulders. 

DING!

You unlock your phone and smile at Ellie’s text, rising from your chair. 

“Alright, Stan. Pray I don’t turn into Frosty out there,” You throw over your shoulder. 

He laughs, opening the heavy door for you, “I will! Get home safely!” You throw your hood over your beanie, easing past him and nearly being blown away by the fucking wind. How did Ellie drive in this shit!

You somehow manage to follow the view of your car, pounding on the passenger window to get Ellie to unlock it. You miss your step on the curb and fall face first into the seat. You hear Ellie’s laughter. 

“You alright?” 

“Yup! Fucking peachy, thanks!” You stumble in and slam the door with the wind, out of breath, body melting from the heat. “You couldn’t have parked a little closer?” 

“… No.” 

You stare at her through the snow in your lashes, “Ellie, take us home, please. I’m annoyed and going through a fucking breakdown, like I can’t be outside right now. I’m gonna pass out!”

“… You wanna talk about it?” 

“No.” You spit. 

“Alright.” She puts the car in drive, but her foot is still pressed on the brake. 

“I just can’t believe this shit right now!” You ramble anyway. “You think you know a person, like, fuck! This is stupid!” You punch the glove compartment. 

“… What happ— “

“Like, fuck! Fuuuck! Like what the fuck!” 

You’re screaming your head off and Ellie’s just watching, face flat as ever. It makes you scream louder. But your wails pause when your eyes flicker downward. Veiny hands clenched around the steering wheel. Your screams suddenly sound like whimpers. When’s the last time you had sex?

Is it sad that the thought of Ellie choking you out is easing your meltdown? This is the worst day ever! 

“I’m gonna rip my fucking face off— “

“Why're you staring at my hands like that?”

“What the fuck, I’m not staring. Be quiet.” 

Your roommate grins like a fox, “Okay.” 

The car’s moving and so are your eyes, all over Ellie, wherever they can reach. You’re pissed and horny and you need a shot. 

“You ever get the urge to strangle the fuck outta someone?”

“Mhm.” 

You ponder, “How does it feel to smoke weed?” 

She shrugs, “It feels good.”

“How good? Scale of one to ten.” 

“… Thirteen.”

“Better than sex?” You ask quietly. Your brain is elsewhere, locked on the bulging blue veins in her hand, following the lines through her hoodie. 

She ponders, “… Yes.” 

“You’re biased, though. I can’t trust you.” 

“Stop staring at my hands like that.” Her low voice is like a kick in your back, spine slightly arching in your chair. You’re glad she’s looking at the road; She’s making you go into heat and she doesn’t need to see it. Maybe Abby was right about you being a fucking hypocrite. 

“Or what?” Your tone is icy, and she licks her lips. 

“I’ll pull over.” 

You shudder at her boldness, “Pull over.” 

Your car jerks to a stop and you jolt forward, eyes still glued onto Ellie’s mouth. One kiss… It isn’t sex. It’s just kissing; Who doesn’t love kissing? You’re alone and warm and it’s gorgeous outside. It would be just a kiss. Just one, just one. 

Ellie’s staring at you, eyes reminiscent of the storm outside. Flurrying and dark. Her tongue swipes over her lips again, and your gut swirls. “Stop staring at my hands.” You suck your bottom lip in your mouth when her breath hits it. She’s leaning forward and so are you. Just one kiss, that’s all you need. 

Your pussy’s talking and she’s loud… Literally meowing for her. 

“Is that a fucking cat?” Ellie whispers, nose brushing yours… She can hear that? How horny are you? 

“Dude, that’s a cat! There’s a cat right there!” Her gasps shock you, and you peer out the window, finding a small, dark spot in gusts of white snow. There is a cat! 

“Oh, my fucking god! Ellie, what the fuck—“ You’re pushing the door open and she grabs your arm. 

“Wait, you’re gonna fucking fall— “

“We can’t leave her, she’s gonna die out here!” You rush out in seconds and you’re slipping like a cartoon character on a banana. You’re kissing the air to lure the kitty over, but she just cries. She’s probably starving! 

“C’mere, baby, c’mon!” You hear Ellie muttering curses from behind you. After almost busting your face on icy concrete, you’re finally close enough to scoop up the shivering ball of fur, and you’re sobbing as you wrap your scarf around her tiny body. 

“Ellie,” you choke, “We ca—can’t leave h-her— “

“Okay, okay, stop crying, where is she?” You hold up the bundled fabric and Ellie gently takes her, shoving her in her hoodie before grabbing your wrist and guiding you to the car. Ellie hops in the driver's seat, the car filled with desperate meows and your hysterical sobs. 

Ellie cranks the heat and holds the wrapped furball, softly cooing at her. 

“Where’s your mama, hm?” 

Meow! 

“No mama?” 

Meow! Meow!

You’re wailing, “She’s a fucking or—orphan— “

“Can you be quiet.” Ellie snaps. 

“O—“you sniffle harshly, “Ok—okay— “

“Hold her, I gotta drive. We’re going to Petco.” Ellie’s zooming down the street, whipping and swerving. You’re almost positive she ran a red light. 

“I know you don’t like small animals, but c-can we keep her, please— “

Ellie’s lip curls, “It’s not that I don’t… not like them—” She rambles on, but you’re so focused on the baby in front of you. Poor thing looks so tired. What if she’s sick? Oh God, she would’ve froze to death if you didn’t stop—

You blabber to her between choked whimpers, “I love you so much, we’re gonna get you safe, don’t worry— “

“Oh, my fucking god,” Ellie sighs softly beside you. 

Pheromones will have to wait. You’re a mother now. 

After your emergency pet escapade, you and Ellie sneak the cat past the complex security and into your apartment. If anyone finds out — if Carol finds out — you’re fucked… and unhoused. 

Small meows are filling your ears. Your baby’s full, at least. Poor thing was horking down minced tuna in the car. Her teeth are so small and cute. She looks like she’s going to doze off soon. 

You watch as Ellie sets up her little area in the living room… Right next to her fucking photography set up when the fuck did she do that—

The corner of the living room is fully decked with maroon and ebony backdrops, Ellie’s sticker-littered camera resting proudly on its stand. There’s a… big ass umbrella-looking thing towering over the setup and a stool on the dark floor cover. There’s a small, white briefcase on it, tied down with a padlock. It’s either a gun or her portfolio. 

“Bring her over here.” 

Your gawking gets cut short as you cradle kitty over to Ellie, handing her over so she can lay her on the small, paw-shaped bed. She’s purring; Your heart’s melting. 

“I see you haven’t changed your mind.” 

Ellie’s tucking your baby in, “About?” She hums.

“The shoot.” You whisper. 

“Why would I?” She faces you and stands. You shrug nonchalantly, but your mind’s racing. You probably found someone worthy of doing it. 

Ellie inches closer, looking down at you. “Consider it roommate bonding… Featuring adopted cat child.” 

You giggle. She's staring at your smile, all over your face. Into your eyes. Yours flicker down to her mouth. Either you're hallucinating, or she’s leaning closer. One kiss won’t hurt. 

“Um…” She whispers, gaze dropping to the floor. “Earlier I was gonna… say something.” 

“What is it?” 

She shrugs, “… I forgot.” 

“Okay.” You’re whispering now. She’s staring at your mouth. Her eyes are hypnotizing; There's a universe in them. A forest with trees that grow for eternities, miles and miles of green meadows. 

“You’re staring.” She mutters. 

“So are you.” 

Ellie wants to say something. You can see it. But she doesn’t, and neither do you. “Gotta get up early… I’ll see you tomorrow?” Her voice cracks. 

You’re cheesing and your hearts in your throat. “Yes. See you tomorrow.” 

One last toothy grin, she’s gone into her room, door shutting softly for the first time. You exhale like you’ve been holding your breath, already missing her presence. 

You’re giddy when you finally climb into bed. You can’t help but think that Ellie is, too. 

longest taglist ive ever had i am very sorry if i forgot somebody pls dont hate me i am neurodivergent : @starologist @hrtmal @ohlawdthebirds @villainousbear @timmy-27 @inf3ct3dd @aouiaa @shurisbigtoe @emothurman @lonelyfooryouonly @imelliesgf @baumbii @brackishkittie @littletinyladybugs @r1miese @horror-whoree @elsbunny222 @elliesatchel @makemescreamel @lav3nd3rhaze @elliezflower @ellieloml @ellies-princess @saverdelrey @womenofarcane @muthafuckingstargirl @mina-281 @yuckyfucky @aimformyheartt @elstoy @skylerwhitwyo @sawaagyapong @nil-eena @dewylittlestars @sakiigami @feelsoseencantdream @ellieslittlegf @fictionalgap @liabadoobee @whooknooows @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @qtgaslighter @p4ison1vy @eviestevie-14 @weaselot @elliewbbg @elsmissingfingers @lmaoo-spiderman @lyssaspengler @elliewilliamsmunch @gummydummykj @kiwikeysblog @juniorsfav @louleele @alittlextrahoney @tohoko @333-starhotline @girlkissersco @saplingkoi @crxmxnzl-c0rpzes @elliew-illiamsmissingfingers @diddiqueen @alexisvs-world @mostlyhornyandsad @lolaaa699999 @elsblunt @niyahlovesu

[shanastoryteller]

tony gets kidnapped on his way to a business meeting or something and he goes with it because they’re in a pretty crowded area and he doesn’t want some innocent bystanders getting hurt in the scuffle. the team will notice eventually and his overprotective boyfriend captain american is going to 1. notice very quickly and 2. freak the fuck out, so he’s not really risking much here

also these kidnappers are sort of stupid and he’s not really worried about escaping later. except even though they’re stupid they mention things about the avengers and shield that they really shouldn’t know so tony decides to stick around to see if he can figure out if they lucked into hacking past his security (not likely) or if there’s some sort of mole

except the leader and the underlings get in an argument right in front of him because apparently they were supposed to capture captain america, not iron man, and the guy who grabbed him is like no, no, this is better! we have his boyfriend so we can lure him here instead!

meanwhile tony is just stating in disbelief that these idiots manage to string two thoughts together. there has to be mole. or someone else really in charge. or something.

and the leader is like fine whatever. he takes tony’s phone and opens the contacts and snorts, “this is what you have him saved us? pathetic”

tony looks at the contact labeled <3 <3 love of my life light in the dark wind beneath my wings <3 <3 and is sort of glad he’s gagged so he can’t say anything

he still doesn’t really know what’s going on and jarvis is still trying to hack their system an there’s no harm in sticking around a little longer since these people are. you know. idiots

except approximately fifteen minues later rhodey is busting down the wall and taking out all these guys in thirty seconds flat and tony slips out of the ropes that he’d undone about five minutes after being put into them (thanks nat) and pulls down the gag and says, “i thought you were on radio silence on a mission in ghana”

“i thought you could be trusted on your own, so it looks like we’re both wrong,” rhodey says. “what were you playing at?”

“i would have told you not to come if i’d known you’d get the message,” he protests. “i was working an angle here, okay, jarvis are you into their systems yet?”

“yes,” his trusty ai says from his phone from one of the kidnapper’s pockets. “tracing the origin of their financial backer now.”

“you really didn’t have to stay kidnapped for jarvis to do that,” rhodey points out, brushing him off and checking him for injuries.

tony shrugs. “i didn’t want to risk one of them getting away and tipping them off. take care of them i could. do it before they got a signal out without the suit? maybe not.”

this very reasonable discussion is interrupted by the rest of the avengers coming in swinging and then left blinking except for steve who feels the need to fuss over him while tony whines and complains and pretends he doesn’t love it

he says they were after steve anyway, he was just bait and steve frowns and is like well, why didn’t they try and contact me then? we knew something was wrong because of the stark industries security footage

and natasha, the sneak, has picked tony’s phone from the kidnapper’s pocket. he lunges for it but she skips back from him and says, “well it looks like they tried. they just messaged the wrong person”

steve takes the phone and sees the contact name and that the kidnappers sent the message we have your boyfriend and if you don’t do exactly what we say you’ll never see him again and is like. this is what rhodey is saved as in your phone?? what am i??

“look, the things is, it’s not like i actually use anyone’s contact, or look at it, i just tell jarvis who to call, so you really shouldn’t take this personally,” tony says.

steve types in his own number and stares in disbelief. “captain? i’m saved in your phone as CAPTAIN?”

“okay well when you gave me your number we weren’t dating and also you were being very mean to me at the time, so,” he says, resisting the urge to hide behind rhodey because he doesn’t think that will help

steve turns his gaze to rhodey. “what is tony saved as in your phone?”

“i really don’t think that’s relevant,” he answers, looking back at the hole in the wall like he’s considering flying out of it.

“jarvis, what’s tony saved as in rhodey’s contacts?” steve asks.

tony says, “j, don’t-“

“sir is saved in colonel rhodes’s contacts as baby,” jarvis answers.

clint is laughing so hard he’s going to break a rib. natasha raises an eyebrow, which is about the same thing

steve’s face is pure betrayal

“it’s because he’s an infant,” rhodey says, “and very needy and he throws up on me a lot.”

“hey!” tony scowls. “i haven’t done that in years!”

“and when you were texted about your boyfriend being kidnapped, you just knew it was tony?” steve asks.

rhodey shrugs. “well, who else would it be?”

even steve doesn’t have an answer to that

“it’s purely platonic,” tony says reassuringly, “carol would scratch my eyes out.”

steve scowls and sulks until tony changes his contact name

except now he’s in tony’s phone as captain handsome. he tells himself it’s an upgrade

[ickadori]

hihi again! i sent in the ask about how suku/ura would react to yorozu interacting with reader, and i just read your newest post, and oh myyyyyyy i think i fell more in love with the whole trio's dynamic ^^

anyway after i read the punishment fic something that stood out to me was the line about y/n's village being burnt down. i wonder if she thinks back to her times living in the village. in my mind, y/n kinda hated her life beforehand. she may have been treated badly in the village and now that she thinks back on it, she realizes just how much suku and ura have changed her life. like, she's actually grateful for their violence because now she's able to live her life (somewhat) freely.

just a little fluff moment for the trio that crossed my mind but i'd love to hear your take on soft moments like this with the trio :) if there any ig :p

cws for mentions of abuse from reader’s family.

You don’t often think about your life before Sukuna and Uraume - you try not to, at least, but sometimes you can’t help but remember your time in the village on nights like this: lightning lighting up the dark sky, thunder booming overhead, and wind violently whipping the trees back and forth as a storm rages outside.

You had come from a small village, one that wasn’t even big enough to make it on the map. All of the townspeople knew each other by name, and could list off everyone in your family two generations past. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone knew everything about each other, and you think that was the worst part of it all.

Your parents had died when you were young, too young to even remember their names, much less their faces, and your aunt had been the one to take you in. You used to wonder why she had done it, she had made it painfully obvious how much she detested you and your dead mother, but in a village as small of yours and a pride as great as hers, she would have rather died than have the village folk whisper about her behind her back.

Her other children, your cousins, had been no kinder towards you. They followed their mother’s lead and ostracized you, a few of the nastier ones even taking to bullying you when their day hadn’t gone how they wanted it to. You had been their anger outlet, occasionally their punching bag, all while you had to clean up their messes and cook their meals.

They were allowed to have academic lessons to teach them to read and write, while you had been to stand outside in the yard to keep from overheating anything. Your aunt enforced this rule no matter the weather conditions, and you found yourself shivering in the cold winter months, your coat tattered and no shoes on your feet (you weren’t permitted to leave the house, so what was your need for shoes, she always said) as you stood in the snow until your feet grew numb, or overheating in the hot, summer sun until you were drenched in sweat and severely dehydrated.

Sometimes it stormed —just as it is now, as you reside in Sukuna’s palace—, stormed so badly that the trees became uprooted from the ground and crashed down beside you. You cried and sobbed those days, because the thunder was loud enough to drown out your cries, and therefore you didn’t have to worry about your aunt growing angry about the noise.

The people of your village cast you glances, some filled with pity, others filled with indifference, but none of them offered a hand to help. They watched you stand for hours, some days the bruises marring your skin glaringly obvious, and pulled their shutters closed as they disappeared into their homes and erased you from their minds.

You hated them, every last single person in that village, and that’s why you hadn’t shed a single tear when it was tore down to the ground. You had stood there and watched, not frozen, as a single man killed all the people you had wished death upon countless times. You had thought he was some kind of demon coming to exact revenge on your behalf, so it was no surprise to you when you had thrown yourself at his feet and cried in joy, jumbled words of thanks and gratitude being thrown at him.

You had fully expected for him to kill you, too, and you hadn’t minded one bit - you had got to see their ends first, so you couldn’t complain too much now that yours was next, but here you were..

Standing near the open doors to the garden and watching as the flower petals were ripped free from the violent winds and whipped around in the air. A crack of thunder sounded, and a flash of lightning lit up the sky in the next second.

A strong gust of wind sends you teetering back on your heels, and a set of hands settle on your waist to steady you. You tilt your head back and look up to see Sukuna, a small smile gracing your features as you take him in.

“You said you disliked storms.”

“I do.”

“So you stand in open doors to watch them?” He looks down at you, hands moving to pull at your now wet night dress, and he lowly tsks. “You’ll catch a cold.” Uraume seems to appear out of thin-air as they push the doors closed, their attention also moving to your wet clothing.

“It’s just a bit of rain - I’ll be fine.”

“The bath is still hot, my Lord.”

“Cover yourself in the meantime.” Sukuna drapes his overcoat around your shoulders, his scent completely surrounding you. You’re hoisted into his arms a moment later.

“I’ll have one of the servants prepare some tea in advance—some soup, as well.”

They speak back and forth as they move through the halls to the bath room, and Uraume wastes no time in filling the still steaming bath with a few different herbs that you recognize as medicinal. Sukuna makes quick work of your clothing and even quicker work of his, and then he’s lowering the two of you down into the bath, one set of hands scooping up hot water and letting it run down your chilled arms, the other set kneading into the meat of your lower back.

Uraume is out of the room in the blink of an eye, and you release a breath as you relax into Sukuna’s chest, your hands moving to grab ahold of one of his. “Ryomen..”

A hot rag is pressed to your forehead as he hums in response, and you run your fingers over the bumps of his knuckles. “What is it?” He pushes, and you shake your head when a lump begins to build in your throat, instead choosing to twist around in his lap and press your cheek against his chest, his skin hot against yours.

You hear Uraume enter a few moments later, confirming that the soup and tea will be ready soon, and then their hands are joining in to move a hot rag against your skin, their voice low as the two of them speak back and forth about your apparent “lethargy”.

They make it painfully evident that without them, you would have likely died in that village never having known what it felt like to be cared about, and it makes your feelings for them ever stronger.

..thank you.

[meosq]

BAKER

“함께한 기억처럼 , 널 보는 내 마음은 “

summary ; in which Bonten finds out about Mikey’s lover who he tried ever so hard to keep a secret….

genre ; fluff

warnings ; Bonten!mikey, spoilers (?) , fem!reader , cursing , violence ( i mean its bonten??)

It was a calm and setting afternoon in Tokyo, where the streets weren’t as busy and people could actually hear their thoughts.

A rather short man walked across the streets as his dark locks swayed in the wind. The sounds of his munching and quickening pace overtook the quiet streets. He walked at this pace until he reached a certain café which was closing due to the lack in customers today.

“oh where closing right now! Sorry for incon-“ a sweet voice was heard through the empty cafe as the door opened indicating a so called “customer”.

“hi [n/n]-chin!!!” The black haired male stated almost imitating the sweet voice of the female.

“Oh, Manjiro! I wasn’t expecting you!! Aren’t you meant to be in a meeting right now?” [Y/N] stated as she moved away from cleaning the counter tops.

“Missing a meeting to see you shouldn’t be a problem! “ Manjiro stated as he walked towards her ,hugging her as if he hadn’t seen her this morning!

“But manjiro..” [y/n] pouted as she looked at him. “You know they don’t know about us, they might think something has happened to you..” [y/n] stated worriedly as she hugged manjiro back.

“Its okay. I’ll handle things, don’t worry your sweet little head about anything.” Manjiro stated as he took [y/n]’s hand and walked towards the locker room.

“How about we have a little fun since where both not busy at the moment…” manjiro smirked while grabbing the door behind him.

“Manjiro-“

meanwhile, at Bonten’s HQ

“Has anyone seen Mikey? We where meant to start the meeting an hour ago and no-ones heard from him?” A pink haired man stated standing up from the meeting desk.

“Im going to go look for him.” The pinkie stated again.

“Ill come with, you can’t be trusted alone sanzu..” a scar faced man stated also standing up from his seat.

“shut up , kakucho..” sanzu stated. “Lets go then”

“How are we even going to find him?” kakucho stated

“I have a gps on his phone.” Sanzu stated calmly almost as if that wasn’t weird as hell.

“What the fuck?” Kakucho stated confused as hell.

“What?” “I had to, you know how he runs off..” Sanzu stated trying to defend himself , which only resulted in a look from kakucho.

“Whatever” sanzu grumbled.

“It says he’s at this cafe.. weird” sanzu stated looking at where mikey’s GPS was.

“Well then? Lets go check it out” kakucho said as he stepped on the peddle.

meanwhile mikey & [y/n]

“M-manjiro…” [y/n] stated as she fixed her uniform and hair. “You need to stop doing this in public.. what if someone walked in” [y/n] stated blushing at the thought of her customers seeing her so lewd..

“Then so be it. They’ll know you’re mine.” Mikey stated calmly fixing his pants. “Plus , its fun seeing you so embarrassed while i dic-“

“OKAY OKAY WE GET IT AHH” [y/n] said as she cut of mikey and looked away in embarrassment..

“Anyways, manjiro babe could you get the bag of pastries in the back while i finish up the cafe?”

“Oh sure!” Mikey said as he went to the back, to find said paste bag

The chimes at the door once again sung indicating another customer as entered.

“Oh sorry! We are closed-“

“Where is he.” The pink haired stated clocking his gun and pointing it at [y/n] .

“what are you talking about??” [y/n] stated as she faced the pink haired man.

“I wont ask again. Where is he.” The male stated again. “Im not afraid of hurting a woman”

Now [y/n] was getting pissed. How dare he come into YOUR cafe and point a gun at YOU??

“Okay now you’re just pissing me off. Who even are you?” [y/n] stated as she reached into her skirt pocket for the gun Mikey gave her in case of an emergency.

“stop being difficult and just tell us where he is woman. “ the other male spoke up not wanting to cause i scene in here.

[y/n] at this point has point her gun at both males visibly angry catching the guys off guard.

“Can you just leave?-“

“[n/n] i got the bag-“ “sanzu? Kakucho? What are you doing here” mikey stated confused then noticing the guns pointed at his dear lover and [n/n]’s gun also pointing at them.

“what the hell are you doing sanzu?” Mikey stated visibly angry at how sanzu was treating his wife.

“Boss! We where looking for you and she wouldn’t tell us where you where-“

“YOURE SANZU?? “ [y/n] spoke up, now realising these where Manjiro’s executives.

“Oh my god! This is so embarrassing… “ [y/n] stated as she covered her face with her hands, still holding the gun.

“Ahh manjrooo… i told you so.. now ive made a fool of myself..” [y/n] said as she crumbled to the floor in embarrassment.

“its okay love. Dont worry” mikey said sweetly to [y/n] “ its about time i told them anyways”

“love???????” Sanzu said confused as to how mikey called another woman love.

“Call the others here.” Mikey ordered as he went to [y/n] side holding in his laugh.

“why where we called here boss” Ran stated confused on to how a normal meeting had ended up with them in a cafe.

“Id like to introduce you to my wife.” Mikey stated as he walked into the room they where in slightly pulling on something.

“manjiro i cant.. “ a small voice said behind mikey.

“ its okay love dont worry “

“WIFE?” The executives shouted confused on how THEIR QUIET BOSS BAGGED A WIFE.

Mikey stepped aside revealing a beautiful timid lady, holding onto mikey like her life depended on it.

silence.

“hi” y/n said trying her hardest to hold contact and not buckle against her knees , y/n had always been a timid and quite girl throughout her life.

When she had met Manjiro she was in a 2 year of middle school , struggling with bullying , her studies and the strictness of her home. Manjiro was her safe haven , she didnt care what he did, as long as he always came home to her .

The executives stayed silent as they watched her shuffle behind Manjiro and tried to hide herself from their strong lingering gazes on her .

“Would you like some tea and taiyaki ? “ she whispered swiftly making her way behind the counter without bothering to listen for their answer.

“Boss.. how long have you had a wife?..” Sanzu stated , first to speak up as the silence had started to take a toll on him.

“9 years.”

“Oh.”

“How long did you know her?”

“Since l was 13.”

“oh”

“Why didnt you tell anyone-“

“We wanted to keep to as quiet as possible , as you never know who could target her. But it was inly a matter of time before you guys find out. Cause i mean, we are expecting. “

“Oh understandable..”

“Wait.”

“Boss, what do you mean expecting “

“We are having a child.”

“oh! “

“WHAT THE FUCK?”

[soloorganaas]

blind date - @wolfstarmicrofic - 722 words

“No, Tonks I am not—”

Sirius broke off, running an infuriated hand through his hair as he reached the end of his tether.

“I don’t like bloody dating to start with. I am not going to sit in a restaurant trapped with a stranger for two hours.”

“Yeah, first of all it’s a bar not a restaurant, so the maximum commitment is a drink, which you’d walk out of anyway if you didn’t like the guy,” Tonks countered, undeterred. “Secondly, he’s not a stranger.”

Sirius stabbed his wand at the dishes in his sink and they obediently began to clean themselves.

“He’s some bloke from work you barely know, You can’t have any idea whether we’d like each other or not!”

Tonks smirked and Sirius inwardly cursed himself.

“So you admit there’s a possibility that you would like each other, though,” she said smugly. “That you are actually still open to the possibility of love despite professing a cold, broken heart.”

“Oh fuck off,” Sirius said, throwing a dish cloth at her. Tonks caught it with a grin.

“I know you’re open to it really! You’ve just got to let a tiny part of yourself go with it.”

Sirius heaved a sigh, frowning at the bubbles in the sink, and Tonks softened.

“You’ve changed a lot, you know. You’re not the same person you were then. It wouldn’t happen again.”

Sirius glared at her, then flicked his wrist and the soapy water drained away.

“What do you - well, what do you actually know about him?”

“He’s a professor, teaches muggles and wizards. He’s an expert in the dark arts and he’s not a weirdo about it.”

Sirius snorted.

“He’s very polite and patient,” Tonks continued, pressing her advantage. “Which I know because he answered every single very dumb question the department asked when he was in our office last week.”

“Working for the Ministry is a point against him.”

“He came in for one morning as an expert adviser,” Tonks said, ignoring Sirius’s goading. “And he was really cute.”

Sirius pressed his lips together, trying not to look too interested.

“What does he look like?”

“You know,” shrugged Tonks. “That sort of… thing you like.”

“Thing?” Sirius asked.

“A bit nerdy, sort of… you know… unconventional?”

Sirius raised an eyebrow.

“Odd. He’s a bit odd. But in a good way,” Tonks insisted.

“I do not have a thing for people who are odd!”

“You do. And you’ll have a thing for him, I promise. Saturday at 7! Don’t be late!”

~

Sirius wasn’t late - he was exactly two minutes early, just enough to look polite but not so much he seemed too keen.

The bar was dark, a maze of elegant booths and secluded tables and a long, mahogany bar top winding through it. He could barely make out the people in front of him, let alone any (hopefully attractive) strangers.

“Are you here to meet someone?”

Sirius looked round to see the hostess smiling politely up at him.

“Er, yes - under the name Tonks.”

“Mr. Black?”

“Yup - just point me in the right direction, I can find him,” Sirius said, wanting to avoid as many witnesses as possible to this awkward encounter.

“He’s waiting for you at the bar. Just by the marble pillar.”

“Great, thanks.”

Sirius made his way across the room towards where the bar top slid behind a sleek black obelisk. There was a faint shadow of a figure nearby it - clearly the other man wanted to avoid this as much as he did. Except that also meant Sirius would have no way of escaping once he’d caught sight of him.

A single leg dangled just into view, one brown brogue at the end and long fingers playing across its knee. Sirius took a breath.

“Excuse me, I’m Sirius Black, I’m looking for—”

His jaw dropped; his heart stopped.

“Sirius?”

“I…. Remus?”

Sirius looked around wildly as if he could have missed the man he was supposed to meet - but no, there was no one else. This was it.

Remus was staring at him with every bit of confusion and embarrassment that Sirius felt himself.

“I’m sorry, I — an acquaintance from work suggested I meet you here. She mustn’t have known…”

“She knew,” Sirius said shortly.

“She did?”

“She’s my cousin. You think she hasn’t heard about my ex-fiancé?”

[calif0rnia-lovers]

growing pains.

rating: 💙 | pairing: rio x his wife | words: 904

an: can't remember who requested this one, but I adore you. here’s another story I never got around to posting

request: rio and his wife again? but this time she's pregnant and can't get comfortable so rio tries to take her mind off it

Rio's eyes open.

He can breathe. Actually, breathe. That’s the problem.

Rio can never breathe—at least not properly—when he’s in bed with you. He’s become accustomed to waking up with you curled against him, most of your weight pressing him into the mattress. As much as he teases you about your inability to sleep without laying on him, Rio secretly loves it.

The absence of your touch is enough for Rio to fight off the tug of sleep already threatening to pull him back under.

His eyes find the clock on the bedside table.

2:15 A.M.

Lifting his head from the pillow, Rio finds you pacing the length of your dark bedroom.

One hand on your forehead, the other on your hip. Eyes closed, you quietly shuffle past the foot of the bed.

“Keep it up, you’ll burn a hole in the floor,” Rio’s chuckle fills the dark room, the sound of his voice causing you to jump.

You both wince as he reaches over, flicking on the bedside lamp.

“Sorry,” you groan. “I didn’t mean to wake you—”

Rio silently dismisses the apology, pushing the comforter back. “You good?”

Instinctively, you nod.

The action would convince many. Throughout your pregnancy, Rio has learned you’re an expert at masking your discomfort. When your friends and family ask how you’re doing, you instantly reply “I’m fine.”

The problem is, you try to do the same with your husband. Five years of marriage and you’ve yet to realize your husband can see right through you. This is why he can’t help but softly smile as your eyes meet his.

“If that’s the case,” Rio sighs. He comes to a stop before you, hands settling on your waist. “Why don’t you come back to bed?”

“Believe me, I tried. But, it seems I’m carrying the next Ronaldo,” you giggle, the exhaustion bringing your forehead to rest against your husband’s chest. “He’s been restless all night.”

“Sorry, mama.”

Soft kisses press against your forehead, over the bridge of your nose, and down to your lips.

Your hands find his chest, gently applying pressure as Rio leaves a final kiss against your lips.

“I’m fine,” you smile softly. “I’m sure he’ll settle down in a bit. Go back to bed.”

Being up this early in the morning was not ideal. Despite your protest, Rio has picked up much of your responsibilities as your third trimester has begun to wind down. Taking Marcus to school is one. You know he only has a few hours of sleep left before he has to take on the task.

Rio eyes drift to the bedroom door. The smile slowly spreading across his face arches your brow.

——————

“You know…I don’t think I’ve ever said this, but yellow looks good on you.”

Your giggle prompts your husband to glance over his shoulder.

Seated at the island of your kitchen, elbows resting against the surface, you watch Rio carefully balance the cooking pan in his left hand. He pushes the oven door shut with his right, pausing to cut it off.

Rio notes the twinkle of your eyes as you give him a once-over.

A large bee adorns his chest, completing the phrase bee happy. The apron he wears matches the yellow, bee-covered, oven mitts protecting his hands from the hot baking pan.

“Every color looks good on me,” Rio chuckles.

“Very true,” you agree, eyes following him as he makes his way around the island. “But, I’m a big fan of this look.”

Rio’s lips meet yours in a brief kiss, his smile growing as you pull away.

The half-eaten cookie you hold soon regains your attention as he slides onto the stool alongside yours.

You’ve lost count of the number of cookies you’ve eaten over the last twenty minutes.

Soft, warm, and chewy, the cookies were loaded with three of your favorite things. Chocolate chips, pecans, and caramel.

Rio had watched you teach Marcus how to make the cookies nearly a dozen times. Usually, while you and his son were busy mixing the dough, Rio was busy stealing chocolate chips and pecans to snack on.

Tonight, it seems the two of you have switched roles. Rio had forced you to remain seated while he focused on preparing the cookies.

“There’s nothing the perfect cookie can’t fix,” you’d once told Marcus after he returned home from a rough day at school.

The family recipe taught to you by your grandmother has become the savior of many stressful situations. And a gift at many celebrations.

They proved to be the perfect distraction from your previous dilemma.

Ignoring the swat of your hand, Rio manages to steal a bite of your cookie, his eyes drifting to the stairs visible from where you sit.

“You better hurry up and eat. Gotta hide the evidence,” he chuckles as you pout.

“There’s plenty of cookies,” you remind him, stealing the cookie out of his hand. “Eat your own.”

Rio shakes his head, his lips pressing a kiss against your shoulder. “I like yours better.”

“I’m eating for two,” you remind him, the smile on your face growing as his eyes roll.

“Funny how that comes out at the most convenient times.”

Primarily when you steal food from his plate. Your eyes drop to the cookie you’d recently stolen from your husband.

“Remember that next time you think about getting me pregnant.”

“Speaking of kids…I’m not taking the blame when Marcus wakes up to find you didn’t share any with him.”

[urhoneycombwitch]

you oughta know: part I

Spring Break

series masterlist

foreword: since Eddie Munson is our collective Ken doll to dress up as we please I present to you my new and improved: dirtbag!college!Eddie. now with 50% more tattoos and a splash of 90s grunge college academia aesthetic.

cw: drinking, intoxication, R has breasts, R and Eddie are slut4slut in this

___

The bass on this houseparty’s stereo pumps through the floorboards, rattling every wall of the building. Hiding out in the less-stimulating kitchen seems like a good option for tonight.

Apparently, this other guy thinks so, too, ‘cuz soon it’s just you and him across the counter from another. He’s handsome, actually. Moonlight from a window above the sink highlights strong cheekbones and a sharp cupid’s bow as he helps himself to a glass from the cupboard.

Slinking out from elbow-rolled shirtsleeves are thick, dark vine tattoos; they wind around his forearms, smattered with hair and freckles, the ink trailing to end at his wrists.

You lean forward onto the counter separating you two (well aware that you’re spilling out of your top), then tip the neck of your beer bottle at him- “Eddie?”

He spins to face you, raises a pretty brow, long lashes sweeping over auburn eyes- “Uh- maybe? Who wants to know, dollface.”

A scrunch of distaste with your nose at the nickname, you barrel through the discomfort- “Oh, I thought it might be you. I’m Robin’s roommate. She said her weed guy had cool tattoos.”

The guy’s face lights up with a lopsided smile, dimples peeking out as he preens, “So you think they’re cool?”

You roll your eyes, take an unamused sip of beer, press a bit further into your hands on the counter. A little thrill at your small victory- his eyes flicking down once, twice, to your cleavage- you ride the alcohol-gifted looseness and adrenaline. “Psst. Hey. My eyes are up here, perv.”

It’s a tease. A goad masked as chiding. Eddie sets his glass of water down, doe eyes fixed on yours, not falling for the trap of your quick inhale- “You seriously sayin’ that to me, when you’re the one with your tits out?”

He tsks, walks those big boots over, leanin’ in to your counter space, close enough to smell the spice of his cologne- “Would almost think you like the attention.”

You swallow hard. Hold your ground, looking up at him through your lashes, bust still on display- “Yeah, and you’d probably like to be the one to give it to me. In your dreams, pal.”

It’s getting harder to play hard-to-get as Eddie bumps his hip against yours. The whites of his eyes are slightly bloodshot (you can smell the heady undercurrent of weed wafting from his clothes), while the black of his pupils are already blown out with feverish lust. “C’mon, have a heart, angel. Can’t fault a boy for dreamin’.”

And goddammit if you don’t melt for that line. (He really is a rather great lyricist, as you’ll come to find out this upcoming semester.)

In retrospect, you’ll never admit it, but you did make the first move- pressed him right up against Linda Satler’s kitchen counter and kissed him, with tongue. Robin walked in on the two of you and got in a full shriek before either of you realized someone else had come in, jumping apart like two children caught arms-deep in a cookie jar.

“God, gross,” she gags, louder than the wave of sound flooding in from the open door. She crosses the room in a few swift strides and plucks at your elbow, a reproachful whisper- “I sent you to get weed, not to make out with the dealer!”

“I am getting weed, Robin,” you insist, patient but firm, pulling from her grasp to turn back to Eddie, teeth worrying at your bottom lip that shimmers with mixed saliva as you ask, sweet and simply- “Can I please have some weed?”

It wasn’t actually your plan to butter Eddie up for a better price (another fact you’d remain stoically opposed to, later), but he gave it to you, all the same- a laughably low amount for a bundle of pre-rolls.

Robin’s eyes bug out at the amount he hands it over- then she smoothly pockets the goods and pats you on the shoulder. “Okay. My mistake. I actually love that you’re both getting acquainted in this manner. You have my blessing to do it a bunch more, just- not when I’m in the room. M’kay?”

She grins cheekily at Eddie before looping her arm in yours, pulling you with her towards the door- you call out before it closes behind you both, “Robin’s number is our landline! You can call me there, if you want!”

Eddie stands still for a few moments after you’re swallowed up by the noise of the party, palm flat to the twinge in his chest. Cupid’s arrow, he can feel it sinking in.

He’s an RA, this semester. Really can’t afford to be seeing cute girls and selling them weed- at least, not at the same time. Gotta straighten up a bit over Spring Break, he thinks.

Then he cracks the window open. Lights up a joint. Smokes out into the fresh night air and tries really hard to think of anything other than your tits. (A game of mostly losses.)

[katiexpunk]

The Invited | Pairing Lucien Flores X Fem!Reader

Summary: Lucien Flores is invited back into your life in a very unexpected way, at a very bad time – what are you going to do about it? 

Warnings: Borderline abusive, controlling relationship (not with Lucien). Like literally, we hate the reader’s fiancé. No, I’m serious, read this one with caution, there are heavy undertones of the reader’s fiancé being controlling and generally not a nice guy, no matter how much he tries to play the part. Implied infidelity. Heavy flirting, heavy tension. Religious undertones. Alcohol. References to Lucien being a playboy. References to wealth, art, and money. General Hollywood/California vibes. This one will have a happy ending. No use of daddy, no use of Y/N. This is gonna have some filthy fucking smut, hand to my heart. 

Part 1 W/C: ~3.5K 

A/N: Just, yeah…yep. I am as horny for him as you all are (like what the actual fuck). This story will continue as I learn more about Lucien and his character. P.S. Sorry if you got double-tagged, I accidentally deleted the whole fic so I had to repost.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

It started with one look, as many things do.

Initially, it was all just innocent glances across a crowded room, perfunctory nods, and polite whispered hellos in shared spaces. It didn’t take long for it to turn into more than that; that’s just who he is and the effect he has. You can’t say you didn’t hear the rumors, heed the warnings through the grapevines of the limitless supply of women who came before you, but listening never was your strongest skill.

The only girls you know who listen are strapped to a church pew, on their knees, and for what? Salvation? At least you know the pleasure of worshiping at the altar of a man who promises he’ll make you see god, a man who follows through on his word, no questions or fuck-all commandments required.

Or at least you did.

Maroon 5 said it best, even the sun sets in paradise.

++++

As you stand by your bedroom window, the last rays of sunlight paint the room in a warm, golden hue, casting elongated shadows across the minimalist decor. The gentle breeze from the Santa Ana winds whispers through the trees outside, carrying with it a sense of anticipation – dread – for the night ahead. You hate these things, but schmoozing is part of the role you have to play, just one of the many rules he’s slowly but surely made sure you follow. The good girl he’s made you become.

Focusing on fastening the back of your earrings, you watch the sun dip below the horizon, a silent witness to the transition from day to night – light to dark – although things don’t feel that light these days.

"There she is," comes a familiar voice from behind you, causing you to turn and find him leaning casually against the door frame. His presence brings a sense of unease, a reminder of the doubts that linger beneath the surface.

A forced smile plays on his lips as his eyes trail over you, his gaze filled with a familiarity that feels suffocating rather than comforting. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, you wonder if he believes it or if he’s just saying it to say it.

Most of the time, his admiration feels hollow, a facade that fails to mask the cracks in your relationship. In his eyes, you see reflections of expectations and obligations, a reminder of the compromises you've made at the expense of your happiness. It wasn’t always this way, especially in not while you were just dating, but things quickly shifted once you said yes.

You turn your attention back to the vanity in front of you and slip one final detail – your engagement ring.

“Thanks. Ready?” You ask, feigning excitement as you glide across the room, wrapping your arm around his. You can tell from the way he looks at you that he has something to say, something to critique, but he remains silent.

You descend the steps in the grand foyer as it welcomes guests with its opulent charm, bathed in the soft, flickering light of countless candles. The air carries the delicate fragrance of freshly cut flowers, mingling with the subtle scent of expensive perfumes and cigars. The walls boast exquisite paintings and sculptures, each hand-picked, and sourced from all corners of the globe – a deliberate show of wealth.

As you step into the room, conversations swirl around you, punctuated by the clinking of champagne glasses and bursts of laughter. You observe the guests, their designer attire and dazzling jewelry all but scream like me, I’m rich.  Among them, art connoisseurs and collectors engage in lively discussions about the latest exhibitions and acquisitions. Directors, models, and Hollywood elites mingle effortlessly, their conversations flowing freely.

You're well aware that in L.A., half of the business dealings often occur in the shadowy corners of closed-door meetings, or in the expanse of lavish parties like this. It’s a city where nepotism runs rampant and connections are king. It's a city where who you know can often be more important than what you know, and navigating the intricate web of relationships is a skill in itself.

Dressed in an elegant gown, silky and yellow, your neck frosted in diamonds that shimmer like the stars above, you glide through the crowd with a grace that contradicts your inner turmoil. You’re good at this part, faking it, blending in. You might have grown up with this, but you never really felt like you belonged. It’s sort of strange to be surrounded by a sea of people, all while feeling like you’re stranded alone on a remote island.

As you exchange polite pleasantries and forced smiles, a nagging doubt creeps into your mind. Are you even meant to fit in with this crowd? Lord knows you wouldn’t be if you had anything to say about it, but being the daughter of a politician is a special kind of hell. We all have to make sacrifices. And you have – a lifetime of them. Sometimes, you can't help but long for simpler pleasures – a quiet Saturday night with frozen pizza, a bottle of wine, and a comforting movie. Fuck, you can’t even remember the last time you went out with friends, drank too much tequila, and flirted in innocent fun, or the last time you dipped your hand below the waistband of your panties without the fear of being caught.

Sipping your champagne, you endure a rather tedious conversation between the CEO of a tech startup and a broker. It doesn’t take long for the sensation of boredom to settle in, mingling with a growing sense of disillusionment. A dull pain throbs in your feet from the pressure of your heels. Their voices start to fade into the distance as you zone out, feeling increasingly disconnected from the authenticity you crave.

You decide you need a break, some fresh air. They’re not even listening to you; you're not even sure if they notice you're here or not. But still, forever polite, you excuse yourself anyway and make your way across the room, weaving through the crowd of suits and couture. You’re not thinking about anything except getting the hell out of here until you hear your name called behind you.

It’s a voice you’d recognize anywhere, in any lifetime, in any place. You stop in your tracks and look over your shoulder.

“Hi,” he says.

What the fuck? You’re sure you must actually be drunk now, or so bored that you’re delusional brain is conjuring him up. You don’t say anything in return, you just stand there. The room slows around you, bodies pause mid-motion, and your world goes silent.

“Been a long time,” he casually says, lifting the glass to his lips, eyes intent on yours.

His words, the low rasp of them, snap you back to reality.

“Lucien – wha, what are you doing here?”

“I was invited.”

You barely hear his response. Fuck, he looks so good. Handsome as you remember him, all salt and pepper curls, dark facial hair, and broad shoulders. He’s clad in dark jeans, and a colorful silk shirt, the buttons at the top undone, giving just the slightest glimpse of his sun-kissed skin and the chains that rest there.

Arousal pools in your belly, thick and heavy, a feeling that you haven’t felt in years. Not since him.

"Invited, by who?" you ask, your voice laced with challenge. He takes a deliberate step closer, his presence enveloping you in a heady mix of desire and tension. The air around him is thick with the sticky-sweet smell of cigarettes and the woody notes of his cologne. He smells good.

He's close now, close enough to send a shiver down your spine. You tilt your head back to meet his gaze, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin. Shit, those brown eyes. Your pulse quickens as his large palm closes around the back of your left arm, the touch sending electric sparks through your body. It's a soft but firm grip, possessive and confident.

As he trails his palm down the length of your arm, you hold your breath. He stops once your hand is gently balanced in his, and you feel his fingers brush against the cool metal of your engagement ring. Glancing around the room for a brief moment to make sure nobody’s watching, he dunks his head, and whispers in your ear, his lips so close that you think he might kiss your neck.

“I think you already know the answer to that, sweetheart.”

What.

He places a soft, innocent kiss on your cheek as he retreats and takes a step back. You don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body, lingering for a moment too long on your collarbones. The muscles in his jaw tighten, and he gives you a polite nod, before stepping away, slipping into the crowd, leaving you woozy and confused.

What the fuck does that even mean?

As you internally grapple with what the hell just happened, your fiancé finds you in the crowd, possessively trails his hand along your waistline, and plants a wet, rather drunk, kiss on your lips.

“What did he want?” he asks, harshly.

“Nothing, just saying thanks for the invite,” you respond, hoping he can’t sense your lie. Hoping he falls for your trap.

“If you’re lying to me sweet pea, that’s gonna be a real problem.”

“I’m not.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“So why do you look so flustered, huh?”

“You know how I get when I drink champagne,” you retort, playing up your innocence.

“Right, well you better pull it together, can’t have my girl sloppy,” he warns, his voice a little slurry himself, his balance unsteady as he takes another sip. He’s moved on from champagne to whiskey. A bad combination, a dangerous one.

“You know the only reason I invited him tonight was that I think it’s an important lesson for you –”

You interrupt, “YOU invited him?”, your voice clear and stark. The truth hits you like a freight train. You want to cry, throw up and scream all at the same time.

“Of course. Listen, baby, I know you went through your slutty phase, but look how far you’ve come.. look how much I’ve helped you grow,” he slurs, “men like that, don’t deserve women like you.”

And there it is – the truth.

Your blood hits a boiling point. You give him a death glare, but he doesn’t seem to notice before he’s quickly moving on.

“Come on, baby.” I’m not your baby, not anymore, haven’t been for a long time.

“I’d like to introduce you to some people,” he says, grabbing a fresh glass off of the passed tray, and handing it to you with a little too much thrust, enough for a few drops of it to spill over onto the silk of your dress. Your fingers grip around it and you follow his lead, despite the bitterness you feel. Ugh. Why is it so easy for you to fall into line now? Secretly, you hope the dull burn of the alcohol will distract you – calm you – make you forget.

You’re drunk, aroused, mad, and confused, and on top of it all, you’re fading in and out of the dull conversation your fiancé has you engaged in, or rather than listening to. Not like he lets you get a word in, anyway. You scan the room looking for him whenever you get the chance, trying not to be too obvious. You finally spot him in the corner and try to ignore the magnetic pull that lassos around you once you do. He’s talking to a model, because of course he is. Is he intentionally trying to make you jealous? Or is he just being his usual fuck boy self?

You chug what must be your sixth glass of champagne to forget the bitter memory of the last time you saw him – when he told you that you should just keep things casual, that he couldn’t handle the pressure of being with the daughter of a politician, that he would never measure up, and that this was just temporary, just sex.

It wasn’t, and you know it. You know he knows it.

But fuck it –

If he wants to play games, you can play games. You’re the one who’s engaged, this is your house, your space. You’ll show him what he’s missing.

With that in mind, your personality shifts a bit, part in courtesy of the alcohol, part because of your rage. You do your best to intentionally play up your happiness in a room full of strangers, show him that he doesn’t affect you. Show him that he doesn’t matter, that he never did. You cling tight to the arm of your fiancé, being sure to pull out your best doe eyes, your innocent fuck me eyes that you know men can hardly resist. The eyes you know that drive him wild.

But there’s no point, he sees right through it.

Shit.

He knows you too well, better than all the rest. You let your guard down with him, trusted him, and now he knows all the signs – all the tells – he knows where your heart and mind truly rest, probably before you even do.

Shove it down. Shove it down. He doesn’t matter. You are engaged. This is the life you want.

It’s not.

You watch through the corner of your eye as he excuses himself from the conversation with the model and walks through the crowd, intentionally finding your eyes as he does. He slips up the stairs, away from public view.

Ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore him.

You can’t. You know you can’t.

Before you can even register what’s happening, you’re stepping out of the conversation you were never really in, letting your instincts guide you. You lift the hem of your dress, your heels teetering slightly as you make your way through the bustling, suffocating room.

Each step up the stairs is a battle between your mind and your heart, your brain screaming warnings while your emotions, your arousal, tug you forward. It’s always been this way – a magnetic pull, an invisible force drawing you in to him like a moth to a flame.

This is a mistake.

Don't do this.

Do this.

You want this.

You're engaged.

Stop thinking.

Climbing the final stairs, your heart pounding in your chest, you surrender to the emotions swirling inside you. Your brain protests, but your heart has already made its decision.

"Luci—" you timidly call out, but before you can finish, he reaches out in the darkness and pulls you into his chest. You let out a little oof of surprise, but soon find yourself settling into the embrace, his warmth enveloping you as his hips press tightly against yours.

He doesn't utter a word, simply holding you close, his body a comforting anchor in the dimly lit hallway. His hand rests at your waist, the other gently cradling the swell of your cheek as he gazes down at you. Despite the darkness obscuring your features, you can sense him drinking in every detail, every curve, the small details you’re not sure anyone notices anymore. He’s looking at you like he always has, like you’re the main character in every story he’s ever cared to read.

With a tighter grip, he guides you further down the hallway, away from the prying eyes at the top of the staircase. Your back eventually meets the cool surface of the wall, and he pauses there, his presence dominating the space, sucking up the air around you. His grip on your waist remains firm, as if he knows exactly what he wants and how to get it.

Under his touch, you feel yourself melting, surrendering to the intensity that is the two of you. There's a confidence in his demeanor, a certainty that courses through you. A live wire of energy that you’ve never felt with anyone but him. He knows exactly how to read you, how to anticipate your every desire, and you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’re suddenly acutely aware of the ring on your finger, and before you can protest, he’s already speaking.

“He’s not the man you think he is, sweetheart.” His words pierce you like a knife.

You don’t respond. What can you even say? He can already see your truth, your reality, written plainly across your face. He searches your face for hesitation, any sign that he’s crossed a line.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, and you can only nod. Yes, please.

This isn’t normal, this isn’t a thing that people frequently experience – it’s wrong, you’re engaged. Even if your fiancé is a grade-A asshole, you can still maintain your morals.

But the thing is – there’s something so electric about the two of you together, an undeniable force, a promise written into stone long before you even realized it.

The combination of your bodies, two halves of a whole, is the only excuse you can muster for why you’ve found yourself in your current predicament – pressed up against a wall, his broad frame pinning you into place, the weight of his gaze like a flame threatening to swallow you whole, turn you into ashes.

Even though it’s been years since he’s pressed his lips against yours, the weight of the pretty little rock on your left finger fades into distant memory, and he pulls you back to a different reality.

A reality where nothing else exists, a reality where your timelines converge, a reality hand-sculpted just for the two of you. One where he didn’t fuck up, the one with the happily ever after.

With your lips connected, it’s easy to let your mind fall silent.

And when he breaks for a bit of breath, your eyes connect once more and you can’t help the thought that crosses your mind.

What a pleasure it is to burn.

His hand finds its way to your thigh, and his fingers make their way to where you so desperately need them to be. Nipping at your neck, he whispers sweet praises into your ear, each word sending sparks of arousal that dance along your skin. It's carnal, primal, an undeniable biological reaction that leaves you practically dripping for him.

"You know me, better than anybody," he rasps against your skin, his words a seductive promise of something more. Planting a soft kiss on your collarbone, he leaves you reeling with need.

But just as you're about to respond, the telltale sound of creaking wood and heavy footsteps echo up the stairs, accompanied by the call of your name. Panic floods your senses as you realize who it is.

Fuck, shit – no, god damn it.

Lucien quickly steps away from you, and sneaks off into the bedroom adjacent to the hall.

Your fiancé appears at the top of the steps, his gaze sharp and knowing, as if he can sense the tension in the air. In that moment, you know you can't keep hiding, can't keep pretending that everything is fine.

“What are you doing up here?”

Fuck it, be bold.

“We need to talk.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Datura Pt 7

Summary: The fallout of your confrontation with Amarantha comes to a head, and just might push you that much closer to a certain High Lord.

Content Warnings: Torture, blood, mentions of SA

Author’s Note: Cauldron Boil me this chapter took forever to write on mobile 🫠 My laptop is down for the foreseeable future, but I’m doing my best to keep up on the updates, even if they will be a little slower for a bit. Thank you all for your patience! ❤️ As always, if you want to be added to the tag list, let me know! 😁

Master list

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It feels like a dream; a dream would explain the shimmering auroras of blue, violet and pink overhead; explain the music that floats around your as if it’s on the wind; explain the creature of darkness and starlight that drags gentle fingers through your hair. It would be a lovely dream, the kind you cling to desperately as waking beckons at the edge of your consciousness.

A dream would explain why a voice made for the gentle darkness of a bedroom speaks from everywhere at once: “I’ve got you. Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” It might come from the creature who holds your head in its lap but you can’t be sure. Not when the clicking of heels on stone drags you further away from the music and the starlight. Not when the dream shifts and spins and feels a little too like your training exercises for you to be convinced this isn’t actually happening inside the confines of your own head.

It’s hard to be certain of anything through the fog that clings to you. The only thing that’s real and true is the pain shooting through your right arm. It’s so intense you try to curl in on yourself but that only makes it worse. Any movement makes nausea roll in your gut and your head spin. The loud booming of heels on stone doesn’t help.

“Oh poor little thing,” a voice croons.

And then pain flares in your spine, the air crushed from your lungs as something sharp and heavy presses down into the center of your back. You’re blind with pain, barely conscious enough to see what’s happening, let alone fight. The half wheeze half scream that tears out of you sounds like it belongs to a trampled animal.

“Where’s all that fight you showed last night?”

The pressure increases and the blurring in your already terrible vision is now more from tears than your own mental fog.

Something brushes against your mind, like phantom fingers brushing against your mental shields. “Get up! Fight her!”

More pressure on your spine. It’s an effort just to get a breath in. You’re going to be crushed like this.

“I can’t! Please. Please help me!”

There is no one else to help you, no one there to make any of it make sense. You can’t figure out where you are, why this is happening, everything feels so foggy.

The pressure on your spine finally lets up, let’s you breathe, just for something to hit you in the back of the head. Not hit. Kicked. The tip of one of those ridiculously pointed heels has kicked you in the back of the head. They’re starting to come into view, even as your temple clacks against the rough stone floor, the same awful shade of red as the hair flowing from her pale head.

“You’re going to be ok. I’ve got you. Breathe.”

The tip of her heel slides under your chin as Amarantha comes around to face you and the world finally comes into focus as she uses her shoe to lift your chin.

You’ve never felt so small and helpless in your life; you’re a bug and she’s a giant.

“Don’t let her see you cry.” Urges the voice. Now that you’re head is clearing, the fog rolling out slowly, you realize it’s Rhys, has been this entire time. “Stand up.”

You try, you really, really try, but getting your palms against the floor, moving the mottled mess of flesh that’s your right arm at all makes the world spin. If you’d eaten anything at all you would have thrown up all over the Queen’s expensive shoes.

Would have been worth it.

“Nothing to say to me now?” She coos.

“Rhys I can’t get up,” you whimper in your head. She’s going to crush you like this. Put your head under her heel and stomp down until your skull cracks like a watermelon.

You feel him tugging at things in your head, not throwing open doors to your memories, but rooting through the bookshelves, looking for something, anything he can reach to move you himself.

“You know, I’m feeling a lot better this morning. Turns out mated sex does wonders for the psyche.”

Your stomach rolls.

“Mother’s tits! Tamlin!” Rhys swears and as if his horror is your own, a shiver trembles down your spine. You get a flash of something like nails running across your skin, drawing blood, a scent of mirthroot and incense, and then it’s thrown out of your head in a rush.

“Rhys-” horror and the dawning realization rolls through you at once and that chasm in your chest that had snapped shut last night, the yawning, bottomless darkness rises up to meet you, calling your name. There’s a roaring in your ears, as if a strong wind had burst through the mountain. You can only see red.

“So I’ll offer you a bargain,” Amarantha is still speaking, her voice droning and lifeless in your ears.

You grit your teeth and put your palms flat on the floor, trying to get up again, fighting every slash of pain, the horrible tearing feeling in your gaping flesh. You get an inch, maybe two, your whole body shaking. The roaring in your ears won’t stop, it’s getting worse. Pain explodes in your jaw, fangs ripping through your lip. Your eyes are changing again, things suddenly sharper and clearer in your vision.

“You drink this,” she’s pulled a vial from some pocket realm, holding the black glass between the tips of her pointed nails. Nails you can now see still tipped in blood. There’s more of it splattered across her pale arms, a hint of it around her lips. You don’t know if it’s Tamlin’s or Rhys’s.

You manage to get a knee up under your body, then a second. Blood drips from the lacerations across your shoulder and back, cascading into the horrifyingly large puddle beneath where you’d been laying.

“Tie your powers to me and I’ll heal you right up.”

“NO!!! Don’t do it!!!” Rhys screams; it’s a strange sensation to have his voice so clear in your head, even as the mountain shakes beneath you, rattled by a dark power you somehow know in bones is him. It’s not a darkness like yours, nothing that lives in the deep recesses of his being, it is something natural and good that has been honed and sharped and when he unleashes it, you feel it skitter across your skin. You can almost taste jasmine and citrus.

Amarantha pauses her little victory speech to stare at the roof as it rattles and cracks, raining dust and debris down on your heads. She frowns, then cocks her head like she’s listening to something. Her eyes glaze over a bit, like she’s no longer here in the room with you.

If Rhys can reach you from wherever he’s being held, can he reach her too?

It’s that thought that gets you off your knees. Not standing, not really because you’re so dizzy that would be impossible, but you have enough in you to throw yourself forward and tackle her. It’s her head that slams into the stone floor this time. Her that’s helpless beneath you as your claws rip through your nail beds and you slash a hand across her face. The pain in your arm is blinding, makes your stomach roll and the room spin, your next swipe at her face sheer instinct, but you know it hits something soft, by the splatter or warm blood across your fingers.

She still has the advantage, her years as General of Hybern’s armies and the sheer amount of time she has trained to fight means you got this far because she was surprised, and she won’t stay that way. A claw tipped hand wreathed in flame latches onto your wrist, halting your next blow, the flames licking and crackling up your arm so hot you feel it in your teeth. It would be a surprise if smoke didn’t come out your mouth as you scream, feeling like you’re being cooked from the inside out.

Sheer desperation has you swinging with your other arm, but she’s already shifting her weight and your hand hits stone, talons breaking against the rock. It’s all too easy for her to get another flame wreathed hand around your throat and shift her weight so she’s now atop you.

The mountain still shakes around you. Her eyes are still glassy like Rhys is still trying to reason with her, even as she closes off your air way, nails tearing through your skin.

“You know,” she says as she leans down, lips next to your ear. “I like the struggle. It makes the surrender all the sweater.”

You’re on fire, skin blistering beneath her grip. Spots dance across your vision. But that cavern in your chest cracks, the darkness that lives inside swirling like a tornado as it flares to life, flares in response to your plight. It’s not like last time where you can take hold of it, it takes hold of you, filling you until there is only empty darkness and the sound of Amarantha screaming.

Her weight is off you, her hand no longer crushing your windpipe. You scramble onto your knees, coughing, gasping for breath. When the spots clear from your eyes you can finally see your hands, skin no longer but made entirely of an empty darkness, as if you’re made up by some sort of void. Stranger still, the fire that she had summoned now dances around your wrists and hands, twirling like it belonges to you.

Amarantha’s on the floor, groaning, a huge dent in the wall from where you’d, apparently, thrown her body.

Her dark eyes narrow to the fire wreathing your shifted form. It no longer answers to her, but you, as if you’d stolen in from her.

“GUARDS!” She screams and the door comes flying open, six of her personal guard running in with their weapons drawn. The Attor flanks them, a grin spread across its leathery face.

“Take her to the dungeons! She attacked me!!” Amarantha wails. Blood trickles down her face, your talons having ripped open her cheek, just missing her eye. Good. You’ll splatter more of it before this is over.

Your body feels different. The pain so dull now you start to wonder if it was even real in the first place. None of this feels entirely real as you manage to get on your feet, flames still dancing across your changed body.

They aim spears at your head as one of them approaches with chains. Not normal iron chains, either, the shackles a strange bluish color. You can smell something on them, something decaying and rotten that makes your nose crinkle. All your senses are sharpened when you’re like this, every smell sharp and clear.

“You attacked me!” You say, even though you know it’s useless; your voice raw from how hard she’d held you by the throat. Strangely, the burns that should be blistering across your skin don’t feel like burns anymore. The flames you stole lick over the affected areas, winding back and forth like they’re capable of healing the damage.

The guards move closer, each step calculated. Their grey eyes are narrowed to your hands, eyeing them like snakes poised to strike. You can fight them, the power thrumming in your veins tells you it’ll be easy, as if it’s an entity entirely separate from your own consciousness, but the disastrous effects of yesterday are still heavy on your mind, as muddled as the end of it still is. You were in this predicament because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut; Rhys was in this predicament because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

You raise your hands, palms up in a move that you hoped would be compliant, but the way they raise their spears, the way the Attor spreads it’s wings and hisses, makes you think better about it. You lower your hands to your sides and look at Amarantha. The grin on her face makes you want to lunge for her throat and claw out her eyes. Your power roars in your ears again, she’s hurt your—

The power balks, retreats as if it had just realized something it didn’t want to touch. The fire vanishes from your hands along with the inky darkness, the power seeping back under your skin until there is no longer a glimpse of it. Your teeth ache as your fangs retract; fingers feel like they’re breaking as your battered talons disappear. Even if you had planned to fight, it would have been useless, you don’t attempt to fight to hold it.

“Good, little mouse,” she purrs.

You grit your aching teeth as the guard hurriedly snaps the cuffs on your wrist. Any lingering hint of power leeches from your body, leaving only the cold press of iron.

Amarantha stalks over once she’s sure they’re secure, sure you’re as helpless as she wishes you to be.

The mountain still shakes around you, but you can’t hear Rhys anymore. Can’t reach into your own shields to search for him, any hint of magic is far beyond your reach.

“Looks like my offer is of no use to you now,” she drags a finger over what should be your ruined shoulder, but the mottled flesh is now pink, your gaping wounds stitched back together. It’ll scar, but that’ll be the end of it.

“So maybe I can change your mind another way, hmm?”

It’s an effort not to tremble.

“Take her to Rhys,” she orders as she snatches a handkerchief from one of them and dabs her bleeding face with it. Her wounds are already healing. “Since he seems alive enough to try and bargain with me.”

Cold dread seeps through you as they drag you down the halls. Heads peak out of doors to watch as your led past, some of the faces you have a vague memory of seeing watch you in the pit. No one comes to your aid; no one will even give you a pitying glance. A couple of them smile. Better you than them, their faces seem to say.

Your whole body feels cold and empty, strained beyond belief. Still, you try and keep your head up best you can as you go deeper and deeper into the mountain.

You can see your breath around your head by the time they finally stop in front of a worn, time scarred door. There’s a heap of rubble in front of it, the walkways half caved in with heaps of rock and debris. The iron is oddly shaped, lumpy almost, like something had been bashed into it over and over from inside.

It’s not until the door is dragged open, with the help of four guards because of all the damage, that your realize that something had been Rhys’s fists. Someone had clamped a collar around his neck and chained him to the wall, or at least, they had initially. The chain had been ripped out of the wall, the rusted medal dangling uselessly behind the male. Even though he was on his knees now, bare chest heaving to catch his breath, knuckles dripping blood into the floor, it was clear he had been doing his damndest to break through the iron door by any means necessary.

The first two guards raise their spears again, as Amarantha says, “Well isn’t this quite the temper tantrum.”

Your chest aches when you see him, the bruising over his face and chest, the blood splattered across the floor.

It looks like it’s an effort for him to raise his chin and look at her. The bruises around his eyes are dark as shadows. “Thought it would get your attention,” he rasps, voice practically gone.

The urge to press your lips to his throat is suddenly overwhelming, your whole body itches to hold him, soothe the aches you mark across his toned body. A thought you try to shove away, a realization you don’t want to think about in a place like this. It would be a tremendous weakness for you to want anything other than friendship.

Amarantha reaches around one of the guards to grab you by the hair, your chains rattling as she drags you over to her.

Rhys is on his feet, snarling, teeth bared at the sight. It takes four of the guards to restrain him.

He’d done that last night too, when they’d shoved you, though you’re not sure why. Doesn’t he hate you? He called you a monster, yet a monster he risked his life for.

“You seem to care a lot about this little thing, Rhysand.”

His eyes darken, narrowing in on the hand gripping your hair like he was debating the best way to rip it off her body. It’s the same murderous rage he’d had when he’d found the Attor had taken you from your room without him.

“So let’s give a little test if the feeling is mutual, hm?”

Your stomach does flips as she waves to the guards and they kick Rhys back down onto his knees on the filthy cell of the floor.

To you, Amarantha says, “You drink the vial,” that black glass is back in her hand again, dangling in front of your face. “And I won’t kill him.”

“You won’t kill me,” Rhys snarls. “Who’d keep your bed warm? Your mate that hates you? Your drugged up slaves?”

It might be the only leverage he has, but it’s like someone dumped ice water on your head. All thought leaves you, save for one singular thing that repeats like a mantra over and over: Save him. Save him. Save him.

You cannot undo what she has already done to him, but you can find a way to stop it, find a way to ensure she never hurts anyone ever again. You’ll kill her, you’ll tear her apart one piece at a time—even if you have to use your powerless hands to do it. What are you unruly powers anyway? They only seem to save you when it suits them. You will find a way without them.

Because, with a sinking feeling in your gut, you know you won’t find a way without Rhys. If he dies here, in this godsdamned cell, on his knees in the muck you will not recover. You’re not entirely sure why, but you know it to be true.

“I’ll take it,” you say.

Rhys flinches, “Don’t you fucking dare!” He snarls.

But you look away from him, to those soulless eyes instead. “I’ll take the vial and you’ll leave him alone.”

She waves the glass back and forth, lips pursed, thinking. “You take the vial and you both get to live as my pretty little pets. I think I’ll make a show out of you in my fighting pits again. You’re amusing to my court.”

You’ll both be alive. And maybe you won’t recognize yourself at the end of it, maybe you’ll hate everything that happens from here on out, but Rhys will be alive.

He’d said you’d need to be an opportunist, to find any way you could to get out, but getting out would mean nothing if you lost your ability to care about anybody in here. If you let him die, the heart your uncle had tried so hard to protect from Hybern would die, and you can’t live with that.

“I’ll do it.”

She drops the vial into your hands.

Rhys starts thrashing again, trying to stand, cursing at everyone.

It takes a second with the shackles in the way, but you manage to get the cork off the top. The scent that hits you is awful, like sulfur and smoke. You don’t give yourself time to think about it as you bring it to your lips and tip it back.

It burns worse than any alcohol you’ve ever tried, tastes like you licked a tar pit, the contents sticky in the back of your throat. It fills you, slithering through your insides like some kind of beast beneath your skin.

Amarantha breathes in deep, savoring whatever transfer she gets from this. Savoring your terrible powers as they get transferred to her.

Rhys has gone still as death on the floor.

“Guess these won’t do you any good,” she sneers. Flickering her wrists, the chains drop from your wrists.

The sensation you feel now that magic can touch you again makes you clutch at your chest, makes your body ache. It feels as if there had been a fire in your belly and the flames had been dragged out your mouth, your nose, your ears.

The guards release Rhys on her order, and then she puts her hand on your back and shoves you directly into his chest. And despite all reason, he wraps his arms around you, keeping you from sprawling face first into the floor.

“I think a few nights down here will teach you a good lesson.”

You bury your face in his neck, the scent of jasmine and citrus and sweat overwhelming. His heart beat is rapid against your cheek, but beating, he’s alive and so are you.

The door slams shut behind you, the old iron groaning and shrieking as it goes. It’s a surprise that they trust it to still hold, but, you suppose they don’t think you’ll try anything now either.

“I’m sorry,” you whimper into his skin once they’re gone. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

He grips you a little tighter, his body shaking. He has so little access to his powers and yet he’d still gone to you where he could, had still tried to bring down the mountain, he has to be exhausted, yet that grip on you is firm.

“Idiot,” he hisses, but there’s not much venom behind it. “What were you thinking?”

You shouldn’t, gods know you shouldn’t, but you let yourself lean into him, let him hold you. He’s safe and alive and it doesn’t matter what you have to do to ensure it, because this, him… It’s right. Just as it had been on Calanmai, as it was in your headspace when it was just the two of you, it’s right.

“You’re an ass,” you say into his skin, “but I’m not going to let you die for me.”

“Y/N,” he begins to reprimand, even as his hand strokes down your back, fingers catching in the tattered remains of the dress he had sent you yesterday. Gods the Pit and the chimeras had felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Yell all you want,” you whisper. “Push me away all you want. It’s not going to stop me from caring about you.”

He lowers his chin onto your shoulder, body sagging in surrender. It’s hard to tell if he’s holding you up or you’re holding him up. Doesn’t really matter in the end, you’re both too exhausted for it to matter.

“The closer you are,” he whispers and his voice is so damaged from either the collar or from screaming that it cracks. “The more danger you are in.”

“I killed three chimeras yesterday, I think I’ll live.”

“Yesterday you had full access to your powers.”

You reach for the chasm, expecting it to feel cold and empty, to confirm that it was gone and you had truly signed all of it away to that horrible bitch, and though a part of you hoped, like Rhys you’d maintain a fraction of it still sleeping there, you were not prepared to feel it so fully.

You pull away from Rhys at last, hands poking at your chest like you could somehow feel that well beneath your skin.

The darkness laughs from within you, from wherever the bottom of that ceaseless chasm may be, as if it’s wholly untouched. It doesn’t feel any smaller, it is still something wild and untamed, but it has not shrunk in the slightest.

“Y/N are you ok?”

You’d felt the burn, felt something tear out of you, how was this possible?

You dip into it, let your consciousness free fall, willing it to show you everything, whatever limit and chain Amarantha has slapped on you. But there isn’t one, the bottom still will not rise to meet you, it remains an empty, ceaseless void out of reach.

Rhys takes your face in his blood stained hands. “Y/N?!”

You finally drag your gaze up to his, the violet a striking contrast to the damage over his handsome face. “I want to make a bargain with you.”

He raises a brow, confused. You know you’re not making any sense right now, but the walls were sure to have ears this deep in the dungeons, and you have to be smarter from here on out. If Amarantha learns that you merely gave her back the fire you stole from her and not your own gifts, there will be hell to pay. And until you’re ready to pay it, you have to be careful, you need allies and confidants.

You reach up and tap a finger against your temple and he opens the door in your mind with a groan. You feel his headache in your own head.

“I want you to help me kill Amarantha.”

———————————————————————-

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[madaqueue]

Practice Makes Perfect | Chapter 10

synopsis: you and yuji have been best friends basically as long as you can remember, and you made a promise to each other to stay friends and help each other be the best versions of yourselves for your future partners. but will things change when yuji finally starts looking for a relationship?

pairing: yuji itadori (18+) x f!reader

themes/content: modern college au (characters aged up to 18+). language. 18+, MDNI

word count: 1.7k

a/n: clarity by zedd playing softly in the background

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After your fight with Yuji, things get bad. The next month is a blur. Your mind is clouded, unable to focus on your classes, or anything else for that matter. You feel like you’re watching yourself going through the motions everyday - wake up, go to class, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. As you stare at yourself in the mirror while you brush your teeth, it’s like you’re not even there.

Yuji hasn’t tried texting you, so you don’t even bother going on your phone anymore. You didn’t realize how dark your life becomes without the light of his presence in it. It feels like you’ve lost your ability to feel anything, too burnt out from the anger, confusion, and guilt you’ve been fighting the past few weeks.

Megumi can tell something is off when you sit silently next to him in class, your normal smile now gone without a trace. He wants to ask, but he has a feeling he already knows what’s bothering you, and pressing you on it won’t help. After every lecture you get up with a sigh, muttering a soft, “See you later,” to him, the only words he hears you say anymore.

You become listless. You no longer know how to fill your time, so you start wandering around campus. A part of you hopes that the fresh air will clear the dirt you feel clouding your soul, but it doesn’t seem to help.

During one of these walks, your eyes unfocused as you look down to trace the outline of the bricks lining the path beneath your feet, you suddenly get the wind knocked out of you as you collide directly into someone.

“Sorry,” you mutter without looking up, trying to regain your footing.

“Shit, it’s okay,” you hear the voice of the person you ran into respond. “Oh wait, I know you!”

You sluggishly pull your eyes from your ground to the person standing in front of you. Your eyes meet their face and you recognize the familiar shoulder-length brown hair - Nobara. She stands in front of you in a plain sweatshirt and leggings, almost perfectly mirroring your outfit. You can’t say anything, and you’re not even sure what you would say, so you just stare at her.

Sensing the silence, she takes initiative to continue the conversation. “You’re Yuji’s friend, right?”

His name sends a pang of guilt through your body and your eyes shift down, not sure how to respond anymore. Are you friends? Does he hate you? Does he even want to talk to you anymore? The questions course through your mind, but you’re pulled back by the realization that you should probably respond to her question. You muster an empty nod, your face blank, eyes still on the ground.

“Yeah, I recognize you! He talks about you all the time,” she laughs. “Sorry, I realize it’s kind of weird that I just started talking to you because we’ve never actually met, I just knew your face from all the pictures Yuji has shown me of you guys together. I’m Nobara Kugisaki,” she says, holding her hand out to shake it.

You slowly raise your hand to hers, shaking it loosely, still not making eye contact. As you do, her words replay in your mind. He…talks about you? He shows her pictures of you two together?

She raises one eyebrow at your visibly dejected demeanor, and decides to take matters into her own hands. “Hey, I’m about to go grab a coffee, do you want to come? I’ve honestly been dying to meet you,” she follows.

Scanning her voice, you don’t find any hint of jealousy in it. She actually sounds shockingly genuine. For the first time your eyes move up to meet hers. “Okay,” you say meekly.

“Great!” she cheers, wrapping her arm through yours as she practically drags you down the street.

She brings you to a cafe right off campus that you and Megumi had been to before, one that he personally described as “just alright.” You pick a table as Nobara brings over your coffees, setting a latte down in front of you as she takes a sip of her iced coffee.

“So,” she starts, “what’s going on with you and Yuji?”

Of course. You knew this question was an inevitability. What had he told her about you? Does she know about his feelings for her? Is she asking because she’s jealous, or because she’s confident in her relationship with him? Do they even have a relationship?

“Um, we’re just friends,” you mutter, eyes glued to the table.

“Mm, nope, sorry but I don’t buy it,” she smirks, stirring her coffee in the air.

Shit. Clearly he’s told her about you, and now she’s here because she feels threatened. She must know about his feelings for her, and whatever Megumi thought about her was wrong.

“I-” you start.

“No, see, there’s no way Yuji thinks you’re just friends,” she cuts you off. “He’s, like, in love with you or something. He literally will not shut up about you, to the point that it’s almost annoying.”

Hearing her words your eyes flit up to meet hers, shock evident on your face.

“Wait, did you not know that?” she takes in your surprise. “Oh my god, that little shit!” she exclaims, throwing her head back to laugh. “I’ve been asking him to meet you for forever because I feel like I already know you after everything he’s told me about you. I figured we’d be great friends, but he always made some weird excuse about it. I just thought he was trying to hide you from me, but now I get it - he never told you he had feelings for you!” she thinks aloud, still chuckling.

You just stare blankly at her, mouth agape as you take in the information she’s presenting to you.

“Wait, did something happen between you guys?” she suddenly asks, turning her attention back to your face.

Hesitating for a moment, you sigh, figuring there’s no harm in just being honest with her - clearly she and Yuji are close, so it’ll come out eventually. “Um, yeah…” you trail off. “We got in a fight.”

“I knew it!” she almost yells. “I knew something was up with him. The past few weeks he’s been extra weird, like more weird than normal Yuji. I kept asking him about you and he wouldn’t answer, and it was almost like he flinched whenever your name came up.” She pauses, taking a big swig of her coffee. “What did you guys fight about, anyways?”

Swallowing, you try to mentally weigh your options, deciding to just get it over with. “Well, we were at that party,” you sigh, Nobara nodding intently across from you. “And I…um…I saw him with you. And I just got jealous, and I saw you guys leave together, and-”

“Wow there,” she cuts you off again. “When did you see us ‘leave together?’ Because, no offense here, I would rather rip off my own legs than ‘leave’ with Yuji,” she laughs.

“He had his arm above you, and I turned around and when I looked back, you both were gone,” you explain hesitantly.

Recognition suddenly flashes across her face. “Oh my god, yes I remember that! I was making fun of Yuji because I could see you across the room and I wanted him to go over and talk to you, but he said something about you looking ‘too pretty to bother,’ so I shoved him to try and get him to go say hi. But when I did, he knocked into someone, they got pissed, and they threw their drink over me! Can you believe that? It wasn’t even my fault,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I had to go upstairs to get a change of clothes since Maki was hosting and I knew she’d be cool about it, but Yuji just sat outside the door to make sure no one came in while I was getting dressed.”

“W-what? No, that…that can’t be right” you stutter. Your thoughts cloud again. You try to replay your memories of that night: Yuji next to Nobara, her shoving him, both of them disappearing…the timing would make sense.

“I don’t know what else to tell you,” she shrugs, “but you really have no reason to worry about me. I don’t really, how do I say this, go for the Yuji’s of the world, if you catch my drift,” she says with a smirk, taking another sip of her coffee.

“But…the two of you had a date?”

“Date?” she laughs. “He and I hang out for our group project sometimes, which he is totally not pulling his weight in, by the way, but we are definitely not going on dates.”

“But Yuji said…” you trail off.

“Yuji’s an idiot, respectfully. He starts talking before his brain can catch up sometimes. I wouldn’t put too much stock into what he says,” she continues. “All I know is that he’s been acting like an injured puppy for a while, and now I know why. Whatever he said or did, you don’t have to forgive him, but believe me when I say that he and I are nothing more than friends and you have nothing to worry about on that front.” She reaches her hand out across the table. “So, what do you say? Do you think you and I can still be friends?”

You nod, a smile starting to form on your face for the first time in a while as you reach out to shake her hand.

The two of you finish your coffee and you learn that she’s actually so much cooler than you ever could have expected. She’s a business major so she can learn how to run a national all-women tattoo shop, she was a semi-professional kickboxer, and she works as a carpenter on the side for a bit of extra cash. You silently thank the fates that she’s not interested in guys, otherwise you would never be able to compete with her. A few times throughout the conversation with her you find yourself laughing so hard your stomach hurts, a feeling you had all but forgotten.

As the two of you get up to part ways, you thank her for taking the time to talk with you. She punches you gently in the shoulder and tells you to call her any time.

On the walk home, you notice the sky starting to cloud as the wind picks up. The moment you step back into your dorm rain begins to pour against your window, as if the sky is cleansing the earth the same way you cleansed your conscience. The conversation with Nobara leaves you feeling rested and clear. Now, all that’s left is to apologize to Yuji.

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[bakubunny]

getting saved by an underground hero but he’s pretty

imagine you’re walking home one night and there’s a villain attack nearby. somehow you wind up in a villain’s arms, their hand clamped over your mouth with your back to their chest. they’re using you as collateral to get what they want, and you’re terrified that this person might actually hurt you.

then out of the darkness, a man jumps down silently from the top of a building in all black, eyes glowing red through his goggles and long, dark hair floating as he makes his way toward you. you’ve never seen or heard of him, but the villain behind you curses.

it happens so fast you almost don’t see it; a long, thin scarf comes flying your direction and you panic, screwing your eyes shut as it misses you entirely. a fight breaks out. you wind up getting shoved to the ground in the process with a bloody scratch on your cheek. soon, the villain is tied up and on the ground with the hero’s boot on his chest. the glow in his eyes fades as he pulls off his goggles. messy hair falls down around his shoulders. he’s contacting authorities and heroes for backup to take care of the offender under his foot. you move to stand, but he catches you in his peripheral.

“stay where you are. there may be others nearby,” he says.

so you stay. in a few minutes time, he’s kneeling down next to you as you pull away.

“it’s alright. my name’s eraser head. i’m an underground hero. are you injured anywhere else?” he looks exhausted and stern with red lining the whites of his baggy eyes, but there’s a softness to his deep voice as though he’s trying not to scare you.

“n-no. i fell pretty hard, but i’m okay,” you reply.

eraser head reaches out with a hand to examine your cheek, pulling out a few small items from somewhere on his hero costume to clean up your face.

“you’re lucky i was nearby. the hero on patrol was several blocks away. you shouldn’t be out alone in this part of the city this late at night,” he says. his fingers are gentle as he takes you by the chin and cleans the blood off your face.

your neck flushes. “s-sorry, mr. eraser head. i was on my way home.”

the corner of his mouth curls up at the formalization of his hero name. “it’s just eraser head, sweetheart. relax, you’re safe now. we’ll make sure you get home.”

“thank you, sir.” you’re trying not to stare at him as he works, but it’s almost hard to look away.

he can’t be much older than you if at all, maybe a few years at most. there’s a scar under his right eye and scruff on his chin and cheeks. his face is near expressionless as the small smile fades from his lips. he looks into your eyes, making it known that you’re staring. a flush blooms across your features and you quickly avert your gaze. you don’t see it, but another smile pulls on his lips.

“all done.” he offers you a hand to stand. “wait here.”

eraser head walks over to an officer for a brief moment and exchanges a few words out of earshot. with his scarf now back on his neck, he turns around and walks to you with his hands in his pockets and the slightest hint of a grin.

“i’ll walk you home. let’s go.”

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