#I find it odd that I didn’t see any of these six characters as a pure lee

[rainbowwing251]

I change my mind. I need to make a post about the six protagonists of XC3 and where they fall on the lee-ler-switch spectrum.

My headcanons may change as I learn more about these six characters, but for now, here’s what I have:

Noah- True switch

Mio- Ler/Ler-leaning switch

Eunie- True switch

Taion- Ler-leaning switch

Lanz- Ler

Sena- Lee-leaning switch

[hawaii5-0gurl]

Birthday Gash

Characters: Steve McGarrett X Reader, Kevin Y/Ln (OMC), Danny Williams, Kono Kalakaua, Chin Ho Kelly, Grace Williams

Word Count: 4590

Warnings: Language, Angst, Injured Reader, Upset Steve, Violence, Fluff

A/n: Sorry this took me so long to write. I hope you like it. 

My birthday was yesterday. So, I have decided to try to get a fic out on all of my blogs this is 2 of 4 that i have started and finished. I am happy that I finally have some motivation to write.

Request from: gryffindormarveltwilight asked:

Hey! I don’t know if you are taking request but if you are! Could I have a Steve x reader where the reader is in the team and it’s her birthday and no one knows and maybe something happens where she ends up in hospital and they find out it’s her birthday and Steve gets upset she didn’t say anything and she explains that she doesn’t really celebrate them and then the team does movies and dinner or something small to celebrate after she is injured. Sorry It’s an odd request I didn’t really know how to word it!

Feedback is always welcome. The Good and The Bad, it helps me as a writer.

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Request are always Open (fair warning I am a SLOW writer)

You had woken up to the annoying noise of your phone going off. You groan as you picked up your phone. Squinting your eyes at it, slowly adjusting to see your brothers stupid face on the screen.

“It is three in the morning. You better be dying or dead.”

“Wow, I forgot how much of a grouch you are when you get woken up.” You could hear a low chuckle on the other end of the line.

“You also forgot about the six-hour time difference, you ass. I’m going back to sleep.”

“Wait! I’m sorry, I’m not used to you being so far away.”

“What do You want Kevin?” You let out a sigh, regretting answering the phone.

“Did you forget what today was?”

“Umm… Wednesday?”

“No Butthead, It’s your birthday.” You let out another groan. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY Y/N!!”

You had to pull the phone away from your ear because of how loud he was. Then he started singing, and nobody should have to sit and listen to him butcher the happy birthday song.

“Kevin… Kevin…. KEVIN!!!”

“What?”

“Shut up. You know I don’t want to hear that this early in the morning, or at all. I love you but I will murder you and get away with it.”

“Come on Y/n it’s our unspoken tradition. I call you; you get mad, we have a friendly conversation.”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“I know, I love you too.”

You don’t celebrate your birthday anymore. You haven’t since you were sixteen. The only one who made sure you had something special was your brother. No matter where you or where he was in the world, he would at least call you. You normally would treat it just like any other day. You stayed on the phone with him for a little while, trying to catch up before you tried to get some more sleep. Unfortunately for you, your alarm started going off just as you were falling back to sleep.

When you got to the office everyone was there. They were in their offices just working away. Just as you were about to walk into your office, there was a man knocking on the main door. You walked over to him, you eyed him suspiciously. He had a vase with your favorite flowers, and he was holding a box.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so. I’m looking for Y/n Y/Ln.”

“That would be me.”

“Awesome! Can you sign this?” He maneuvered his hand to give you the electronic device. After signing, you handed it back to him. “Thank you. These are for you.”

He handed you the box and the flowers, then he turned and opened the door.

“Have a wonderful day.” He smiled “And happy birthday.”

“How did you…” When you looked up, he was already gone.

You turned and walked back to your office. Setting the flowers on the table by the door, grabbing the card before going to your desk. You placed the box on your desk, then sat down in your chair. You opened up the card.

Hey Y/n,

Happy Birthday! I know you hate celebrating but you know me. I can’t not do something for you. So, I hope you like the flowers and the gift. Call me when you get them. I love you Y/nn.

-Kev

Just as you finished reading the card, your office door opened. You looked up to see Steve walking in, while he had his back turned you slipped the card into the top drawer of your desk. You pulled out a notepad to make it seem like you weren’t hiding anything.

“Hey.” You turned your chair as he came around your desk.

“Hey to you too.” He leaned down, putting his hands on your chair’s arm rests before kissing you.

“We should head out there.” You point to the main area. “Kono just messaged me saying we have a case.”

“Yeah.”

He backed up, allowing you to get up. He turned around and stopped when he saw your flowers. The abrupt stop caused you to collide with his back. He turned to you and pointed at the flowers.

“Those are nice. Who sent them?”

“Oh yes, they are. My brother sent them.”

“That’s nice of him. Any special occasion?”

“Just Kevin being Kevin.”

“Okay.” You could see that he wasn’t completely convinced.

The two of you walked out to the main area to go over the case.

Hours later, you were on your way to check out one of the few leads when Kono called and said that she had the location from the rental car, and she was sending the location to everyone. You were only minutes away. When you got to the warehouse you parked behind one of the neighboring buildings. You called Steve once you got there.

“What’s your eta?”

“We are about 15 minutes out.”

“Okay, I’m already here. I’m going to do a quick walk around to see if I can see anything. Then I will let you know what I find.”

“Y/n wait for backup.” You went quiet as you stared at the warehouse. “I’m serious Y/n Wait!”

You started hearing things moving around inside the building, what you weren’t expecting was to hear a little girl screaming.

“I have to go.”

“No, Y/n…”

You ended the call before he could talk anymore. You made quick work of pulling out your gun, being sure that it was fully loaded and that you had an extra clip. Putting everything in their holsters. You closed up your truck’s compartments, completely forgetting to grab your vest.

You made your way towards the building. You walked around the building looking in the widows to see what was going on inside. There were no lights on inside, but there was still enough light to see. You made it to a door on the back of the building. Slowly working through the door, looking around for the little girl, when you found her, she was in a closet.

“Hi sweetheart. Are you Leah?” She just nodded.

“Good. My name is Y/n. I’m here to make sure you are safe and to catch the bad guys. Do you know which way they went?” She pointed to the big door on the far end of the warehouse.

“Thank you. Now I need you to stay in here okay. My friends are going to come find you and make sure you are safe, when they do show them this.” You pulled your badge from around your neck and handed it to her. “I’m going to close this door now okay.” She nodded again and sat back down.

You closed the door before going to the door that Leah pointed out to you. You started checking the few rooms when the door slammed behind you. Quickly you turned around to see a man standing between you and the door. You saw that he had a knife in his hand.

“Drop it.” Your gun was pointed at his head. “I won’t ask again.”

You heard a noise coming from the door behind you, you turned your head to see another man coming through the door with a knife in hand. In the next split second the first guy was making his way towards you; you were able to dodge him just in time. You grabbed his arm along the way, pulling it behind him, twisting his wrist causing him to drop the knife. You slammed him into the wall as hard as you could. He dropped to the ground quickly after.

“Stay down.”

Then you turned your attention to the other man, you put your gun back in its holster. You were no stranger to hand-to-hand combat. The man was just staring at you like you were an idiot, before coming at you swinging. You moved back dodging the first swing, then he went to punch you, you were able to grab his wrist, using as much force as you could you punched him in the stomach causing him to double over. You slammed your elbow into his back, dropping him to the floor. You grabbed the hand that had the knife in it and twisted it until he let go of it.

As you were cuffing the man you had just taken down your back was turned to the first. So, you didn’t notice the first man grab his knife as he started moving to get up. Just as you finished, the man was right behind you. He grabbed you by your hair and pulled you back slamming you to the ground. You let out a groan, before looking to see him dropping to his knees straddling your hips.

He brought his hands up to bring the knife down on you. You threw your hands up to attempt to block the knife coming for your throat. You were able to hold him from stabbing you, but slowly your arms started getting tired. As the knife was getting closer and closer, you heard a door go flying open.

The man looked up at the noise, giving you the opportunity to push him off of you. Quickly both of you got to your feet. He came charging at you once again. You moved to dodge the knife, but this time you weren’t as lucky. His knife connected and sliced from your belly button down the right side to the top of your hip bone. Thankfully, it wasn’t too deep, but you were going to need stitches. You grabbed where the cut was. Blood was coming out relatively quick, and it was causing you a lot of pain. Being the stubborn person that you were you kept on fighting.

You were able to get a few hits in, before making him drop his knife again. You kicked it away, so he didn’t have a chance to use it. You fought some more before you used all of the power you could muster into a right hook, knocking him out. He fell to the ground with a loud thud. You were absolutely exhausted; the blood loss wasn’t helping much either.

You went over to the guy, and you had to roll him over in order to cuff him. After you finished doing that, you leaned against the wall trying to gather your balance, only to have your knees give out dropping you on your ass. Your legs were bent to where your knees were close to your chest. You let out a scream and moved your right leg down. You moved your arm to put pressure on the cut to hopefully stop the bleeding.

A minute or so later you heard footsteps coming towards the room that you were in. You grabbed your gun out of its holster, cocking it and held it towards the door on the other side of the room.

-Team-

The team showed up quicker than they had expected. Steve looked around and didn’t see you anywhere.

“Damn It Y/n!” He quickly regrouped with the team. “Y/n must have already gone in, so we need to hurry and get in there.”

Then a loud crashing sound caused everyone to look towards the warehouse. Everyone raced towards the building. Steve was the first one in, busting the door in along the way. Guns drawn the team split up checking the rooms. Steve and Chin came up empty, while Danny found a room with weapons in the closet and Kono found a little girl hiding in a closet.

“Guys, I found Leah.”

“Get her out of here and make sure she’s okay.”

 -Kono-

“Are you okay?”

She asked when she got her outside to the ambulance. The little girl just nodded.

“Did you see anyone else in there with you?”

“Yes.” She said it quietly, like she was in trouble.

“Can you tell me who you saw?” Kono gave her a sympathetic look.

“There were two men who took me from my house. They knocked out daddy and locked him in the basement. They brought me here and then they locked me in the closet. They said something about leverage” She was starting to cry. Kono hugged her and tried to calm her down. “Then I heard someone else come in. She found me, then she told me to stay hidden and that someone will get me when its safe. She also gave me this.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out your badge.

“Do you know where she went?”

“She looked in all the rooms, then she went through the back doors where the bad men went.”

Kono tried to hide the fear that came across her face, turning away from Leah to get back on coms.

“Guys, she saw Y/n. She went through the back doors, there are two men inside.

-Team-

Steve looked at Danny and took off towards the doors. Danny and Chin close behind him. Once they were close enough to the door, they heard you scream. Steve opened the door to see you on the ground, with a gun pointed at him.

“Son of a bitch.” You let out a long sigh. “It’s about time.”

You tried getting up, but you were too weak. Steve was over to you in a second when he saw the large gash in your side.

“Kono, we need the paramedics in here Y/n is down.”

“On it.”

“Where is your vest?”

“Umm…” You couldn’t look at him. “In my truck.”

Soon after the paramedics were in the room. They moved you to a laying down position, to get a better look at your side. They put a temporary bandage on it so that they could get you to the truck. Once you were in the truck, they got an IV started and got you hooked up to a Holter monitor. Steve was holding onto your hand while the paramedic worked on you.

“Okay sweetheart, I need to ask you some questions. Do you think you are up for that?” The paramedic asked once he was done getting everything set up on you.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good. What’s Your full name?”

“Y/n Y/Mn Y/Ln.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“Well… It’s Y/BD.” You avoided eye contact with Steve, but you could feel his eyes on you.

“Y/n, do you know what today is?” The paramedic looked at you with concern. He was wondering if you had hit your head at some point in the fight.

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what today is?”

“It’s… It’s my birthday.” You said it on the quieter side.

The ambulance came to a stop, soon after the doors opened. They rushed you inside, Steve held onto your hand as long as he could before they told him he had to wait in the waiting room.

Danny and Chin showed up soon after. They found Steve on the phone.

“Steve, you told me when I met you that you would protect her and keep her safe. Now look at what happened!”

“I know. I’m sorry Kevin.”

“Where is my sister?”

“They took her back about 20 minutes ago. Now we just have to wait and let the doctors do what they do.”

“I swear to God if something happens to her in there, I will find you and kick your ass myself.”

“If I were you, I would do the same thing.” He let out a heavy sigh. “I will call you when she comes out. I will give her my phone so you can talk to her.”

“Okay, thanks.” He went silent for a second. “I was serious about what I said Steve. Anything else happens to her I will Kick your ass. You can put me in jail after, I don’t care. She’s all I have left.”

“I know you were.”

“Which hospital are you guys at?”

“We are at Kuakini Medical Center, why?” The line went silent for a few seconds.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“You’re in Hawaii?”

“Yes, I was going to surprise Y/n. She was supposed to call me after she opened her gift, but she never did.”

“I don’t think she was able to open it. As soon as she came into the office, we started working on the case.”

“I guess that explains it. Well, I will see you in a little bit, I’m on my way now.”

“Wait, do you still want to surprise her?”

“I mean it would be nice, but if she’s in the hospital, I’m going to come see her.”

“You don’t need to see her here. The doctor was just going to put in stitches and then send her home. I’m going to have her come stay with me until she can have her stitches removed. You can meet us there.”

“That does sound better than the hospital. Okay let’s do that.”

“Okay. I want to do something for her as well. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me it was her birthday.”

“I can.”

“What do you mean you can?”

“That’s not my story to tell Steve. Just let me know where to meet you guys at, and I’ll be there.”

They said their goodbyes, Steve hung up his phone, turning his attention to the rest of his team. They all had confused looks on their faces.

“Did any of you know that today was Y/n’s Birthday?” He put one of his hands on his hip and the other ran down his face.

“No.” They all said in unison, leaving an awkward silence around the group.

“Is it really her birthday?” Chin was the one to break it.

“Yes.”

“How did you not know that? You guys have been dating for almost a year.”  

“Every time I would bring it up, she would have an excuse, or she would change the subject.”

“I wonder why she didn’t tell any of us. Did Kevin tell you?”

“No, he just said that it wasn’t his story to tell.”

“Commander McGarrett.”

The Doctor called to Steve as she walked through the door. Steve moved quickly to her.

“Yes.”

“She is all stitched up, one of the nurses it putting the bandages on her and giving her some supplies for her to change them. I told her she needs to stay off her feet unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“Got it, no working and lots of rest. She’s going to go absolutely crazy.”

“Well, just as long as she stays off of her feet, I’m okay with that.”

The two of them share a laugh, then Steve thanked her before going back to his team. He quickly talked to them about doing something for you at his house. He asked Chin to go to the office to get the package from your office and bring it with him. He was going to have Danny meet Kevin at his house and start to set things up. He gave Kono cash to go to the store and pick up snacks and drinks that you love. He sent Kevin a quick text with his address and let him know what was going to happen. Everyone would meet at the house as soon as possible, but not to park at his house so it would be a surprise.

After everyone was gone, the nurse was wheeling you out to the waiting room. Steve was standing there alone.

“How are you feeling?” He crouched down so that you didn’t have to move.

“Like a fish at market.” You were leaning to your left side to make sitting more comfortably.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

“Let’s get you home and resting.” He gave you a smile before standing up.

“That sounds good.”

The nurse wheeled you outside to wait for Steve to bring your truck around. Thankfully, Chin was able to bring it over while you were in the ambulance. Steve parked and came around to the passenger side, opening the door and reclining the seat back some so you weren’t sitting too straight. He moved around to help you out of the wheelchair, then he scooped you up and placed you in the truck. He grabbed the sweater from the back seat to place over your stomach, so the seatbelt wouldn’t press into the stitches too much.

Once you were all buckled in, Steve thanked the nurse and got in the truck himself. He had to drive you to the pharmacy to get the pain medication the doctor prescribed. He went in to get it, but not till after you protested that you could go. He took a little extra time inside to grab you a drink and your favorite candy to make you feel better. He came back and gave you the bag, looking inside, it brought a smile to your face. That’s all he wanted.

When he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned down the wrong way causing you to be confused.

“Steve this is the wrong way. My apartment is the other way.” You pointed back behind you as you gave him a confused look.

“I know. You’re going to come stay with me for a little while.”

“That’s really not necessary. I’ll be okay in my apartment.”

“Y/n you can’t hardly walk without being in pain. Plus, the doctor said you need to take it easy, and your apartment has a million stairs that you have to climb.” He looked over to you with a cocked eyebrow, before turning back to the road. “Besides, I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“You are so stubborn. You know that right?”

“Not as stubborn as you.”

He slipped his hand into yours. The rest of the drive to Steve’s was quiet. Once parked, he quickly got out and came around to the passenger side. He had to stop you from getting out on your own, just to be sure you didn’t pop any stitches. Once you were out, he carefully picked you up and carried you to the door. He set you down, keeping one arm around you as he pulled his keys out to unlock the door. He helps guide you inside, closing the door behind the two of you.

He guided you down the hallway, as you turned the little corner to the living room. You weren’t paying much attention to your surroundings; you were keeping your head down, focusing on trying not to stretch your side too much. You looked up to the lights being turned on and people yelling.

 “SURPRISE!!!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY”

You look up to see your friends standing there in Steve’s living room. The room was decorated with streamers, a few banners and a bunch of balloons scattered all over the floor. They also had confetti poppers and noise makers. You were in complete shock; you were staring at them like a deer caught in the headlights.

You also looked around the room to see Steve’s recliner chair, it was all set up for you. It had your favorite blanket, pillow, fuzzy socks, and slippers waiting for you. Next to the recliner, on the side table there was your favorite snacks and drinks.

“What is going on?”

“Well since today is your birthday, and you just happen to neglect to tell everyone. We decided to throw you a small party.” Steve said to you as he pulled you closer to him.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, I do. I’m sorry I didn’t tell any of you that today was my birthday. I generally don’t talk about it. I haven’t celebrated my birthday since I was sixteen.” You let out a sigh.

“Y/n you don’t have to tell us.”

“No, it’s time for me to stop pushing people away.” You looked around the room to see worried faces all around. “When I was sixteen, I got legally emancipated. I left home because it was a toxic place, the only person that made it tolerable was my brother. He had left to join the military earlier that year, so I didn’t have him. So, I worked my ass off to get out of that house. I no longer speak to my parent’s, and I haven’t done anything for my birthday since. Except for the phone calls from Kevin. He makes sure no matter what, he calls me and annoys the shit out of me.”

Steve moved to pull you into a careful hug and whispered into your ear. “I’m sorry that you had to go through that, but I’m also glad that you had Kevin to help you through it.”

“Me too.” You smiled at him. “How about we get this party started?”

Everyone cheered. Steve picked you up once again bringing you over to the recliner and setting you down. He bent down and took off your socks and shoes to put on the fuzzy socks and slippers. He stood up and pulled the blanket over you. While he was doing all of this everyone else was moving around to sit on the couch, except Grace she was standing close to you and Steve.

“What’s wrong Grace?” You looked at her, a little worried look came over your face.

“Nothing, I’m just waiting to give this to you.” She handed you a box, you looked at it realizing it was the one from Kevin.

“How did you know about this?”

“I talked to Kevin while you were in the hospital, he told me about it.” Steve spoke up.

You just nodded your head. You looked down to the box, opening it and pulling out something that was wrapped heavily in bubble wrap. You slowly started taking the bubble wrap off, once you got it down to the end there was a note and a picture frame. The picture was of you and Kevin, you couldn’t have been older than a year. He was holding you; he was looking at you like you were the most precious thing in the world, and at that moment to him you were. You started tearing up just looking at the photo. You opened the note to read:

Y/nn,

Hey kid! I hope you are having a wonderful day so far. I know you don’t like celebrating your birthday but let your friends and your boyfriend do something nice for you today. Don’t spend it alone again, please.

I know that we haven’t been able to spend your birthday together in an awfully long time, so I am finally going to make up for lost time.

-Kev

“What?”

“Hey Kid.” You looked up to see Kevin standing in the doorway.

“Holy shit!” You said once you finally snapped out of your stupor.

“Wow, that’s how you greet your brother?” He walked over to you.

“Wha…” You were trying to form a full sentence.

He pulled you into a careful hug. You haven’t seen him in years, and you didn’t want to let him go.

“When did you get here?”

“I got here yesterday.”

“And you didn’t tell me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Thank you, bub.”

“No problem kid.”

“Wait a damn minute.” You pulled away from him to look at his face. “If you have been here since yesterday, why did you call me at three in the fucking morning?”

“I had to make it believable.”

“I’m going to murder you.”

He quickly moved away from you to the other side of the room where it would be safe. You spent the night just hanging out with your friends, brother, and boyfriend. This was by far the best birthday you have ever had.

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[seijorhi]

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too. 

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it. 

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo. 

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away. 

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy. 

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences. 

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife. 

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would. 

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.” 

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you. 

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication. 

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder. 

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign. 

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you. 

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in. 

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is. 

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever. 

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe. 

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you. 

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin. 

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place. 

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her. 

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign. 

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator. 

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening. 

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him. 

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold. 

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law. 

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally. 

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide. 

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite. 

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit. 

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites. 

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with. 

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you. 

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same. 

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him. 

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick. 

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is. 

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind. 

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you. 

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second. 

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind. 

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him. 

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland. 

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance. 

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

[thesunicarusfellfor]

Mortal of Gold - Part 3

(Yandere!C!Techno x GN!Shy!Reader x Yandere!C!Philza)

Anyone want my list of the characters as gods? There were a few characters that I couldn't think of like Ponk, so I just left them out. ANYWAY. Hi, how's it going? ALSO I CANT EDIT THIS DAMN POST AND THE SPELLING ERRORS ARE SO IRRITATING

Part 1 Part 2 TW: Mention of amnesia, memories being altered Send me a message via inbox if you wanna be added to a general or series tag list. Make sure to turn off anon, please. ------- “They weren’t born… A mortal?”

A light wind brushed over your features, causing you to give a small sigh and roll over onto your side in an attempt to block the light from hitting your lidded eyes. It was nice and quiet for once… “(Y/n)?” A distorted voice echoed softly, causing you to flinch a bit. You opened your eyes slightly to see a silky blackbird sitting on the sheets beside you, a few golden trinkets laying beside it. Upon seeing your eyes slide open, the creature hopped up onto its legs and began making soft cooing noises, “(Y/n)! (Y/n), you’re awake!” Glancing around at the surroundings you had been placed in, racking your mind for any sort of familiarity but failing to come up with anything at all, even who you were. You sat up, slowly brushing your fingers along your ombre silk clothing before putting your hands on the sheets below your body, frowning as you didn’t recognize the bed as yours. “Hello…” You murmured softly, reaching your hand out to the crow who eagerly jumped forward to nuzzle your hand. The feathers of the bird felt… Odd. They felt more like grabbing at misty fog, but with a light staticky cotton texture that caused a buzzing sensation on your fingertips, “I’m sorry, my memory… Seems to be a tad faulty… Could you tell me your name?” “I’m Chat, Dadza- er… Philza’s familiar! I was a gift from Mumza, oops... Kristen, the Goddess of Void and Death.” It chirped, its voice having multiple layers in your head, causing you to shake your head a slight bit, “No, they’re not married, only parental figures to the souls that pass on to the afterlife or those they saved sometime before they passed on… I believe they have more of a co-worker relationship.” You nodded slightly, pursing your lips at how the creature’s voice sounded in your mind. It was unsettling and caused shivers to crawl up and down your back, but at the same time, it was incredibly calming and had a soothing aura. How that worked, you had no clue whatsoever. Brushing off the unsettling voice of the bird, you decided to focus on the name that caused a light to go off in your head, “Alright… Philza… I think I remember that name…” “Yeah! Dadza- Eck… Sorry. Phil, he’s the God of Survival and Crows! He controls not only every crow in the mortal land, but he also controls whether or not someone will survive a situation. If there is no way that the mortal can survive, he will send a crow down and have them guide the soul of the mortal to him! Then he escorts them to Kristen! He has gained the name Angel of Death because he works for Mumza!” You decided not to question why the crow called Philza and Kristen Mumza and Dadza, knowing that you’d probably find out later, but by the sound of it Chat seemed to be multiple children, “Okay… Makes sense…” You mumbled slowly, nodding your head up and down. With a sigh you slowly brought your legs over to the side of the bed, only now becoming aware of how large the soft mattress was. Lowlands! (Hell) You could probably fit six people who were ten feet tall in it with room to roam! Pushing yourself off the bed, you also realized how high the beautiful bed was off the floor, Gods, whoever lived here was tall! Behind you, you heard a small chirp, and you saw Chat watching you curiously. With a small shrug, you decided to pick the familiar up and hold it in your cupped hands as you walked out the door, “Oooh! Dadza never carries us like this, and Technoblade does only when he’s about to yeet us out a window!” “Yeet?” You scowled in confusion as you walked through the arched doorway, your bare feet padding silently on the quartz flooring, “I'm scared to ask. Technoblade? Is he also a god of some things? He sounds familiar as well…” “That’s its word for throwing something. Well, it yells the word when they throw something or get thrown, so I assume it’s yelling in excitement,” A deep voice spoke from in front of you, causing you to gasp and lift your head from the crow. The telepathic chirping and squeaks from Chat in your mind quickly formed the name Technoblade, so… You had a feeling that your answer was on its way past his

lips, “I’m Technoblade, or Techno, the God of Blood and War. It’s… nice to see you finally awake…” He shifted awkwardly on his feet as you curiously studied him. His appearance could certainly be described as godly if anyone asked you. His long pink hair was mostly twisted and tied into a braid with bits of golden chain and a polished golden crown adorned with rubies, garnets and diamonds. Upon his pale skin, dozens of scars of varying sizes decorated his skin in different areas, but they were displayed in an almost proud manner. Almost. When he spoke, his dark pink eyes hidden behind cracked glasses searched your form for any sort of injury, “I’m… (Y/n)... I think. I don’t know if this bird is exactly trustworthy in its information… Do you know where I am?” Techno snorted as Chat gave an offended squawk at your statement, “That’s very fair, to be honest. You’re in the Tundra of the Upperlands, and this is my palace. No there is no snow, I believe the person who named this place has never looked into the name or word Tundra, but it’s been like this for too long to change it-” He paused for a moment as he noticed you looking extremely confused, “Ah. Right. Desert. Don’t worry about it.” “Oh… Okay…” You frowned at the tusked male for a moment before shaking your head, deciding not to question it much, “Now, uh… How did I get here, and why don’t I remember anything about myself? Or, about you and this Philza guy, I was told about.” You lifted Chat slightly toward Techno as a silent indication that Chat was the one who told you about Phil. “That’s uh… Phil’s field of expertise.” He rubbed the back of his head with his black-tipped fingers before adjusting his crown, “I don’t understand much of what happened, and Phil will tell you what you need to know that will keep you safe.” Hesitantly, he held his free hand out towards you making you realize that he was easily over seven and a half feet tall, “C’mon, I’ll take you to him and get you the answers you need.” His hand was extremely steady, you noticed as you stared down at it cautiously. Once you noticed that he didn’t seem to want to do you harm, you slowly shifted Chat into one hand and used your free hand to take the one extended to you, which you couldn’t help but notice, made Technoblade very happy, “Okay. Thank you.” The god held your hand in his calloused one for a few moments before beginning to lead you down the tan and white hallways that were turned a light golden hue from the rising sun. It was quite a long walk filled with a slightly uncomfortable silence, but you distracted yourself by looking around the palace curiously. It was obvious he was the God of War by how many swords hanging on walls and sets of armour he had placed on armour stands in the hallways. Eventually, he walked you through an archway that led into a wide-open room with multiple windows that had many crows perched on the windowsills, some chirping and singing some little tune in perfect unison while others shuffled around, seeming to do a little dance. You were quick to realize the whistling of one of the birds didn’t match up and noticed that it was coming from the man with the large white and green striped hat as well as massive black feathered wings dangling on his back, fluffing themselves up every so often. When you and Techno stepped in, the blackbirds started chirping loudly, losing the rhythm of the tune the winged man was whistling as Chat started telepathically squealing about… 2/4? Two out of four what? “Ah!” The hat-wearing male turned around and clasped his hands together upon seeing you standing up, “(Y/n), you’re awake. I was worried the injuries you sustained were enough to keep you out cold for a few more weeks. I’m glad to see I was wrong. I’m Philza, God of Survival and Crows, and I see you’ve met Chat and Techno. Pesky bird, I told it not to wake you...” You pursed your lips for a moment, analyzing the shorter god as the bird squealed out its protests. While he was shorter than Techno, he was certainly tall, standing roughly around six feet tall, his wingspan

probably double that for each wing! His blonde hair was long around his face but was pulled into a loose braid like Techno’s was, although instead of gold intertwined into his hair, it was silver. His outfit was made up of a loose green shirt and black pants, with a red heart-shaped pendant dangling off of a chain into the center of his chest. Why did that pendant… Look familiar? You slowly rose your hand up and clasped at the pendant around your neck, noticing how Philza smiled softly, “Technoblade… Said you could tell me why I can’t remember anything?” “You’re still wearing my gift, I see,” Philza gave a soft hum as Chat jumped from your hand and onto his shoulder, before gesturing for you and Techno to take a seat where he already had drinks and some form of cakes set out, but they certainly weren’t there when you came in. Upon seeing your confused blinking, he gave a soft laugh, “I’m a god, mate, magic is no difficult task for me, let alone creating some measly tea and desserts. Now, sit down and I will tell you everything…” - General - None Mortal of Gold -@generalalmond @binas-idea-vault @ohworm-writes

[punchdrunkdoc]

Just Breathe - Ch.7

Summary: Six months after the events in Gotham Square Garden, Bruce is struggling to find balance between his role as Batman and his responsibilities as Bruce Wayne. His life is made even more complicated when he learns that someone knows his secret identity.

Notes: This is a multi-chapter, slow-burn Battinson/original female character story with romance, angst, and crime solving!

Also available on AO3

Masterlist

Reference pics and stuff

Bruce stared at the phone in his hand, and wondered if he was making a mistake.

He should just let it go. Ignore the niggling doubts in his head. The questions that were boring holes in his brain…

But he couldn’t. 

He needed answers. He needed to know if his insane theory was just that - insane - or if it was somehow the truth.

He dialled the number.

"Hello?" Gordon's voice was strong - a sign that he was on the mend - and Bruce was relieved to hear it. 

"It's me," he responded, dropping his voice into his 'Batman' register. 

"You have a phone?" Gordon sounded surprised. And a bit annoyed. "All this time we could've just been calling each other, instead of using that signal?"

"This is a one-off. I couldn't get to you any other way."

"Yeah, you're persona non grata at the moment. I'll sort that out when I get discharged - I'll make it clear in my report that you weren't to blame for the botched op. We wouldn't have caught Newsome without you.” He paused. “Is that why you called me?"

"No. Its about Newsome's last victim."

"I heard about that. A mystery 'samaritan' found her and dropped her at the hospital." 

Bruce could hear the scepticism in Gordon's voice. "You don't think it was a samaritan," he deduced. “Are you thinking an accomplice instead?"

"The timing is odd, that's all. The night we take Newsome into custody, someone just happens to stumble across his latest victim? Don't tell me you haven’t considered it."

Bruce had. "Apparently the person who dropped her off was a woman. Female accomplices aren't exactly common and there was nothing in Newsome's house to suggest he had a girlfriend.”

“True,” Gordon said. “But I’ve heard stranger things.”

He hadn’t heard Bruce’s theory. 

“Do you know anything more about her? The samaritan?” Bruce asked.

Gordon sighed in frustration. “No. The ER staff didn’t get a good look at her and all you can see on the CCTV is someone in a baseball cap. The car wasn’t caught on camera, and the nurses were too busy with the semi-conscious women in the passenger seat to take much notice of the make and model. They just said it was blue and ‘looked fast’.”

Shit. 

Bruce scrubbed his face with his free hand. His insane theory had just gotten a lot more plausible.  Beth’s car was blue, and fast...

It was also currently covered in mud, with scratches all along the bodywork. As if she’d been driving in the country through narrow lanes.

He’d noticed the damage to her car last night when he’d dropped by her office. He’d wanted to update her on Newsome’s victim. He could have called her…but the desire to see her won out again. 

He found her clicking through autopsy photos on her computer. She was examining images of a mutilated, partially-flayed body while eating a yoghurt. He marvelled at her ability to compartmentalise. 

“What happened to him?” He asked in greeting. 

She jerked her head up and swore. “I’m gonna put a bell on you!”

He said nothing in response, just stepped closer to view the pictures. It looked like the work of a particularly sadistic killer. “Is this something I need to know about?”

She shook her head and closed down the screen. “Man picked a fight with a train. Train won. What’s up?” She seemed to catch herself. “I mean, did you find Newsome’s captive?” 

“I didn’t, but someone did.” He studied her closely, remembering the damage he’d seen on her car on the way in. 

She smiled. “That’s a relief.”

“I didn’t say they were alive.”

She faltered slightly. “I- I just assumed.”

He took a step closer. “Beth is there something you want to tell me?”

She held his gaze. “No. What do you mean?”

He stared at her. She didn’t sound like she was lying. But how well did he really know her? How good of an actress was she…?

That was the moment his insane, ridiculous theory - that Beth had rescued that girl - took root in his mind. 

But if it was her, why didn’t she tell him that night?  He could have come with her. Helped her.

And if it was her, why lie about it after the fact? She hadn’t done anything wrong by saving that girl.

If it was her…how did she know where to go?

That was the question he most needed answering. 

Gordon was also curious. “If it wasn’t an accomplice, how did they know where to look? The bunker was pretty secluded.”

“Did anyone interrogate Newsome that night?” Bruce asked.

“No, he wasn’t conscious until the morning.”

“Can I speak to the officers guarding his room?”

“Why?”

“Just trying to be thorough.”

“It was Ramirez and Jones. I’ll have them meet you tonight down by the river. Let me know if you find something.”

A few hours later, Bruce listened to the account from the two officers; Jones did most the talking. Ramirez just watched Bruce quietly, her gaze distrusting. 

“Only ones who went in or out the whole night were doctors and nurses,” Jones explained. “They all had ID, and I watched them the entire time. No one talked to him or did nothing funny. Well, except that blond doctor. But she just threw up.”

Bruce frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It was kinda weird at first. She went in to check some surgical thing, then took his pulse. She stood there for a while holding his wrist, I thought she’d zoned out or something…then she ran to the bathroom and spewed her guts out. Said it was morning sickness.”  

On a hunch, Bruce removed the printed photo of Beth from his belt and showed it to the officer. “This her?”

Jones tilted his head and squinted at the photo. “She was wearing a mask. But I think it could be her. Ramirez?”

The woman stepped closer, and peered at the picture. She nodded. “That’s her.”

“Wait,” Jones said, looking worried. “Is she not a doctor?”

“No, she is,” Bruce said, fudging the truth a bit. “I'm just confirming something.” 

The two officers turned to leave, but Bruce stood still, his mind racing to try to fit all the pieces together. 

Beth had been in Newsome’s room that night. 

Then she’d driven straight to his secret bunker and rescued his captive.

But, how? 

How did she get the information out of an unconscious man? When all she did was touch him.

Touch.

He thought back to all the interactions he’d had with Beth…

“Hey,” he shouted to the cops. They stopped and looked back over their shoulders. “Was she wearing gloves? The doctor?”

The two officers glanced at each other in confusion. Jones eventually answered. “No. Just her bare hands.”

Her bare hands. 

Bruce nodded and turned to face the water, an even more insane and ridiculous theory forming.

Beth had never touched him with her bare hands. Even when she was fixing his shoulder, she was careful to only touch the bandages that covered his hands. And he remembered how she’d shied away when he’d tried to touch her cheek the other night. It had been a moment of weakness on his part; she’d just been so brave and selfless, standing there offering her help. He felt like he needed to touch her, to make sure she was real. 

But she had pulled away. At the time he figured she misinterpreted it as him making a pass, and wasn’t interested. That realisation had hurt…but part of him was glad she was able to create the boundaries he was struggling with. 

But what if it was something else? 

Bruce swore under his breath, the quiet curse muffled by the water sloshing against the pier. Was he really considering this?

Was he really thinking that she could…what? Touch someone and find out their secrets?

It was the realm of science fiction. 

It was crazy. 

But it was also the only explanation that fit the facts.

For how a hidden bunker could be found when the only person who knew its location was unconscious. For how someone could know that Detective Harlow had tampered with his wife’s insulin.

And how someone could discover Batman's true identity. 

Newsome, Harlow and Wayne.

Three men with secrets… 

Three secrets uncovered…

And they all had Beth in common. 

Jesus, was it was true?

As ridiculous and insane as it seemed, could it really be true?

 ———

 Bruce sat on the floor of the abandoned train station that formed his base of operations, his back against one of the limestone staircases. His arm rested on his bent knee and he idly cracked his knuckles as he stared at the image on the monitor in front of him.

He’d been staring at it for a while.  

The video was frozen on Beth’s eyes, the only part of her face captured by his lenses as he’d lain on the ground of that damned junkyard. She was bent over him, about to whisper the words that had confused and intrigued him months before.

‘I’m sorry’

Those words had first sparked his curiosity about her. They had made him want to learn more about the woman who’d saved him. Had ultimately led him to Beth. 

And now he knew what those words meant.  

She was sorry… because she knew what was about to happen. 

She knew she was about to steal his secrets.

That was the moment it happened. The only time her bare skin had ever touched his. The moment she had pressed her lips to his, she had gained an insight into him that no one else ever had.

She probably knew him better than Alfred. 

Better than he knew himself. 

So what did she think of him? Did she understand his choices? Or did she see him as a broken man, plagued by a twenty-year old trauma? 

The kindness he’d always seen in her eyes, and the closeness they’d started to share…was it all just pity?

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and thudded his head against the wall, wishing his thoughts would stop spiralling down this path. He should be angry at her - for lying to him, for sending that damned note about Harlow…but instead he was more concerned with how she felt about him. He was questioning the basis of their entire…relationship. A relationship that he now accepted was real, whether he wanted it to be or not. 

“Are you ever going to get up off that floor and come upstairs? You need to get ready for that fundraiser tonight.”

Bruce chuckled wryly and opened his eyes. Alfred was halfway down the other staircase, staring at him with concern. “We can put the ‘Bruce Wayne rehabilitation tour’ on hold, Alfred. I know who sent that letter. They won’t be going public.”

That much he was reasonably sure of.

Alfred descended the rest of the way. “Who was it?”

Bruce nodded his head at the screen. “Beth Carraway.”

“The doctor? The one who saved you?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know?”

“I worked it out.”

“And why are you so sure she won’t go to the cops, or the press?”

Bruce hesitated. This was an aspect of his nightly activities he’d been keeping from the older man. “Because I know her.”

Alfred leaned against the workstation and crossed his arms. “Know her how?”

Bruce recounted meeting Beth at the ME’s office, getting her help on cases…and visiting her at her apartment.  He left out the weeks of surveillance, not in the mood for Alfred’s disapproval. 

“So you’re…friends with her?” Alfred asked. Bruce didn’t blame him for sounding sceptical. A few months ago, he wouldn’t have believed it himself. 

Bruce sighed. “Something like that. Or maybe there was nothing there at all.” 

“Because she betrayed your trust?” Alfred guessed. 

“She didn’t exactly betray it. Its hard to explain without sounding crazy.”

“Bruce,” Alfred said patiently. “Given that I didn’t send you to the loony bin when you came to me with your plan to fight crime dressed as a giant bat, I think you can trust me.”

Bruce gave Alfred a wry look…then told him everything. About Harlow. About Newsome. And about Beth and her ability. “But it’s impossible, right?” He said when he’d finished. “Things like that just don’t exist in the real world.”

Alfred uncrossed his arms and moved to sit next to Bruce on the cold, concrete floor. He took a deep breath before speaking again. “When I was deployed to Iraq during the first gulf war, there was this guy in my unit, Brenner…” Alfred shook his head and paused, as if lost in a memory. “We were both light role infantry, running ground support for the tanks. He was a quiet guy, pretty unassuming, but seemed like a good soldier to have at your back.”

Bruce listened intently. Alfred never shared much about his time in the Army. As a young boy, Bruce would pester him for stories, desperate to hear about gunfights and tank battles. But now he understood Alfred’s reluctance. War was a trauma, not a source of entertainment. 

“One night,” Alfred continued, “we were part of this big operation with the American armoured divisions. We broke through the western flank of the Iraqi infantry, and cleared two lines of enemy positions. It was close combat engagement - brutal stuff. And Brenner…it was if he could sense where the enemy was. Before the rest of us even knew where to aim, he’d already have fired. He kept us - me - alive that night. And I never questioned it at the time - I was too grateful to him. But looking back, it was like he was seeing through walls, or hearing them think, or something. We were all good soldiers - all highly trained - but he was something else entirely.” He turned to face Bruce. “So, no. I don’t think its impossible. I think there are things out in the world that we just don’t understand, and maybe never will.”

Bruce was silent for a few moments, absorbing the possibilities of the impossible. “But what do I do now? Do I tell her I know? Or do I pretend that there isn’t this massive…disparity…between us. Where I barely know her and she knows everything about me. Every thought. Every secret…”

“How do you know she does? You don’t really know what she can do. Until you do, you’ll never know where you stand with her.”

“So you think I should talk to her?”

“I think…that if she’s the reason you’ve been slightly more human these past few months…then you need to do what you can to keep her in your life.”

 ———

 Bruce waited on his bike opposite Beth’s apartment building, his over-sized jacket zipped up to hide his suit and a hood covering his distinctive cowl. Night was descending, but it was still early enough that the streets were busy with people. He wasn’t used to visiting Beth so early, but once he’d made up his mind to speak to her, the hour had seemed immaterial. 

If only he could be so decisive in what he was actually going to say when he saw her. Despite spending all of last night and most of his waking hours today debating it in his head…he was still at a loss.

He was going to have wing it. 

Just as he was about to dismount and head up to her apartment, Beth’s Camaro grumbled back into view from the underground lot. He’d seen her arrive home from work less than 15 minutes ago…and now she was leaving again.

The break in her usual routine concerned him.

Or maybe he didn’t know her routine as well as he thought. 

He kickstarted the engine and pulled into traffic behind her, the electric blue car easy to keep an eye on.

Where was she headed?

And why? 

What was she up to now?

He sighed in frustration at the direction of his thoughts. He hated doubting her. Hated thinking the worst of her. 

He wanted to go back to the time when she was his touchstone. The spark of light in his darkness. 

But that probably wasn’t fair to her. He’d basically put her on a pedestal - moulded her in his mind into some paragon of virtue and kindness. The antithesis to the corruption and bile he dealt with on the streets.

It was a naive, unrealistic portrayal. She was a woman with flaws and secrets like anyone. 

And strangely, as much as they frustrated him, those flaws and secrets somehow made her seem more…attainable. More on his level now…

Which really didn’t help with his attempts to maintain distance from her. 

He growled under his breath. He needed to talk to her. Tonight. He needed to sort out all these feelings. The mistrust, the confusion. The urge to be near her…and the desire to stay away.

So he followed her, through the rush hour congestion of downtown Gotham, then west, out of the city. He followed her past suburbs and deeper into the country, where civilisation eroded into sparsely populated farmland. 

As the traffic dwindled to nothing, it became harder to hide the fact that he was tailing her; she must have seen the solitary light of his bike following for miles. But if she was concerned, it didn’t show. She drove at a steady pace, a constant five miles above the speed limit and made no attempt to lose him. 

An hour after leaving her apartment, she pulled off the main road and into a rest stop - if it could be called that; it was little more than a dirt covered break in the fields of corn lining the road. She turned off her engine, and her car went dark. He coasted to a stop behind her and shut off his bike, but kept his headlight on. There wasn’t a streetlamp in sight and the night had darkened to pitch black during their journey. 

“Beth?” He called. He didn’t need to shout. The air was silent apart from the gentle rustle of corn husks in the breeze.  

She got out of the car to face him, and sighed. “I thought it was you.”

That made him angry. “But you weren’t sure? Then why the hell did you pull over in the middle of fucking nowhere?”  Why was she always putting herself in dangerous situations? Did she have no fear? Or just no sense? Beth, of all people, should be aware of how precarious this world was… 

“I was, like, 98% sure it was you. Satisfied?” She sounded angry too. “And for your information, we’re not in the ‘middle of fucking nowhere’.” She turned and walked to the front of her car. 

He kicked out the stand for his bike and dismounted, following her yet again. “So where are we?” 

She clambered on to the hood of her car and stretched out along its length, her head resting on the windshield. “We’re in my ‘spot’.

“Your spot?”

“Yes. The place I come to think. And see the stars.” She pointed to the vast sky above them. “Look up.”

He flipped his hood down and craned his neck back as far as the stiff leather cowl would allow. Millions of pinpricks of light peppered the darkness, and the hazy glowing cloud of the milky way arched across the sky.

It was incredible. 

He’d rarely left the light-polluted confines of Gotham, so he’d never seen anything like it. The scope of the cosmos laid out before him was humbling. It made him feel…insignificant. As if all his problems and traumas, all the pain he’d experienced in his life, all the loss he’d ever felt, ultimately meant nothing in the grand scheme of the universe. He was just a speck, briefly inhabiting a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. 

It was a surprisingly comforting thought.

He wanted to join her on the car. Lie back and bask in the temporary insignificance of his life. To take a break for once and rest a while. 

Forget who he was, and ignore the world beyond this moment.  

The urge was overwhelming. 

And tonight…he was too weak to resist. 

But he needed to get something out of the way first.  

The drive to this secluded spot had given him plenty of time to come up with a plan - and several back ups - to prise the truth out of Beth. Subtle hints, cajoling, outright questions…it was all on the table. He’d even thought about trying to force the issue by grabbing her bare hand and shouting at her with his mind…

But he was tired, and he was sick of this uncertainty between them. He wanted things to go back to how they were before. So he threw all his plans aside and acted on instinct.

He wrenched the cowl from his head and turned to faced her.

 ———

 Beth gasped. “What the hell are you doing?”

Bruce Wayne stood in front of her. 

He wasn’t Batman in this moment - the grey jacket covered his armoured suit; his hands were bare apart from the bandages wrapped around them…and he’d just removed his mask. 

All the trappings of the ‘Bat’ were either gone or hidden. 

Leaving the man behind.

His dark hair was mussed and damp from sweat, and the greasepaint around his eyes was smeared.  He looked younger than the photographs of the suited and styled billionaire…and so much more vulnerable. 

But he didn’t look uncertain. He didn’t look fearful of her reaction to his reveal, or worried…

He knew, she realised with a shock.

He knew…that she knew his identity.

“How?” she whispered. “How did you find out?”

He laughed softly. It was the first time she’d heard the sound from him. It was as if removing his mask had unlocked some of his humanity. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

She frowned at him in confusion as he boosted himself onto the car to lie beside her. He tilted his head back - further than he was able to do before - and took in the scene above them. 

It was an awesome sight.

The first gift she could ever remember receiving was from her social worker on the day they’d chosen to be her birthday. It was an astronomy book - no more than a child’s introduction to the cosmos - but she read it cover to cover, over and over, and it sparked her fascination with the celestial world. 

Gotham was a convenient place to live for someone like her - lots of crime to keep her busy at work, and lots of chilly weather to excuse the gloves and long sleeves she wore to cover her skin - but she couldn’t see the stars in Gotham. 

So whenever she needed to think or brood, she would drive out to this deserted spot and find them. 

Ironically, the reason for tonight’s trip to the stars…had followed her here.  

She hated lying to him. Well, she hated lying in general, but it was a necessary part of living her life. She barely noticed anymore the excuses she gave people at work for not wanting to get drinks, or for why she jumped when they came near her exposed skin.  

But lying to him was different. 

It didn’t feel right. 

And in the last few days, she’d lied a lot. About going to see Newsome. About finding that girl. And beyond the last few days, there were the lies about Harlow, her abilities…and the fact that she knew who he really was.

She wanted to come clean. Tell him everything. Put all her cards on the table and see if he ran screaming.  

It was a terrifying proposition. 

So she’d come to her spot to contemplate it. 

And it turned out he already knew. Or at, least, he already knew one of the secrets she was keeping. 

“So?” she prompted him, when it looked like he was just going to spend the night relaxing on her car. “How did you know? And what exactly do you know?”

He faced her. “I know that you already know my real name. And I know its because of this.” He reached for her bare hand with his. 

She pulled it away before he could make contact. Then she shook her head. “What do you mean?” She wasn’t denying anything. She just didn’t want any misunderstandings between them. If they were getting the truth out there, it had to be the whole truth and nothing but the truth. 

He sighed. “You want me to say the words out loud, don’t you?” 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath. “You can discover people’s secrets by touching them.”

She gaped at him. “How…?”

He shrugged. “I figured it out.”

Her gaping continued. “You ‘figured it out’?”

No one had ever figured it out! She’d been working with people for years who had no idea. She’d lived with people in foster homes who’d never caught on. But within months, this man had discovered her deepest secret. 

“So how does it work, exactly? What can you see when you touch people? Is it just secrets, or is it thoughts too?” His questions ran together, his voice almost…excited. She wondered whether it was due to the subject matter, or if this was just him without the mask. 

She’d once thought Batman was the real version of this man, and Bruce Wayne was an act. But it appeared there was some artifice to the Bat persona as well. This felt like the real Bruce. More serious and haunted than the Billionaire Bruce the public got to see. But not as still and reserved as the Bat. 

This was the real man that few people would ever get to meet. And she felt…honoured that she was trusted to be one of them. 

It made answering his barrage of questions easier, even though it felt weird discussing her ability. She’d never talked to another living soul about what she could do. “It- it depends,” she started. “If I brush against someone quickly, I usually just pick up the thoughts flowing through their head at that moment. But longer contact reveals memories, buried thoughts. And secrets, like you said.”

“So what did you see when you touched me?” He asked. “Apart from this,” he gestured to his face.

She bit her lip. “Well, you were dying at the time. Your life was flashing before your eyes, so I saw…that.” The last word was whispered, a combination of nerves and guilt making her voice hesitant. 

He frowned. “Wait, so you saw everything? My whole life?” 

He sounded upset. She tried to reassure him. “I saw a lot, but it won’t have been your whole life. It’s just that-,” she stopped and bit her lip again. 

“What? What were you going to say?”

She squirmed, feeling embarrassed. “Lips are…sensitive. To touch in general, but also to my…ability.”

He cleared this throat and looked away. She was glad she wasn’t the only one feeling awkward. Yes, it had been mouth-to-mouth, and yes he was dying at the time…but their lips had touched. Repeatedly. Which was the technical definition of a ‘kiss’…

Luckily, he found a way to change the subject. “And what about Detective Harlow?”

She told him the whole story. About ‘reading’ Harlow, writing the letter, then about Newsome and driving north to rescue his last captive. 

But he’d figured all that out too. 

He really did know everything. 

“That was reckless,” he said, when she mentioned Newsome. “You should have told me what you were planning.”

“There was no danger. He was unconscious.”

“You still should have told me. About all of this.”

That annoyed her. “So I was supposed to just spill all my deepest and darkest secrets to a guy I’d just met? What about you? If I hadn’t found out you were Bruce Wayne, would you ever have told me?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked away. Eventually he shook his head. “No. I don’t think I would have. But…”

“But, what?”

He met her gaze, and held it for a few moments; she felt like he was looking into her soul. “But I’m not sorry that you know.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m sorry about how I found out. I didn’t want to pry into your mind like that…but I’m glad I know too.”

He met her smile with a small one of his own - another first. That small hint of emotion made him seem so…human. Which was ridiculous. Of course, he was human. 

But he was also so different from anyone else she’d ever met. She had so many questions she wanted to ask him - now that she could. About why he’d chosen this life. What his plan was for the future. If he was ever lonely…

But they’d taken a big step tonight. They’d bonded over their shared secrets, and she felt like they’d become true friends. It was enough for now - her curiosity could wait.  

She relaxed back down against the windshield and faced the sky. She felt him do the same next to her. 

A long time passed, as they stared at the stars, the silence comfortable. Her right arm was down by her side, the material of her coat brushing against his jacket…but she didn’t feel the urge to move it away just in case they touched. 

He was the only person on earth she felt that safe with. 

“Thank you,” he eventually whispered. “For showing me this.”

“Well, technically, you gatecrashed,” she teased. “But you’re welcome. It’s amazing isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

She murmured one of her favourite quotes under her breath - the enormity of the view from this spot always brought it to mind. 

“What was that?”

She glanced over to find him looking at her. They were so close, their faces just inches apart. She spoke softly into the intimate space between them. “It's a Carl Sagan quote that always feels appropriate here: ‘For small creatures such as we, the vastness is bearable only through love.’” 

“My- my Dad had a print of the ‘pale blue dot’ quote in his office. I always liked that one. ‘Every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there — on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.’”

She got the feeling he didn’t talk about his parents much - but probably thought about their deaths often. She was glad that she could remind him of a happier memory.

He continued, now staring back at the sky. “I was thinking of that earlier. About how we’re all just insignificant specks of dirt in the universe.”

She frowned at him. “That’s a pretty pessimistic way of looking at it.”

“No. Its comforting. Our problems don’t amount to much in the great scheme of things.”

“I always thought it was more awe-inspiring than that,” she argued. “In all the vast, enormous cosmos, we may be the only planet that had the right set of circumstances to foster life. That makes us incredibly lucky, so we shouldn’t waste our time here. We should love our fellow man because we’re all each other has - there’s no one else out there.”

“The vastness is bearable only through love.” He repeated her words back to her.

“Exactly.” She smiled at his profile, but she could see a slight frown on his face, as if the concept of love worried him somehow. 

She was struck with the sudden need to smooth that frown away. To sweep back the lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. To take his hand and squeeze it…

It was an alien desire - she never voluntarily wanted to touch someone. 

She settled for resting her hand lightly on his covered wrist where it lay next to hers. 

He didn't say anything, or even look at her, but she could see the frown disappear and the corners of his mouth turn up...just a little.  

-----

CHAPTER 8

Taglist: @hollandorks @grunge-n-roses5 @xmxrfx @neptunesands @caramelcandescence  @blossomedfloweroflove @wanderdreamer @angelsarecallin @stephenismyking​ @rabbitdictionary @starshipvelociraptor​​

[sir-bertrandbell]

I’m rewatching the first ep of Campaign 3 in pieces just to see what I missed, since watching live I was a) tired and b) smiling too much to pay attention I was so happy

so anyway, have all of my thoughts and notes on Laudna because I lov her (and maybe there will be another post about Imogen to come, because I lov Imogen too and I think she and Ashton should get to commiserate about chronic migraines). some of it’s under a cut because it got Long.

her name sounds like Laudanum, which is an opium mixture

young-ish, though not as young as Imogen

likes kids, considers herself fun-scary

“surprised” she hasn’t been run out of town yet, implying this is an experience that’s happened to her before

her hair is in a partial updo with a rock chisel stuck through it, and her belt (in addition to the dead rat with a bird skull on it, which she made herself) is also full of tools - I for one am looking forward to seeing what she’ll tinker up with, with Marisha’s creativity

actually. Laudna fixing FCG. I need to see more of this dynamic Immediately.

although, she didn’t specify what tools! maybe she’s not a tinkerer, maybe she’s a sculptor. an artist. maybe she’s a miner. who knows? not me! can’t wait to find out !!!

seemingly delighted by the odd combat - “Imogen!! The objects have gone postal!!!” with a bright creepy kinda grin

also she kicked off combat with “Form of Dread,” which is what warlocks with undead patrons get at first level. if Laudna takes six levels in warlock at any point she will no longer need to eat, drink, or breathe.

not a note on Laudna but mid-fight Marisha quoted the “what do you have?” “a knife” “NO” vine very quietly to herself and I’m still laughing abt it. Taliesin also referenced John Mulaney (Travis: I have a bonus to initiative. Liam: that’s a first. Tal, like the horse in a hospital bit: I didn’t know it could do that!)

nothing else in combat seemed to indicate what Laudna’s sorcerous origin is, and she wouldn’t have any decided subclass because she’s multiclassed at lv3; also nothing else to indicate if she has two levels in warlock and one in sorcerer, or two in sorcerer and one in warlock. she used Form of Dread and cast eldritch blast (english), with no leveled spells.

I also completely missed the bit mid-combat where Marisha says “fuck the knife!” and the entire cast derails to take that statement literally and explain why that’s a bad idea. she follows this five minutes later with “I’m gonna fuck the rug.” this is the content I subscribe for.

kills the rug by saying “yes! I wanted you to know it was me...” and then, quite smiley, “hello !!! pleasure to meet you !! this is fun :)” to Dorian

has heard of Vasselheim

considers corpses “great resources” and says that people are “all made out of parts,” which ties into me maybe thinking she’s some kind of tinkerer or creator?? she’s got tools !! I want to see how she uses them !!! even if (especially if?) it’s in a way that’s kinda fucked up !!

laughs when FCG groups her in with people who have souls

“all over, really, I was quite the traveler. originally from Whitestone, but that was a long time ago...” “what sorta place is that?” (harsh, suddenly) “a shitty one” -- this implies to me maybe she’s older than she looks, and that her introductory statement of being “young-ish” was deliberately vague

“interesting to see a bunch of people trying to do the same things that we do” says Imogen, about the rest of the group, plz give me the Laudna and Imogen lore I want all of their adventures

“if this goes horribly wrong, we can just leave” says Laudna, making me wonder if she’s speaking from experience

helps with the dishes !!

am I going to be surprised somewhere down the road by backstory twists and character beats?? absolutely !! Laudna seems to me like a fairly upfront character, as in, I don’t think her kindness is an act and I don’t think her creepiness is an act. she’s probably got secrets and stuff she doesn’t want to talk about. we have no idea about who her patron is yet, or where she got her sorcery powers (fingers crossed for shadow sorcerer, tho).

I think she has a strong level of self-interest -- see her comment to Imogen about cutting ties and running -- and I’m excited to see what could come out of that, when her interests conflict with others. if (or when) her interests conflict with Imogen’s.

I think she has a strong sense of connection -- she likes kids, she likes Imogen, she likes the elderly woman they’re staying with and offers to help with the dishes and chores. probably it’s difficult to find people who like you, when you’re dripping black ichor and your eyes are a little weird and all of your comments (intentionally or otherwise) land just this side of creepy af. I think if the party takes her in, she’ll be ride or die for them.

also I love Marisha’s mannerisms and body language for her. I know a lot of people talk about Liam’s physicality at the table, and I think he does the most of it, but the rest of the cast does to a lesser extent - case in point, Travis as Bertrand. but this isn’t about them, this is about my love of Marisha’s hand gestures, and her smile, and the way that she was holding herself-as-Laudna for the whole ep. I love it.

tldr Laudna is fantastic. there’s no point to all of this rambling. I’m just very happy to see a bunch of idiots become a bunch of idiots in a found family and maybe accidentally save the world along the way.

[inkykeiji]

all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit

characters: dabi | todoroki touya

genre: smut + angst

notes: aaaah yikes, sorry it’s so long???? the first part of a companion piece to i can take you there but baby you wont make it back; touya + reader have been fooling around for just under six months, our innocent lil good girl reader is the teeniest, tiniest bit more firm now. jealousy makes people crazy, yk how it is. touya is marginally softer for like, a second or two. | title credit: save that shit by lil peep

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), public sex, cheating, drug use, generally toxic relationship (possessiveness, jealousy), size difference, dubcon if u squint i guess???, the tiniest bit of cumplay

words: 11k

synopsis:

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

      ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰         

In early February, your parents finally tie the knot.

“Now it’ll be official,” you remember Touya whispering in your ear, the night before. “I will officially be your niichan,”

The wedding is gorgeous—elegant and classy, just like Rei herself. A wintertime wedding is so beautiful, you tell Rei as she’s busy being fawned over by several stylists, adding the finishing touches to her hair and make up. She’s absolutely stunning, a lacy ivory dress clinging delicately to her small frame, accentuating her natural curves. It glitters gracefully in the pale sunshine streaming through the large bay windows, sparkling any time she moves.

Touya doesn’t sit with his family. Their eyes sear into your flesh, although Touya keeps his stare pointedly in front of him, glaring at the alter. But you can feel their gaze on your skin, can feel their eyes travelling up your body slowly, critically, sending shivers skittering up your spine. It makes your skin crawl, both of your hands curling around Touya’s, a tangled knot of fingers resting in your lap.

You’ve never seen his other siblings before. Rei talks about them sometimes, but never when Touya’s around. You know that once every month, the three of them join Rei and your father for a family dinner, but you’ve never had the pleasure of attending.

You’d missed the first family dinner by fluke, held up late at the library studying for midterms. But every occasion after that, Touya had made absolute certain that you weren’t there. You hadn’t thought much of it the first time it happened, too enraptured and tangled up in Touya to care, grinding desperately against him in the backseat of his car as his tongue forced its way down your throat. But then it happens again, and again, and it becomes too coincidental to ignore.

“Why do we never go to those dinners with your siblings?” you’d tried to bring it up subtly the third time you guys skipped out on dinner, heart thudding in your chest and gentle voice quivering slightly.

Touya sighed, raking a hand through his hair roughly, eyes not straying from the road ahead of him. It’s complicated, he told you in a quiet voice, and you were so startled, so shocked by his sheer, unadulterated honesty, that you couldn’t find your voice, rendering you incapable of replying. Touya didn’t bother looking over at you, didn’t need to, to know that his response surprised you.

The other Todoroki’s are all strikingly beautiful—not that you expected any less. The one with pure snow-white hair and gunmetal grey eyes captures your attention the most, looking as if he’s around your age. He smirks at you when he catches your stare, giving you a small, polite nod—though you can see that tiny glint of mischief in his eye, the same glint you’ve seen in Touya’s a thousand times before. Choking on a surprised gasp, you rapidly avert your gaze, eyes snapping back to the pile of hands in your lap.

Touya notices, of course, because Touya notices everything. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand squeezes yours tightly, just a little too tight to be comforting, as his eyes dart to his siblings across the aisle, glare losing most of its heat when it meets his brother’s stare.

Tense shoulders relax, falling slowly with the measured breath he exhales as he turns back to glower at the alter.

You know other guests are staring at you—you can feel their eyes, too. You know the pair of you look more like a couple than siblings, know you should both probably put some distance between yourselves, at least try to keep some semblance of normalcy, some masquerade of a typical sibling relationship.

But Touya’s knee is bouncing, and he seems…unsure. It’s unsettling, really—Touya always seems so confident in himself—and you can almost feel the tense anxiety rolling off of him in heavy waves. So instead of scooting away from him or untangling your hands, your other palm finds a spot high on the thigh pressed tightly against yours, small fingers beginning to knead the flesh.

Sapphire eyes find yours, and he gazes down at you with an odd sense of fondness in his stare, the tiniest smile ghosting across his lips. It makes your chest swell with pride, makes you want to grab his face and crash his lips against yours, forces a tingling warmth to spread through your veins. It shouldn’t, but it does.

He barely lets you leave his side that day, keeps you glued to his body, an arm wrapped tightly around you. He’s a constant, looming, protective presence, glaring at anyone who dares to look at you for more than a second.

“Touya-nii,” you laugh a little while leaving the ceremony, watching as one of your cousins immediately averts their eyes. “That’s my cousin,”

“And I’m your brother,” he says flatly.

You suppose he has a point.

The two of you find your parents and the rest of Touya’s siblings—yours too, now, you guess—standing around a limousine, beckoning you over.

Rei begins to explain their protocol for pictures—and yes, you both have to come—but you aren’t listening. Their eyes are on you again, you can feel them, gliding up your skin, taking sharp note of the way Touya has you pressed flush against him, the way your arm is wrapped firmly around his waist, little fingers twisting in his suit jacket as your heart begins to speed up.

Touya can feel it, too, and he looks down at you in concern, his thumb caressing your shoulder, before he meets the stares of his siblings with a glare so ferocious you’re surprised it doesn’t turn them to ash on the spot.

They offer for you to ride in the limo with the rest of them, Touya cutting them off as he curtly declines their offer—no thanks, you’ll take his car instead and meet them there.

Rei tries to reason with him, but the pointed look he gives her causes her to trail off mid-sentence, holding his eyes for a moment before a sad smile settles on her face, nodding once.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Shinjuku Gyoen is nothing short of stunning in the wintertime. It had snowed this morning, around six AM, blanketing the garden in a soft layer of pure white powder, glittering delicately in the early afternoon sun.

Wide eyes drink it in as your face presses against the glass of the car window, your breath fogging it up. There’s something so whimsical and dreamy about snow, you think, about the way it softens even the sharpest of edges, the way it makes everything look prettier.

“You’re so cute,” Touya remarks, watching you from the corner of his eye, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“I’ve never been here during the winter,” you murmur in response, still captivated by the grounds.

Rei and your father are immediately whisked away by several photographers to do their photos alone, leaving the rest of you to litter the parking lot.

But the moment they disappear from view, Touya’s got you trapped between his body and the cold metal of his car, lips moving against the shell of your ear as he whispers filthy promises, things that force soft whimpers from your lips, things that make your legs feel like they’re about to give out as heat pools deep in your belly. He knows, of course, smirks and teases you even more when he feels you squeeze your thighs together helplessly, tells you you’re his perfect little slut and vows to reward you for being so good as soon as he can.

His other siblings are staring, you try to tell him in a quiet, broken whine.

“Oh yeah?” he breathes, pushing his hips harder into yours, practically grinding his hard cock against your waist. “Let ‘em. I bet they’d love to watch me fuck you stupid, huh? What do you think about that, baby? You want them to watch?”

A pathetic sound hitches in your throat and you bury your burning face in his neck, a low, wicked laugh rumbling deep in his chest.

He doesn’t let up on the absolute filth spilling from his mouth until he can hear your father hollering in the distance, calling for the kids and waving the five of you over.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Pictures take too long, and Touya’s antsy by the end of it, picking anxiously at his cuticles as his knee bounces. He’s hauling you out of there the moment you’re officially released, a strong hand wrapped tightly around your wrist. You can hear his mother calling for him, and you look back at her desperately, mirroring her worried frown.

He doesn’t even wait for the rest of them to pile into the limo and leave, immediately rooting through his pockets the moment he’s in the safety of his own car, pulling out a little baggie of white powder. He can feel your wide eyes on him, watching his every movement, but his hands are beginning to shake, and panic is starting to rip viciously at his throat, and he just needs it all to fucking stop.

“There’s no way I could endure this shit sober,” he explains as he searches for something in the powder, cursing when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. Frantic cobalt eyes dart around the car, landing on the glovebox, and he leans over you, hastily pulling a reflective object from the compartment.

It’s a mirror.

A tiny, circular mirror that he uses to tap out a line, fingers unsteady and breathing slightly laboured. The gentle sounds of his platinum credit card colliding with glass echo throughout the car.

Hovering over the small mirror, he pauses, a finger pressed to his nostril. He almost wants to tell you to look away, almost does, but he knows you’d disobey either way.

He doesn’t like doing drugs in front of you—you’re too precious, too pure and innocent and he doesn’t want you around anything that could potentially tarnish that. But he also can’t stand that look you get in your eyes, almost like you’re scared of him, on the rare occasions that you have caught him.

He nearly snaps at you when you quietly ask if you can help, if he needs someone to hold the mirror steady, currently balancing on the center console compartment, but you’ve got that goddamn look in your eyes, wide and terrified.

No, he says sternly, telling you that he doesn’t even want you near this stuff, much less touching it.

But cocaine highs don’t last long, he explains to you when you ask about the little round white pills clacking together in his pocket. You’re positive he shouldn’t be mixing drugs like that, positive that your apprehension and disapproval are written clearly across your face, based on the simmering look he shoots at you.

Don’t fucking start.

So you don’t. You swallow down your worries and sit nice and pretty and good for him, just like you’re supposed to.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

He only leaves you twice, briefly, throughout the entire night. The first is almost immediately after you enter the reception venue.

Depositing you near the head table, he tells you to stay put before he hurries away. You know where he’s going, what he’s about to do, an odd ache taking root and throbbing deep in your chest.

He’d scold you if he could see you, able to read your expressions like a fucking book, would tell you not to cry for him—he doesn’t need your pity. The words cut through your mind in a snarl, and you work hard to rid your face of the frown marring it; he’s already having such a difficult time today, and the last thing you want to do is upset him more with your concern.

Distraction, you need a distraction. Wide eyes scan the extravagant ballroom, all shimmering golds and beiges and crystal chandeliers, searching in a frenzy for something—anything—to rid your mind of images of pretty boys with inky hair and white, white, white.

You swear you hear your name, then Touya’s, hissed out in a sharp whisper, and your gaze lands on a small group of people not too far from you, with snow and fire for hair—the other Todoroki’s, huddled in a loose circle.

The air around you just feels off, you catch his sister saying in a low but frantic voice, eyes darting between her brothers. She sounds worried about you, you think, and it makes you feel weird. She shouldn’t be worried about you; Touya takes fantastic care of you. It isn’t any of their business anyway, you can almost hear Touya sneering in your head, and he’s right. You know he’s right.

Her brothers don’t look too keen on discussing the subject, especially the youngest, who keeps pulling at his collar and fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Well, why don’t you go and tell her that yourself,” the one with white hair says, grey eyes connecting with yours. She whirls around quickly, mouth snapping shut when she finds your face. Her lips morph into a smile half a second later, and she waves you over.

You avert your eyes, hands tangling nervously in front of you. No. You shouldn’t go. You really, really shouldn’t go. Touya told you to stay put, and you can’t bear to think—don’t even want to consider—how furious he’d be if he found that not only had you moved, but you had moved to talk to his siblings.

You must spend too much time deliberating, though, looking back up to find them advancing towards you, only a few feet away. Your heart’s pounding almost violently in your chest, breath accelerating with each step closer.

“Hi,” she’s saying warmly as she reaches you, causing you to subconsciously take a step back. “We haven’t had a chance to meet. I’m Fuyumi,”

You want to say your name, to introduce yourself politely, but your lips are sealed shut, only able to manage a small sound of affirmation.

“Shouto,” the youngest says, cold heterochromatic eyes glancing at you for a moment before looking away. “M’Shouto,”

“I’m Natsuo,” the man with white hair smirks down at you, eyes burning into yours.

Some of your anxiety melts away as you meet his stone eyes; there’s something comforting about the way that he has Touya’s smirk, Touya’s mischievous glint to his gaze, Touya’s playful lilt to his voice.

You feel like you can breathe again when you’re looking at Natsuo, so you keep your stare directed at him as you stutter out your name, gazing up at him through your lashes.

“You always miss the family dinners,” Natsuo accuses with a knowing smirk, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “Y’know, eventually, our parents are going to catch on,”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins, chills crawling on your skin. He knows?

And he says it so nonchalantly, so casually, as if he’s discussing the weather and not the fact that Touya deliberately kidnaps you to fuck your brains out in his car every single time they gather for one of those dinners. Fuyumi and Shouto look over at him with brows furrowed in confusion, but you choke on a gasp, coughing a little and nodding.

Touya returns then, saving you from having to respond.

“What’s wrong?” he’s asking immediately as his hands find purchase on your hips, pulling you back against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you lean on him, heart finally beginning to slow.

“N-Nothing, niichan,” you wrap your arms around his, hugging them to your chest, and he squeezes you in reassurance.

“You sure, baby?” Sapphire eyes search your face as you tilt your head back to look up at him, scanning for any sign of distress.

He shouldn’t be using that pet name here, not in front of his blood siblings, not loud enough that any of the passing guests can hear him with ease.

He shouldn’t.

But that doesn’t stop it from sending sparks skittering up your spine, heat beginning to coil in your tummy. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said you didn’t get some sort of twisted satisfaction at the loud gasp that leaves Fuyumi’s chest, or the sharp intake of breath Shouto chokes on, coughing as he tries to cover it up, all at the drop of that one, simple, four letter word.

Touya loves it, too—you can see it in the way his smirk grows into a full smile, a grin big enough to crinkle the edges of his eyes, can see it in his gaze, in the way his cobalt eyes almost sparkle at their reactions.

Your gaze flits back to the three people standing in front of you—your step-siblings, your mind corrects—eyes gliding over their faces slowly.

Natsuo looks thoroughly entertained, a stupid little grin stretched across his face, amusement dancing in his eyes. Fuyumi and Shouto, on the other hand, look thoroughly uncomfortable, shifting a little in place, their faces screwed up with poorly masked disgust.

Touya’s smile drops the moment he looks back at them. Azure eyes scan the faces of his siblings cautiously, giving Natsuo one quick, sharp nod of acknowledgment before his gaze lands on the youngest. And the glare Touya gives him is nothing short of terrifying, practically snarling at the boy, a rough, dangerous sound that gets lodged deep in his chest. It makes the boy cower away, shuffling ever-so-slightly closer to his sister, who shakily glares back.

Lips tugging down into a frown, you look up at Touya, forehead creasing in confusion. He’s still glowering at the kid, eyes narrowing just a little before he huffs and turns away, leaving without speaking a word to any of them.

“Don’t you ever talk to them again,” he’s murmuring as he whisks you away, something malicious in his voice. “You’re my little sister,”

You nod obediently, promising him that you won’t, reassuring him that you didn’t even want to as you relay the entire situation. But he can see it, the curiosity swirling in your eyes, a question dancing on your tongue.

Because although Touya appears to be on seriously awful terms with his younger siblings, Natsuo seems to be some sort of exception. From the interaction you just witnessed, you’re able to deduce that something, some line of communication, must be present between Touya and Natsuo, evident in their shared looks and swift, discreet nods.

He sighs, irritation coating his voice as he demands that you spit it out already.

It makes you jump a little, but the words come tumbling out of your mouth the moment he commands them to, powerless to disobey a direct order.

“Does that include Natsuo?”

Your voice is so tiny that he barely hears you, brows knitting together. There’s an odd look in his eye as he observes you—something that isn’t quite jealousy, but close to it—nose twitching a little as he considers.

“Alone, yes,” he finally says. “With me around it’s fine, I guess. But you are not to speak to him alone, do you hear me?”

Yes, niichan, of course, niichan.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Dinner is absolute torture, and the two of you can barely keep your hands off of each other. It starts innocently enough, discreetly enough, with palms on thighs, fingers brushing down arms, hands interlaced under the table. But the need to touch grows, and grows, and grows, these simple actions too teasing to satisfy that dull burning in the pit of your stomach, flaring a little more each time his fingers press into your thigh, or his thumb runs across your knuckles.

And you shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t start acting up now, not while the two of you are seated at the head table, looking out amongst the guests—a few months ago, you would’ve never thought to do something so indecent, so dangerous, in such a public place. But you just can’t help it, you’re getting restless now, brain going hazy with thoughts of him as your fingers trail up his thigh and ghost over his lap.

“Getting bold, are we, princess?” his hand catches your wrist, holding your palm in place and grinding up into it. His voice is low, head tipped towards you, sapphire eyes dark. A breath catches in your throat and he smirks, an evil little quirk up of his lips, raising an eyebrow at you in expectation.

You’re lucky they’re seated in a straight line instead of a circle, he murmurs in your ear, Natsuo snickering beside him. “Imagine what your daddy would think if he could see you, acting like such a desperate little slut in front of all of these people,”

A soft, broken moan escapes your lips without your permission, thighs squeezing together in an attempt to combat the heat pooling in your panties. Someone down the line of the table says something, but you’re too enticed by Touya to hear them, your father writing off whatever the remark was with an easygoing smile.

“Oh, those two are always in their own little world,” you hear him dismiss, voice sounding muddled and distant.  

“Be a good girl and sit still,” Touya growls in your ear, grip tightening to near bruising.

“But niichan,” you whine, much too loud, gazing at him with glazed, blown eyes. “Niichan,” you repeat, leaning forward to whimper in his ear, fingers flexing around the bulge in his trousers. “N-Need you,”

“If you can’t behave, niichan won’t let you cum later,” he breathes, though his voice is stern, heavy with the weight of the threat.

A pout forms on your lips as he releases your wrist, firmly placing your hand back in your lap and holding it there for a moment, a silent warning for your wandering fingers to stay put.

But he’s up and out of his chair the instant dinner’s over, moving so quick his seat wobbles a little as he grasps your hand tightly in his, practically yanking you up and dragging you along behind him.

The best thing about these fancy venues, he’s telling you as he strides through the halls, cerulean eyes searching for something, is that they have single person washrooms.

The granite is cold on your cheek as Touya shoves you up against the wall, head bouncing a little as it whacks against it.

You whine and he laughs, a cruel, piercing sound echoing off the walls.

“Aw, baby,” he coos contemptuously. “Did that hurt?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, eyes squeezing shut against the throbbing pain radiating through your cheek.

“Poor little thing,” he hisses, lips against your ear as his hands begin to bunch up your dress, gliding over your silk covered thighs, hands fisting in the material as he goes. Pushing it up around your waist, he leans back, hands travelling over the globes of your ass and kneading hard enough to make you cry out.

“You’re a slutty little brat, y’know that?”

Deft fingers hook in the waistband of your thong, all delicate baby pink lace, Touya snickering about how much of a whore you are, wearing such skimpy, slutty panties, as he lets the elastic snap back against your skin.

A little shocked gasp escapes your lips as he begins tugging the dainty fabric down your thighs—you had expected him to merely push them to the side, but he forces you to take them off entirely, stuffing the soaked material in his pocket.

“You think you can just tease niichan like that and get away with it?”

“No,” you whisper, shaking your head against the wall.

“No,” he murmurs, hips grinding against your bare ass. “Good girls don’t tease their niichans without delivering, do they?”

“No,”

“On your knees,” he orders, spinning you around and stepping back just enough to allow you to sink to the floor. “Get my cock wet,”

Little fingers work quickly, eager to obey, as they undo his pants, practically salivating as you free his cock from its confines.

“Your cock’s so pretty, niichan,” you breathe, eyes glittering with pure, potent desire as you take it in your hands, tongue darting out to trace the prominent veins.

“No teasing,” he growls, a hand knotting in your hair. “I wanna see you choke on it,”

You nod as best you can, mouth instantly falling open, reduced to nothing more than a wet, warm little hole for him to stuff.

And then he’s shoving it down your throat, the hand fisted in your hair holding your head still, and you gag around it almost immediately, working to force you jaw open even more.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he rasps out, voice echoing off the walls of the washroom.

The praise has your heart soaring, has you sucking hard around him as he thrusts into your mouth, coating his cock in thick saliva and desperate to hear more. It’s intoxicating, every quiet moan you manage to pull from him, every breathless good girl that falls from his lips, makes you feel lightheaded and heady and dizzy for more.

His hips pump a few more times before he’s pulling you off his cock completely, devious smirk forming on his lips at your whine of protest, and commanding you to go bend over the sink.

Calloused hands are bunching your dress up around your waist again, toe of his shoe kicking at your inner ankles and forcing your feet further apart.

He doesn’t bother stretching you out, not because he doesn’t have the time to, but because he simply doesn’t want to. It’s truly one of his favourite things, to see tears fill your eyes while his cock stretches your cute little pussy, and he knows you love it too, don’t you?

Yes, niichan, of course you do.

His cock glistens with your saliva, sufficiently wet that it slides in easily enough, with minimal pain for him. And the soft groan he lets out as he watches your little hole struggle to take him, paired with your sweet little whimpers of his name, is nothing short of gorgeous.

It has your pussy fluttering around him, pulling a breathless chuckle from his lips as he fills you to the hilt, hips pressed against your ass.

And then doesn’t fucking move.

Your brow furrows, eyes meeting his in the mirror. You try to fuck yourself back on him, but he’s too quick, hands stilling your hips immediately and tutting in disapproval.

“Niichan,” you whimper. “N-Niichan, please fuck me,”  

“Do you think you deserve it?” he’s asking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “After the way you behaved at dinner?”

“M’sorry,” you whine, wiggling back against him, his fingers digging into your flesh as he stops them, grip tightening. “Couldn’t help it, wanted you so bad,”

“Of course you couldn’t,” he smirks, hips starting to move slowly, teasingly, stilling after only three simple thrusts. A hand reaches down and finds your clit, forcing a gasp from you as his thumb brushes over it, back and forth, back and forth, featherlight grazes that have you arching back into him, trying to press further into his touch.

“Think you can cum just like this for me?” he asks, beginning to thrust shallowly again, just enough to have the head of his cock dragging against that spot buried deep inside your cunt, that spot he knows so well, then nudging your cervix. “Hmm?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, breath starting to come out in short little pants.

“Then do it,” he demands in a whisper, eyes still holding yours. “Show niichan how pretty you look, cumming all over his cock,”

And the combination of his deep, rough voice rumbling against your back as praises tumble from his lips, his thumb and cock, and the fact that anyone within a fifteen foot radius of this washroom could probably hear you, has you cumming within minutes with a sharp cry of Touya-nii!  

Touya laughs at how pathetically quickly you came, about how easy it is to have you creaming on his cock, heat seeping into your cheeks as you try to look away.

“My turn,” he breathes, yanking your head back up by your hair, fingers finding root in the intricate updo that has begun to fall apart. “And I wanna see your face as I fuck you, so keep your damn head up,”

And then he’s slamming into you with enough vigour to propel you forward, face pressed against the mirror, toes barely touching the ground. Every moan and whimper and mewl he forces from your throat fogs up the glass, leaving tiny glistening drops of condensation as they fade.

You’re trying so hard to keep your eyes open, to watch him as he fucks you, because he always looks so damn pretty.  

He’s stupidly attractive, with his shirtsleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, first few buttons undone and collar popped, revealing his sharp collarbone, smooth ivory skin stretched taut across it. Ebony hair clings to his forehead and neck delicately, coated in sweat, and he’s emitting the most glorious noises, heavy pants and little broken whines, peppered with praise.

Nails bite into your flesh as he holds you in place, hips snapping relentlessly, your fingers curling around the porcelain sink.

“You want niichan’s cum?” he growls in your ear, eyes burning into yours. You whimper in response, nodding against the mirror. “Yeah? Then fucking beg for it.”

Pleads are spilling from your lips immediately, nothing but senseless babbling as he pounds into you.

“Please, niichan, please, need it, your cum, stuff me with your cum,”

“That’s it,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “I want every single person in this godforsaken hall to hear you, I want every single person to know how much of—” he cuts himself off with a shuddery curse. “—How much of a slut my baby sister is,”

“Pretty please,” you whine out the words, eyes rolling back in your head. “Fill me up with your cum, niichan, I-I want it,”

His hips still just as your cunt clenches around him, cockhead pressed tightly against your cervix as he fills you with hot, thick ropes of cum.

He pulls out a few moments later, and you uncurl your fingers from around the rim of the sink, wincing at your appearance; lips bitten raw, hair beginning to fall from it’s elegant style, body covered in a thin layer of sweat.

You look back at him to find him already staring at you, expectantly, impatiently, hands jittery as he quirks his head towards the door.

“We can’t leave together,” he says, as if it’s obvious, even though you stumbled into the washroom together twenty minutes ago.

He needs more.

You nod, slow and dumb, staggering a little on your trembling legs. Grasping the doorknob you pause, turning to look at him again.

“What?” he asks as he searches through his pockets, not bothering to glance at you. He can feel your eyes on him.

“Um...” you shift nervously from foot to foot, lip caught between your teeth.

He looks over at you sharply, brows rising as if to ask why are you still here?

“M-My panties, niichan,”

Oh.

A wicked smirk spreads across his face, eyes twinkling, brows relaxing.

“What about them?”

“Well, I—I can’t return to the reception without them,”

“Oh, and why not?”

You pause, blinking a few times, at a loss for words. Why not? Because you can feel his cum beginning to trickle out of you, mixing with your juices and dribbling down your inner thigh?

“Exactly,” he says, when you take too long to reply. “Now be a good little girl and go. I’ll be out soon,”

       ✰          ✰          ✰

You don’t go back into the ballroom, terrified that you’ll be ambushed by his—your—siblings again. Collapsing in one of the plush chairs, you cross your quivering legs tightly in a desperate attempt to keep the cum oozing out of you from getting on your dress.

People are looking again, probably think you’re drunk based on the way you teetered over to the seat, or the way your hair’s begun to come undone from it’s intricate updo, wispy strands framing your face.

He returns from the washroom only a few minutes later, eyes finding you immediately. There’s a stupid, smug smirk on his face, thinks it’s so cute that he fucked you so good you can’t walk, can’t even get up, that you need your niichan to help you.

A pout forms on your lips, eyebrows furrowing. “Not funny,”

“Very funny,” he chuckles as his hands snake under your armpits, hauling you to your feet. You stumble a little, bumping into him and he laughs again, wrapping a sturdy arm around your waist and propping you up against him.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,”

“Oh, niichan,” you murmur and he pauses, glancing over at you. You reach up, your thumb swiping across his nose to collect excess white powder.

“Thanks,” he breathes, winking at you. You hum noncommittally, about to rub your thumb across his white dress shirt to clean it when he catches your hand, bringing your thumb to his lips and licking it instead.

It isn’t discreet. It’s slow and deliberate, tongue sticking out of his mouth, flattening it against your thumb and dragging it up, from base to tip. You’re sure someone saw that, but you can’t be bothered to care, not when another bout of intense heat rushes to your core, forcing you to squeeze your legs together, trying in vain to keep Touya’s cum from seeping out, from your juices traveling down your leg. A soft whimper leaves your lips, breathing beginning to accelerate as your eyes bore into his, now half-lidded and dark. He holds your gaze for a moment before something snaps.

“We need to go,” he says, voice firm with no room for negotiation. “Now.”

And, God, his voice is rough and raw and fucking dripping with desire. It’s got you nodding before he’s even finished speaking, a flock of butterflies invading your stomach at the downright sinful grin he gives you in response. Such a good girl for him.

Despite the fact that you’ve barely recovered from your previous orgasm, you nearly moan at his look alone, the urge to kiss him burning through your veins and alighting your entire body in direct juxtaposition to the shivers his eyes just sent rippling across your skin. The insatiable need overwhelms your senses, and it’s dangerous. It’s dangerous, how captivated he has you, entirely wrapped around his slim finger and hanging on his every word, how you’re positive that, in that moment, you’d do anything he asked.

You wobble awkwardly in your heels, legs still shaking and having trouble keeping up with Touya’s swift pace. You’re about to ask him to slow down just a little so you don’t break an ankle, when you bump into your father.

Who just so happens to provide you with the perfect excuse to leave early. You can practically see the gears clicking into place in Touya’s mind, sapphire eyes glittering as a sinister smirk spreads across his face.

Your father’s eyes widen as he observes your appearance, strands of hair sticking to your clammy face and eyes half-lidded, chapped lips beginning to crack, leaning heavily against Touya and seemingly too weak to stand on your own.

“Hi dad,” you greet hoarsely, wincing a little at how grating your voice sounds.

He frowns immediately. “Jesus, sweetheart, are you feeling alright? You look…” he trails off, forehead wrinkling with worry.

“Oh, she’s not feeling too good,” Touya says softly, smoothly, just the right amount of concern and compassion in his tone.

“Oh no,” your father breathes, frown deepening. “That’s terrible,” he clicks his tongue with a shake of his head. “Do you think you’ll be able to tough out the rest of the reception?”

You begin to croak out an answer, but Touya speaks over you.

“She’s burning up, sir,” he informs him, and it isn’t a lie—not exactly, anyway. Technically, if your father were to feel your forehead, your body temperature would be above average, a result of Touya fucking the absolute life out of you a mere ten minutes ago.

Touya looks down at you with painfully sympathetic eyes, but you can still see that little glint of mischief, buried under all of that artificial benevolence.

“Maybe I should take her home?” Touya muses, looking back at your father, mimicking his anxiety effortlessly.

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “I think that’s the best thing to do,” his eyes dart to yours. “You really don’t look well,”

Oh, you’re sure you don’t. Resting a little more against Touya, you play up the symptoms a bit, whimpering quietly as little fingers twist in his shirt, nuzzling your face against his side. A soft noise of endearment sounds at the back of his throat, large hands readjusting your body to support you better.

Another whimper falls from your lips, but this time it isn’t from pretending you’re ill. You can feel his cum leaking out of you, slimy and cool as it drips down your inner thigh, and a sick thrill shoots through your body, abused cunt throbbing greedily.

Rei comes up behind your father then, wrapping her arms around his midsection and resting her chin on his shoulder, eyes flitting between the two of you carefully.

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

“I’m gonna bring this little princess home,” Touya explains, nodding his head at you in indication as he speaks. “She isn’t feeling very well, poor thing,”

And it’s scary, scary how terrific he is at lying, how easily he slips into that niichan role, the one painstakingly crafted and flawlessly maintained around your parents, the one he’s perfected at this point.

Rei doesn’t say much, only cooing in sympathy, remarking that it’s such a shame, but your father’s eyes soften. “Such a good big brother,” he praises, clapping a hand on Touya’s shoulder.

Touya has to consciously work to smother the smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he responds.

“You have no idea,”  

       ✰          ✰          ✰

Your parents don’t come home that night, opting to go straight to the airport from the venue, embarking on their honeymoon immediately.

It’s nice, playing house with Touya, having the entire place completely to yourselves. He’s been home an awful lot these past few weeks, more than he ever has in the past, and you get to experience things you never could before.

Every morning and every night, you cook breakfast and dinner together. You go grocery shopping together, wash the dishes together, fold the laundry together, all while stealing kisses in between; little domestic things you didn’t really do with your parents around.

You spend every night that they’re away in his bed, being fucked into his mattress, surrounded by the smell of him—campfire and Marlboros and expensive cologne—absolutely full of him in every sense.

You wake up in the mornings with his hand between your legs, playing with your cute little clit, or his cock pressed against your ass, grinding until you wake up. You have sleepy, slow morning sex while you’re both still half asleep, and it’s the most gentle he’s ever been. It consists of lazy, sloppy, messy thrusts against each other, hips meeting halfway—just grinding until he gets too impatient, though he usually lets you cum two or three times before he finally flips you over, trapping you under his body and slamming his hips into you, growling and grunting, your legs pushed up and folded on either side of you.

You get to fuck in the kitchen—not that you hadn’t before, but this time you get to take it slow. He eats you out while you sit on the counter and then fucks you into oblivion and it’s nasty, it’s disgusting, it’s so good. He cums so much that it’s leaking out of you, onto the counter, his chest heaving as he observes it with an odd little smile and a soft “fuck,”

And you get to fuck in the bathtub, that big jacuzzi in your parents room, water and bubbles sloshing around as you bounce on his cock, loud cries echoing off the walls.

It’s going great, until the last weekend of the honeymoon, a mere few days before your parents are supposed to return.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

A party.

Keigo tries to talk him out of it, tries to at least talk him out of letting you stay.

“She shouldn’t be here,” you hear Keigo hiss under his breath as guests begin to fill the house, Touya snorting in retort.

Keigo doesn’t think you should be around any of this at all—there’s no reason you should have to witness this shit, you catch him growling, gold eyes blazing. No, not a poor innocent babygirl like you, this isn’t the place for you.

But Touya’s too stubborn, too selfish to let Keigo take you out for the night. He knows he’s right, would rather not have you around these people, but he doesn’t have a fucking choice. The thought of you being out of his sight, out with another man, has anxiety rising in his throat, panic clawing at his chest.

As a result, you spend the entirety of the party being passed between Touya and Keigo. There are so many girls here, so many people you don’t know, wide eyes scanning the living room as your fingers twist in Keigo’s hoodie.

Niichan’s busy, Touya tells you, when you ask why you can’t just stay with him, when you ask where he keeps disappearing off to. Niichan’s working, don’t you know? Be a good girl and stay with Kei.

You can tell that Keigo isn’t happy about it. He coos softly when you timidly ask if he’s upset that he’s stuck babysitting you all night, in the middle of an apology when he cuts you off.

“It isn’t your fault, songbird,” he murmurs, gentle fingers tracing the curve of your face.

He’s even angrier at Touya when he takes that first girl back to his room, because the look on your face—the way it crumples accompanied by a soft, hurt sound caught at the back of your throat—kills him.

And it isn’t like you don’t know about his side whores. You do. They’re customers, he had snapped at you, the only time you had ever asked about it. But it’s an entirely different thing to actually have to witness it with your own eyes.

You can’t help the flare of jealousy that rises in your chest every time he takes a girl by the hand and leads them to his bedroom. It stings, burns, feels like a fire’s been lit in your chest, filling your lungs with dense smoke and making it hard for you to breathe.

Keigo tries his best to distract you, gentle fingers on your cheeks turning your face towards him, golden eyes softening in sympathy. He keeps you as preoccupied as he can, but it still isn’t enough. Your eyes are drawn to Touya every time he’s in the room—an automatic, instinctual reaction you couldn’t control even if you wanted to.

And every time you watch a girl giggle into his ear, or hop up with him, that fire smoldering in your chest blazes, rages, has you wheezing and hissing and pressing a palm flat against yourself, a desperate attempt to get the pain to stop.

Tomura’s here, too, though he’s sitting in a shrouded corner on his phone, the light from the screen reflected on his pale face, colours flashing intermittently. He looks absorbed with whatever he’s doing on there—probably playing a game, Keigo tells you, but why are you interested, anyway?

You don’t know, you aren’t sure, you can’t exactly put it into words. He terrifies you, but he sparks a morbid curiosity in you, too. He’s so silent, private, almost inobtrusive; and yet Touya never lets you anywhere near him. Your eyes keep flitting his way, as if trying to will something to happen, staring at him longingly and hoping he’ll look up from his phone for a split second and catch your gaze, that he’ll somehow magically get the hint that you’re desperate and dying to talk to him, and take the first step.

But it doesn’t happen.

Touya is thoroughly unimpressed each and every time he finds you sitting on Keigo’s knee or lap, leaning back against his chest as he speaks with that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, but there isn’t much he can do. The third time he returns to take you from his friend he can tell you’re beginning to get tired, can see it in your eyes, in the way you’re cuddling into a warm chest. He debates sending you to bed right then and there, but you protest, little hands tangling in Keigo’s hoodie.

“Aw, she’s alright for a little more, isn’t she?”

Touya’s sharp jaw clenches twice and he exhales slowly through his nose, eyes darting between your faces.

“Fine,” he says, although it doesn’t seem fine.

And you are exhausted, straddling Keigo’s hips, face pressed into his shoulder and hot breath evening out softly against his neck. Fingers ghost up and down your spine nonchalantly as Keigo talks softly to the people around him, his laugh vibrating against your chest and filling you with an odd, tingly sensation, a warmth that seeps through your body. You snuggle a little closer to him and he coos, readjusting you in his lap and wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you tightly to him.

“Don’t wanna go to bed with him,” you whisper, words muffled by his skin.

Keigo hums in question, squeezing you once. “Who, songbird?” he presses his lips to your ear as inconspicuously as he can, lidded gold eyes lazily scanning the room for your brother. “Touya?”

You nod sluggishly, little fingers curling in his hoodie, a silent plea not to let you go.

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Keigo says softly with a small chuckle, but it sounds off to your ears—sad, even.

“Don’t wanna,” you repeat, pout evident in your voice. “Wanna stay with you,”

You wouldn’t have noticed the way his chest hitches at those four words if you weren’t pressed flush against it. But you feel it, feel his breath getting caught in his throat, reverberating against you as he clears it quietly. Unexpected guilt sours your mouth, makes your stomach turn to a block of heavy lead, weighting your body down.

“You know you can’t, sweetheart,” he finally responds, voice cracking just a bit, right on that last word. “Don’t hurt your niichan like that, he loves you,”

No he doesn’t, you want to say, but you can’t seem to force the words from your mouth, opting to shake your head instead, eyes shutting tightly against the burn of tears.

“He does,” Keigo says, more sternly this time. “Don’t doubt that,”

But you’re not so sure. If Touya loved you—really loved you—would he have disappeared no less than three times tonight, each with a different girl, leading them into his bedroom with those dark glittering sapphire eyes while they gaze up at him like he hung the fucking moon himself?

Honestly, is that even a question you want answered?

You keep your face buried in Keigo’s chest to block it out, to keep yourself from watching your big brother as he flits around the room, handing out discreet baggies in exchange for ridiculous wads of cash and talking in hushed voices, in code, to men who look much too old to be at a house party.

Eventually, Touya returns to retrieve you, bending down and speaking softly.

“It’s time for bed, princess,” A hand pets your head, and you flinch away.

“Hey,” you feel the couch dip beside you as he sits down. “Look at me,”

You’re shaking your head, trying in vain to press even closer to Keigo, but that doesn’t stop Touya from reaching out and gripping your chin, forcing you to face him.

Crystal eyes search your face carefully, wide and alert—he always works sober, you found out. He can tell you’re upset, can see it written plain as day across your face, eyes glassy with your lips set in a deep pout, eyebrows pushed together. Exhaling harshly, he closes his eyes, fingers rubbing at his eyes in exasperation.

“C’mon,” he says lowly, wrapping a hand around your bicep and tugging as he stands.

“No,” you nearly growl, shaking your head and viciously pulling your arm from his grip.

Touya stares at you for a moment, like he cannot believe you just had the audacity to tell him no, before he speaks, an incredulous laugh bubbling up from his chest. “What did you just say?”

Keigo’s sitting up straighter now, more alert as your body subconsciously curls into his chest, cowering away from your big brother. “Y-You heard me,”

Snorting in disbelief, Touya raises his eyebrows as his tongue runs along the front of his teeth, huffing out the remnants of a chuckle before his smile drops completely, blue fire blazing in his dark eyes.

“Get up,” he snarls, hand in a vice grip around your arm as he yanks harshly. The force of it has you practically falling off Keigo’s lap, though Touya catches you roughly before your knees hit the hardwood, hoisting you up by your arm to stand on unsteady feet.

“Move.” He instructs, giving you a shove in the vague direction of his bedroom. “Now.”

His chest bumps into your back and you stumble forward, yelping softly. He keeps pushing like this, strong hand clasping your shoulder so tightly you’re sure you’ll have five little bruises in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning, driving you to walk with the sheer force of his body.

“No,” your whispering, trying desperately to turn back and look at him as you approach his door, tears flooding your eyes, frantically shaking your head and trying your damnedest to plant your feet, heels digging into the floor in an attempt to stop him from pushing you forward.

“You really gonna say no to me a second time tonight? In less than fifteen minutes? You think that’s wise, baby?”

You don’t—of course you don’t. It’s probably one of the stupidest things you could do, in this situation.

But even though you know, know this isn’t a smart move, know you shouldn’t be testing him like this—challenging him like this, especially in front of so many people—you’re powerless to control the words that tumble from your lips next.

“I don’t want to sleep in a bed that’s been infested by your whores,”

They come out as a hiss—you don’t mean for them to, but they do, voice quivering under the combined weight of your fury and fear.

That gets him to stop, entire body going rigid. Icy dread rushes through your veins, panic clawing its way up your throat, forcing uneven breaths through your parted lips. Squeezing your eyes shut tightly, you brace yourself for the impact of his bellowing voice, shoulders tensing in anticipation for the blow, for him to really snap.

Except then he starts laughing, his hand relaxing around your shoulder, spinning you around to face him as he backs you up against his bedroom door, caging you in with his body.

“That’s what this is about?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you blink twice in disbelief, prompting hot tears to finally spill over. “I—Wh-Why are you laughing?”

“Because you’re being silly, princess,”

It hurts, stings like three massive spikes just shot through your heart, causes a tiny whimper to sound from deep in your throat, chest hiccupping with pathetic little half-sobs.

“Sil…Silly?” Time feels as if it’s slowed, your sluggish brain having trouble comprehending the situation unfolding.

His lips pull down into a frown, eyes narrowing slightly as he regards you with extreme precision. “Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds far away, muffled, like you’re underwater and he’s speaking to you from above the surface. “Hey—”

Your head’s shaking again, in slow, delayed motions from side to side. “No,” you whisper. “No.”

You feel nauseous, and the proximity of his presence is only making it worse, making you feel like you could hurl at any moment. Little hands find purchase on his chest and push, stomach lurching painfully as your head spins.

He catches your wrists easily, holding them together in one large hand, his other coming to grip your chin and force you to look at him.

Thick silence settles between the two of you as Touya’s eyes study your face slowly, noting the tears flowing steadily down your face, the way your breath stutters with sobs you’re so desperately trying to hold back, the way your entire body trembles.

“Are you seriously upset over this?” he asks, laughing a little.

Your gaze holds his, tears casting a thick, gleaming screen across your eyes.

“Yes, Touya,” you whisper, wishing your voice didn’t sound as small and weak as it does. “I’m seriously upset,”

That’s the first time you’ve used his first name—just his first name, void of any honorific—in a long, long time.

It gets him to pause again, his usual and well-worn mask of passivity melting away for just a second as shock crosses his face. Then his features are hardening again, brows knitting together and creasing his forehead, eyes narrowing into near slits.

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” he spits harshly, the words cutting into your flesh. “You know none of them mean a thing,”

“Then why do you fuck around with them?” you shoot back almost immediately, voice fading into a whisper.

He glares at you, as if you’re wasting his precious time with such childish questions when he’s told you this already, and you can see the blue fire simmering in his eyes.

“It’s late,” he says curtly, voice sounding off to you. “You need sleep.”

You try to fight him on it, but he’s too quick, reflexes too swift, and he shoves you into his room, door slamming shut less than a second later.

Tears obstruct your vision as you stumble around, finally finding his desk chair and collapsing heavily. You don’t even bother trying to open the door, know it’s locked without having to hear that soft click! as the lock turns into place.

He’s right—it is late, well past three in the morning, and you are utterly exhausted, drawing your knees up to your chest and curling up in the plush chair.

But no matter how tired you are, you absolutely refuse to sleep in his bed. The party’s dying down, you can hear Touya’s muffled farewells as guests begin to leave while you fade in and out of consciousness.

You think you might’ve heard Keigo say something, might’ve caught the word stay, might’ve detected the annoyance laced in Touya’s voice as he responds, but you’re too worn out to reflect on it.

At some point in the night, Touya reenters his room, chuckling a little at your antics and carrying you to his bed.

The move wakes you, and you weakly protest—no, you don’t want to be in this bed, please, just let you go sleep in your own bed—but Touya ignores you entirely, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you tightly to his chest.

It’s then that the tears start up again, salt staining your puffy cheeks, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

“Shh, baby, shh,” he hushes you, nimble fingers combing through your hair. “I’m here, right here,”

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Touya over these past few weeks, it’s that he becomes marginally softer in the middle of the night. Your fingers twist in his t-shirt, trying in vain to pull yourself impossibly closer, Touya making a soft noise akin to a coo in the back of his throat.

“I’ve got you, niichan’s got you,”

You hate it. You hate that he’s the only person you want comforting you right now, as you lay in his bed, surrounded by the smell of cheap perfume and clinging in desperation to him, needing him close, needing his body heat warming you and his hands on you. You hate the way your sobs come harder the more he soothes you, the heavy ache in your chest almost bruising, crushing your lungs and making it near impossible to breathe.

But you crave his comfort nonetheless. It’s a special kind of comfort, one that’s difficult to describe, one that only comes from the love and adoration and protection of a big brother.

Why can’t you just be mine? You want to ask, the words searing into your tongue, refusing to leave your lips.

“You’re gonna make yourself sick, angel,” he chastises softly, brushing your hair away from your clammy forehead as another shuddery sob rips through your chest.

“I want you,” you say instead, words garbled.

“You have me, baby,”

“All of you,”

His chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, head turning away and gazing up at the ceiling. “You have all of me, princess,”

There’s something in his voice that makes you stop, pause, his words reverberating in your mind. He sounds almost like…like he’s upset over this fact, like he wishes that you didn’t have all of him.

You want to press for more, to probe and prod and pick away at it, but exhaustion finally claims you, rendering you incapable of speech, your tongue moving sluggishly in your mouth as you desperately try to form words.

       ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s grey when you wake, only a few hours later, eyes sticky and dry from lack of sleep. Your head is pounding, feels like it’s been stuffed full of cotton, lips cracked and dry from dehydration, and a painful lump forms almost immediately in your throat when you get a whiff of sickly sweet artificial vanilla, then another of intense, synthetic citrus.

The tears are starting up again, collecting in your eyes and clouding your vision. It makes you nauseous, makes your skin crawl and your chest burn as your throat fills with acid. The tears sting, but you blink hard to keep them at bay. You will not cry, not in front of him, not in his bed surrounded by the remnants of those other girls, not again. You refuse to give them the satisfaction.

You spring up quickly, halfway through climbing over Touya’s body when a strong hand latches onto your wrist.

“No,” Touya mumbles, face half buried in his pillow. “Stay,”

“No,” you whisper, pulling yourself free from his grasp and hurrying out of his room. You can smell them on your clothes, on your skin, and it makes you want to scrub your body under scalding water until it’s raw.

Everything hurts—it hurts so much it feels like your chest is collapsing in on itself, like you can’t breathe, gasping for air as you stumble onto the porch, nearly tripping over your own feet as you stop and realize you have nowhere to go.

Touya has cut you off from all of your friends at this point; any spare time you had was now claimed by him.

And that’s exactly why he doesn’t bother rolling out of bed to follow after you, isn’t worried about you going anywhere, knows you can’t leave him, no matter how badly you want to. No, not a precious little girl like you, with nowhere to find refuge.

You sit down heavily on one of the front steps, vision so blurry with tears you’re barely able to make out the figure advancing towards you. They’re finally escaping your eyes, rolling down your cheeks as you blink twice, trying to clear them. Your chest stutters under the force of a sob you’re desperately trying to hold back, clapping both hands over your mouth in an attempt to silence it.

“Hey—oh no,” Keigo breathes the moment your watery eyes look up at him. You squeeze your eyes shut, causing more tears to leak out as your shoulders shake, whole body trembling from the force of your sobs, poorly muffled by your palms.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” he’s saying as he rushes to sit down next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders tightly.

Keigo’s the closest thing you have to a friend now. And really, you should be embarrassed by the way you practically fling yourself into his arms, burying your face in his chest as your hands form fists in his t-shirt. He’s a little startled by your borderline violent reaction, but he recovers quickly, arms encircling your body and pulling you against him.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, one hand rubbing your back while the other pets your hair. “Hey, it’s alright, I’m here,”

And you hate the way his words almost directly mirror Touya’s, the way his low sultry voice turned gentle and soft as he carded deft fingers through your hair echoing almost painfully in your head. But Keigo lets you cry, lets you stain his t-shirt with salty tears and saliva until you’ve got nothing left, never stopping his compassionate motions.

“You…Stayed the night?” you pull back a little, the fact that he’s still here, blonde hair all mussed up from sleep, finally dawning on you.

“Well, yeah,” he says, a little bashful as he looks away and ducks his head. “Wanted to make sure you were alright, s’all. Last night was…” he trails off, frowning. “What happened?”

Golden eyes search your face, his forehead crinkling in concern. A beat of silence passes.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me, but…” kind fingers move to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You’ll feel better if you let it out, promise. And, not to brag or anything, but I’m preee-tty good at this kind’a stuff,” he chuckles a little.

“Got in a fight,” you whisper, eyes staring intently at the brick wall behind his shoulder as your chin trembles slightly, memories of last night flashing through your mind.

“A fight? With Touya?” Keigo moves his head a little, forcing his face into your field of vision and catching your face with tender fingers when you try to look away.

“Yeah,” tears are beginning to well up in your eyes as you think about it, the sheer fact that you’re in a fight making your heart feel like it’s ripping itself to shreds. A chaotic storm of emotions brews in your chest, switching mercilessly and swirling together so quickly that you can’t even tell what they are. Your insides feel all jumbled up, and trying to decipher what the heck’s going on only makes your head ache more.

They torment you, a deep sense of anguish finally settling at the core. You’re confused, livid at Touya for being such a jackass; jealous, because you want him all to yourself; heartbroken, because you want—need—his approval, desperate to hear him tell you that you’re his good little baby girl.

You want to be his good little baby girl.

But it isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair, sweetheart. Get used to it, he had told you once, when you had complained about something so silly, so simple as him eating the last ice cream cookie sandwich (he made it up to you, of course, telling you he wanted to taste your cream—such a cheeseball—and making you cum three times before taking you out to buy more).

No, it isn’t fair, but you don’t care. You want him to be yours, too.

Keigo tsks, bringing your attention back to him, mouth set in a hard line as sad eyes watch you. “What was it about?”

“I-It…H-He—” a shuddery breath cuts you off, and Keigo draws you into his arms, holding you against his chest as the sobs start up again, sobs that make it feel like your body’s about to tear apart, desperately clutching Keigo to try and keep yourself together.

“Oh, songbird,” he coos, rocking you gently. “Is it…Um, the other girls?”

“Yes,”

“But you know you’re his favourite, right?”

“D-Does it even matter, if he’s still fucking them anyway?” you ask, pulling back suddenly as hot anger flashes through you. “Why does he need them? Am I—” a sob cuts you off, but you swallow it, persevering. “Am I not good enough?” your voice breaks on the last word, fading into a whisper, big teary eyes scanning his face almost frantically, seeking an answer in his expression.

Keigo blinks, surprised by your sudden brashness, then gives you a small, sad smile. “Only he can answer that, sugarplum,” he whispers, using the pad of his thumb to catch a stray tear and wipe it across your cheekbone. “But just because he’s fucking around, doesn’t mean that you can’t, too,”

Your head tilts to the side, brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine,” Keigo shrugs, leaning back a little. “He definitely deserves it, for making an angel such as yourself so upset,”

You sniffle a little, wiping at your nose with the paw of your sweater as you consider the prospect.

“Y’know, it technically isn’t cheating, since you guys aren’t in any sort of official relationship to begin with,” Keigo reminds you gently, nudging just a tiny bit more.

It isn’t right—you know it isn’t. You’ve never been one to fight fire with fire, often preferring to avoid conflict and drama, but you’re so hurt; you’re so angry at him—angry at the way he reacted, as if it was you in the wrong, angry at the fact that he doesn’t even seen to care about your feelings on the issue, because he knows you’ll come running back either way, angry because he’s right, as evident in the way pathetically clung to him last night—that all you want to do in that moment is cause him a shred of the pain he’s causing you.

It’s an impulsive decision that has you pulling out your phone, quickly scrolling through your contacts, thumb jabbing at Tomura’s name—Touya had given you his number for emergencies only—before you have time to think it through, before you have time to regret it.

Tiny thumbs fly across the keyboard, your heart pounding in your chest as adrenaline accelerates your breathing.

Hey. Let’s hang out.

Keigo inhales through his teeth next to you, and your eyes dart to him in surprise, as if you had forgotten he was there.

“Well,” he begins, though his voice sounds odd to you—unlike his usually nonchalant, happy-go-lucky manner. “That’s, uh, definitely one that’s gonna hurt him, songbird,”

You look back down at your phone to see Tomura typing a response.

Yeah, definitely. Pick a day.

“Good.”

[sweetberrysmooch]

HC: And There Was Only One Bed (Affectionate) [pt. 1]

(Zzzzzzz.....)

(This is unfortunately gonna have to be in several parts, mainly so I can get something out to you guys while still being able to work on the rest ^^)

Basic sleeping hcs with ya boys, and sort of... smell hcs? Idk, I got into a mood and couldn’t stop writing about smells so here it goes lol.

Characters: Dream, Techno, Wilbur.

Warnings: There’s mentions of nightmares in Dream’s and a emotional breakdown in Wilbur’s, but that’s it.

Song Recommendation: Dream A Little Dream Of Me- The Mamas & Papas.

Up Next- Quackity, George, and Bad. [pt. 2]

Hope you have nice day today <3 Enjoy!

Dream:

Depending on where you’ve fallen asleep, Dream will kind of work with your position before he lets himself relax.

He prefers it when the two of you are in your bed, with him near the closest door and on his back and with you sleeping against his side, arm stretched over his middle. It’s a good way for him to be between any intruders that may come and to still have you close. But no matter where you are, he has to make sure that he can protect you before he lets his guard down.

Another position he likes is when you’re tucked against his chest under his chin, sitting on his lap or curled up together in bed. Being tall with a broad chest means he makes a pretty good pillow, so use those puppies when you can 👀👀

Smells like a forest, most times. Almost like wild honey, but it’s a very delicate smell. You don’t notice it until your first hug, when you were upset and crying and he pulled you to into his arms so you could hide your face. Now you smell it everywhere he is, in your house, on your bed, even your clothes smell like him. Neither of you say anything, but he slowly begins leaving his soap at your house. Just in case, y’know, if you ever run out.

Other times, when he seems a little more... off, he smells like the beginning to a storm, like ozone and petrichor. Those days he doesn’t speak that much, and keeps you at arms length. He sits quietly and watches your doors and windows with obvious intent, and is gone before morning. You don’t think he even moved from his spot throughout the night, much less slept there. You don’t see him for a few days afterwards.

Usually he remains as still as a log, but sometimes he has fidgeting fits where he twitches and grumbles to himself. Sometimes you’ll even catch him speaking full-on sentences, though they don’t make much sense. Mostly normal out of place stuff, but once you heard him talking about someone called DreamXD, and figured you’d ask him about his oc the next morning.

He has nightmares often too. It’s hard to tell when he’s asleep but he’ll wake up sweating and trembling and lean over you to check you’re still breathing. He won’t ever tell you what they’re about, but it isn’t hard to guess when he buries his nose into your hair and holds you tightly like you might leave him.

If the two of you aren’t sleeping in your house or completely alone, he won’t sleep until you are. Sleep loss doesn’t quite affect him like it does others until after a pretty long time of not doing it, to which he’ll become surlier and more angry until he eventually just clocks out. He wakes up extremely well rested 2 days later and the process repeats. Sleeping at your house is the closest he gets to proper sleeping, and it’s the only time he can ever feel truly relaxed when doing so.

When he can’t fall asleep, he goes straight to watching you. He gently plays with your hair and fiddles with your fingers, relishing in how unmarred and soft they are in comparison to his much rougher, bigger ones. It’s a sure fire way to get him to mellow out and relax, and he finds that sleep ends up coming much quicker.

(Dream wakes up in warmth one night, with rain knocking on window panes instead of what ever shelter he could scrape together and a fire crackling far off. He deduces immediately that he’s in someones house, and it doesn’t take long before he notices the owner, asleep in his lap. 

Your legs are slung over the arm of the padded chair he’s sitting in, a book (one of his own, he acknowledges, an older version of a well known storybook that he has memorized already) loosely held onto in your hands, and your head rests on his shoulder. 

He expects to feel worried soon, the fear of you getting close to him reappearing to ruin another close moment. But it never comes. All he can feel is the safety and comfort you always emanate, driving away his tension and soothing his mind. He closes his eyes, and falls back asleep.)

Techno:

Techno is very very touch starved ^^; While he may not be the only one on this list that is, Techno is definitely the most…. shy about it. He won’t ever directly ask to sleep next to you, and will actively try to avoid that. He’s afraid of making you uncomfortable but also of being close to you in general? It’s an odd mix of emotions, like eating mints and a hot pepper at the same time and then feeling hell fire burn inside of your body. Anytime the two of you have to sleep in the same room as each other, he will immediately offer you the better spot and go find a chair to sleep in, and he won’t accept a no.

The most you can do is make the choice to go sleep next to him. It’ll weird him out a little before becoming overwhelmingly endearing when he processes the fact that you would rather sleep next to him than somewhere more pleasant. When you’re asleep however, he’ll pick you up and move you to the place where he wanted you to be. He’ll drape his massive cape over your body and (after assuring himself six different times that you are in fact asleep) softly press a kiss to the crown of your head. If he runs his thumb over your cheek once, then thats his business.

Later on in your relationship though, after he relaxes and settles a bit, it’s pretty unusual if you don’t fall asleep next to him. He still won’t outright ask for it, but he kinda just hopes that when he starts his nightly routine before bed that you’ll just join him without needing to be asked. Having you there helps him sleep better, you act as both a silencer for the voices and someone to hold close when he’s at his most vulnerable.

When sleeping in bed together, he prefers to pull you close and curl around you in a half pulled fetus position. He’s usually a heavy sleeper, and actively clings on to you when asleep. It's an impressive feat if you can break free from his strong arms while they’re wrapped around your middle, and you leaving inevitably wakes him up. He’ll go searching for you then, barely awake, just to pull you back to bed to be his teddy bear again.

And speaking of the voices, while generally they’re loud and insistent, occupying his mind more than he does at times, their reaction to you baffles him so much. In place of the usual screaming is gentle mumbling, quiet whispers about how nice you look today or how pink and soft your cheeks look. It’s a welcome relief, and no matter how he hard he ignores the fact that he’s wrapped around your finger, he’s glad to know they care for you as much as he does.

He also smells pretty nice, it’s this natural musk he has mixed with a muted minty scent. The mint smell comes from this fancy soap Phil had gotten him a while back that he hadn’t given much thought about until you said something. Techno’s already a clean kind of guy, but after hearing your praises of his smell he almost begs Phil to get him more.

Snores, but in a quiet reserved way. Sometimes he makes soft cute noises, like little happy sounds when you snuggle into him more, or bashful grumbles when you kiss him before bed.

(Sunlight flickers through the blinds of Techno’s room, streaking across your face and waking you from sleep. Sighing quietly, you lift your head a little and stretch as best you can while being held in place at his side, before snuggling back into your spot, fully content to stay there for the rest of the morning. 

As you enjoy the moment, you savor the gentle snores that rumble in his chest, his strong heart thumping beneath your ear, and the way his hand kneads your hip as he wakes. 

‘It’s a good morning to sleep in.’ Your mind says quietly, and with how he rolls over to face you and kiss your forehead, it seems Techno thinks so too.)

Wilbur:

The way Wilbur sleeps really depends on what Wilbur it is.

To start off though, a few general things. He’s a neat sleeper, doesn’t snore, doesn’t move a whole lot, and smells pretty nice too. His smell also came from a fancy soap he got from Phil, but it smelled like sugar and lemons and it was a lot heavier than Techno’s. He would always take showers before bed because he knew you liked how it smelled, and often he would offered to share it with you (so that you would smell like him). Once he was exiled, he didn’t have the liberty of bathing as frequently as he used to, and he stopped using the fancy soap because he thought it felt tainted. He’d end up smelling like stale air and gunpowder, though he’d never tell you what the smell was from.

With sleep, if it’s pre-Pogtopia Wilbur, you get a fairly standard sleeping arrangement of him crawling up into between your legs to flop down on your stomach with a sigh, waiting impatiently for you to get comfortable and curl around him like you usually do. Your hand comes to cradle his head closer to your chest and he nuzzles into your collarbone before falling asleep near immediately. The two of you wake up tangled completely together and immensely comfortable. Wilbur used to sleep in on days like that, quietly savoring the peace that came with you and your generous hands that would slowly brush through his sleep-messed hair. Even after the election, when he starts descending into madness, the memories serve as a final comfort to him.

Post-Pogtopia Wilbur (Vilbur, if you will) is a stark contrast to his old self. He’s more bitter, more reserved, and even more paranoid. He doesn’t sleep with you anymore, at least never consistently, and the only times he does is when he’s so emotionally fraught that he passes out from the stress and lack of sleep midway through you trying to calm him down. You usually end up just kind of holding him close, praying that when he wakes up you can settle him before he works himself up again. You fall asleep like that, tired and restless.

(He rouses from sleep a few hours later, curled up in your arms and still exhausted from the breakdown. Your chest rises and falls slowly behind him, face smushed into his hair and completely relaxed. 

For a moment, all is calm again. He can pretend that it’s just how it used to be before the election had happened, that the two of you are back at home, happy and stable. 

His hands tremble when they reach for yours, and he grants himself the freedom to cry while you’re still sleeping, ignoring the fact that the next day will be just like the last, and that nothing has changed.)

See you next time :D

[shoutaaizawas]

↳  keigo takami x fem!reader → ❝nest❞

summary: hawks is acting odd again but you’re having a harder time figuring this one out. it’s not until he takes you out for a date night that it all makes sense. word count: 1.8k+ tags/warnings: fluff, hawks being birdy again a/n: another one in the series of hawks acting like a bird, can be read as a sequel to ‘shiny things’ and ‘preening’ but also by itself

Hawks was at it again. His odd behavior was becoming less concerning at this point. This time you were concerned for a different reason, it didn't seem like it was bird-related this time. Normally Hawks was at work that wasn’t unusual but there had been a few occasions where you tried to get a hold of him and couldn’t so you called someone you thought he’d be with at work only to find out he wasn’t working at all.

It was very rare for Hawks to not be working, if he wasn’t he was usually with you. You tried hard to not jump to conclusions. You had been dating for a while now and it was serious but you still had separate lives. There was nothing wrong with him doing something and not telling you.

Then there were his wings. They were red, well they were always red but now there were even more vibrant if that was possible and they always seemed to be even more puffed up around you. You couldn’t think of a reason for it and it didn't seem related to the previous concern at all.

On top of that he was being clingy, not that you saw that as a bad thing. You cherished any moment you could spend with him and if he wanted to spend it glued to your side even better.

In the past, it felt easier to piece together his odd behavior but this time you were struggling to find an answer.

It was a late afternoon and you were on the couch with your head in Keigo’s lap. You read a book you had been meaning to catch up on when Kegio started to ask you questions.

“What’s your favorite style of houses?” He questioned, his hand brushing along your hair soothingly.

“Hmm?” You questioned looking up from your book. That was odd. “I don’t know. I guess something simple but not too simple that it’s boring. Some character is always nice.”

“Okay.” He said thoughtfully before he started to trace his fingertips along your arm.

That was an odd question but Keigo wasn’t a stranger to odd questions.

“What about things in a house you like?” He said after some time in silence passed.

You looked up again over your book.

“Hmm… Natural light is good. High ceilings. A big bathtub. A nice yard.” You answered.

“Okay.” He said not elaborating.

That seemed to be an isolated event, his odd questions about housing. It was out of nowhere but eventually, you forgot about it.

That was until Keigo texted you to get changed and that he would pick you up by six. It wasn’t unusual for him to surprise you with a night out but as you pulled up to a house you weren’t sure what was going on.

It was beautiful, not too close to any neighbors and nice green landscaping around the house. You walked up the walkway with Keigo, he opened the door without knocking. You gave him an odd look but he didn’t elaborate.

Stepping into the house it was even more beautiful on the inside. It had high ceilings, big windows, and a skylight in a big space that was the living room. The living room was filled with nice furniture that all complemented each other perfectly, it was all just your favorite style and colors too.

Keigo took you by the hand walking you into the back yard. It too was beautiful, a big patio surrounded by tropical greenery was the first thing you saw. Looking out further into the yard there was a pool with stonework surrounding it with a gazebo on the other side.

In that gazebo, there was a table with candles and flowers on it as well as plates. He led you over there, pulling out the chair for you.

“This is lovely, Kei.” You said. “What’s the occasion?”

“Do I have to have an occasion to spoil you?” He teased as he sat down across from you. There was soft music playing in the background to compliment everything, the sound of the small waterfall in the pool was a nice addition.

“I suppose not but this is a bit different.” You said. Dinner at a random beautiful house that felt like it was something out of your Pinterest boards was a weird choice for a date night.

A man walked up to the table nearly scaring you with his presence as he placed down food in front of the two of you. It was your favorite meal. Something was going on but you couldn’t quite figure it out.

You brushed it away, you would find out eventually there was no point in not enjoying what was in front of you. The two of you started eating and talking about your day like normal.

It was nice, the weather was perfect and the atmosphere even more so. After dinner, he stood up.

“Do you want to see the house?” He asked. You still weren’t sure why you were here but you loved a good house tour.

“Yeah.” You said with an excited smile.

Keigo led you back to the house into the large living room. The room beside it was the kitchen. It also had high ceilings and a lot of space. Everything in it looked brand new. The marble countertops were a nice finish to it all.

“This is the kitchen.” He said. “Then there are four bedrooms.”

Keigo led you down an open hallway, every door he passed he would open and show you. The three rooms were empty but had flooring you liked. The last door was to the master bedroom. It was big and had furniture in it, you noted that you loved the style of everything in here as well. There was an amazing master bath, it had a giant tub and all the amenities you could think of that a bathroom could have.

“This is a beautiful house,” You said. “Why are we here?” You couldn’t help but ask.

“Here, let me show you the garden.” He said taking you by the hand again, he didn’t answer your question but you went with it figuring he would eventually explain. He pulled you towards the yard again but this time to another part of the yard. The greenery increased and it felt like something out of a movie.

The plants were everywhere but no overgrown that you couldn’t go through. It was stunning. You looked over to Keigo and saw him looking at you with a big smile.

“Do you like it?” He asked looking a bit nervous.

“I love it. All of it’s beautiful.” You said. “I guess I’m just kind of confused.”

Keigo took your hands in his looking at you intensely.

“I love you, more than anything. You know that already.” He said seriously. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, you make me complete. You make my life so much better than I ever thought it could be. I love you and I want to see you happy, I want to make you happy more than anything else.”

You watched him carefully as he poured out his heart to you. His words made your stomach flip.

“You put up with me and all the baggage I come with-” He started but you stopped him.

“I don’t put up with it, I gladly bear it just like you do the same for me.” You told him. There was no ‘putting up’ with Keigo. You loved him and you were more than happy to be there for him through it all.

“Sorry,” He said with a small laugh. “You gladly bear my baggage and all the weird things I do. I mean I was giving you the most random things as gifts and you never batted an eye, you just took it and appreciated it because it was from me. You don’t just accept who I am you go out of your way to return my affections the same way I show them. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

It was impossible not to tear up at his words. You squeezed his hands gently not wanting to interrupt him.

“Will you marry me?” He said reaching into his pocket and pulling out a ring. It was beautiful, it was rose gold with an opal and so faintly that you almost didn’t see it there were small wings engraved into the band.

“Keigo, yes.” You said. His wings puffed up in excitement as he rushed forward to hug you, the ring still in his hands. He held onto you so tight, his face in your shoulder and his wings wrapped around you.

“Oh, the ring.” He said with a small laugh as he let go. He gently took your hand in his and slid the ring on.

“I love you so much.” You said hugging him again.

The two of you stood there in the garden in bliss, forgetting the world around you for a few moments.

“Wait, so why are we at this house?” You questioned still not fitting that into the night’s events.

“Answer this first, do you like it?” He questioned.

“I love it, it’s like everything I would want in a house.” You said.

“Well, that’s good because it’s yours.” He said. You looked at him in confusion.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“I bought it, for you.” He said as if it made sense. “I mean I want to marry you, we need somewhere to live. Both of our apartments are nice and all but you deserve something far better.”

“You just went and bought a house.” You said.

“Yeah, and I had somethings changed to fit what you like.” He said. “I may have looked on your Pinterest boards.” He said sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

Suddenly, it all clicked once again. His bird tendencies were back at it again. He wanted you to be his ‘mate’ and so he had done what any good bird did, he made you a nest. Although in his own way he bought you a nest and dressed it up in a way he thought you would like. The clinginess, the vibrant plumage from before, it was all a part of making himself appealing as possible to you so you would accept.

Your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t expected these tendencies when you started dating him but they were so romantic and endearing you could never complain.

“I didn’t decorate everything, I figured you would like to do some of that yourself-”

Keigo was stopped as you wrapped your arms around him and kissed him, hands tangling into his wind-swept blond locks that you loved so much.

“It’s perfect.” You said. “You’re perfect. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."

taglist:    @sugarmaplewings-fics @lilkiwisfinest @ewwis-but-more-otaku @kandy1410 @moonlightaangel @winnies-headcannons @bkglovesyou @paintedr0ses1 @toobsessedsstuff @spellboundxizi @ourladyofseijoh  @x0doodlebug0x @katsushimaa @mooncademia @moon-write @todominica @why-so-red @kvichisaki @seijoh

[loveanoutcast]

“Games” | Eren Yeager

Part Four | NSFW Content

TW: nsfw content, smut, public sex, intercourse during pregnancy, lactation, slapping, degradation, spitting, oral receiving (male), cumshot, creampie, squirting, slight mommy/daddy kink, voyeurism

Pairing: Eren Yeager (Jaeger) x Fem!Reader, Mentions of Levi Ackerman x Reader (Brief)

Other: Gamer!Eren, married, modern au, teacher!reader, administrator!reader, jealousy, insecurity, original characters

Word count: 13,104

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine (Coming soon!!)

Well, hell. This is the longest part of this series by far but it’s honestly all the smut scenes for me. This is going to be like twenty levels of filthy brainrot and I am not even sorry. These parts get dirtier and dirtier and it just is what it is. Let me know what you all think, I really do appreciate any feedback. This will have a part five as well as a part six that's OPTIONAL to read as it might have a fantasy of Levi x Reader x Eren but maybe not because this was just suppose to be Eren x Reader married trope. Let me know what you all think, I seriously appreciate any and all feedback and it has been so so fun coming up with this short series!

Also the original character is made up and not a reflection of anyone I know, I pulled the first name out of an old Disney show I watched and the last name was more of a play of words, you’ll see. Anyway, thank you all for enjoying this, I try my hardest to update as soon as I can.

At twenty-four weeks pregnant, you felt like you were on top of the world. You had a great job as an educator and administrator for your city’s education board, your classes went swimmingly with the kids being excited to see their favorite teacher become a mom (There was an odd one here and there who cried to you about their fear of you not having enough space in your heart to love them, something you would immediately dismiss and ease their worries about), your family and friends were as supportive as ever and continuously showered you with encouragement, and you had Eren Yeager as your husband. He was everything you needed and wanted in a partner and you couldn’t imagine what you were before him and how you had managed to have gone through so much of your life without him. There were still moments where you two quarreled and your late-night cravings had resulted in him having morning grumpiness more than once, but he was attentive to your needs. He always listened to your complaints and every night before bed he would express his love for your small family through words before making love to you over and over again.

Yes, you felt lucky indeed. Ever since the moment you had morning sickness all those weeks ago, Eren had insisted on spending as much time with you as his own busy schedule would allow. Lunch dates were now a daily routine, sometimes you would go to his office and other times he would meet you at the school. Today was a bit different as Eren finally had a day off from his often-overwhelming schedule, you still had a few morning classes and one afternoon meeting to get through, but you promised him you would be finished by three in the afternoon so that the two of you could go into town to shop for your outfits for the upcoming wedding of Historia and Ymir. As you found yourself waking up a bit later than usual, your husband watched you in bemusement. Your feet made the cutest pitter patter noises on the floor, your stomach slowed your movements and every time you threw another article of clothing that now fit too small onto your shared bed, Eren’s smile grew a little wider from where he was sat up against the headboard.

Right now, you were a sight to behold, luckily some of your skirts had elastic bands and the pleated midi skirt swayed easily on your new figure. The problem was finding a blouse that didn’t hug your chest too tightly or fell too high on your large bump. Your hair was still in disarray and Eren bit his lip when you stretched to the upper rack to reach for another shirt. Seeing you barefoot, pregnant, hair crazy, and only a bra on your upper half was enough to get him excited. There was also the fact that your breasts had grown in size, the cups of your bra barely able to contain them as they were practically spilling out. There was also the pressing issue that made you let out an annoyed groan as you looked down at the pretty cotton material.

“What is it princess?” Eren asked from bed, looking over to him, you puckered your lips a bit. He never wore shirts to bed, so seeing his finely muscular chest which was still littered in small love bites from your constant need to mark him made you flush in embarrassment and heat.

You felt a bit shy in voicing the issue, you loved being pregnant but lately the symptoms had been slightly kicking your ass and today was no different. Turning to face him, you gestured to your chest. He could finally see the fresh spots of dampness near the center of the cups and his eyebrows creased in worry before raising in surprise, you also noted the splash of pink that coated his cheeks.

Sighing, you said, “My breasts are leaking. The milk is coming in and I guess it’s too much.”

Your husband continued to switch his glances from your chest to your face, the green in his eyes deepening and you didn’t miss the way he licked his bottom lip. You felt a slight shiver travel down your spine when you saw his hands clench and unclench, the thought of them softly rubbing your breasts brought on a wave of neediness. You knew it wasn’t really milk that sat in your breast yet, but more of the colostrum that comes before the milk and the thin liquid had been making itself known more and more by the second as you imagined your husband’s mouth helping ease the wetness. It seemed that your husband shared the same idea. Getting up from his seated position, Eren pushed the discarded tops to the side before sitting on the corner of the large bench in front of your bed. He beckoned you over with two fingers and you moved without thought. Standing between his parted knees, pretty green eyes peered into yours.

“Any way I can help you?” He asked slowly, the seductive tone in his deep voice made you shift on your feet.

You nodded and let out a gasp when his fingers tapped the side of your thigh.

“Use your words, angel.”

Clearing your throat, you let your hands rest on his broad shoulders, and you knew your face was beet red.

“Can daddy help me feel better?”

Eren hummed, smiling up at you in that boyish way that drove you mad. He reached for the top of your skirt and your eyebrows creased in confusion, the little sound you let out made Eren stop his movements before he explained,

“It’s a pretty skirt, angel. I don’t want it to get ruined.”

You nodded, understanding as you stepped out of the material watching as he gently tossed it to the other side of the bed. Using his shoulders for balance before you stood before him in only your panties and bra. Next Eren let his hands wander, fingers dancing across your stretched skin and leaving raised goosebumps in its wake. He kissed your tummy, rubbing your sides and you let your eyes follow his movements, only lightly giggling when his dark locks tickled you here and there.

Letting your panties fall to your ankles, Eren was quick to lower the top of his briefs, his dick was fully erect as it sat heavy between his legs.

“Sit on my lap.” He instructed, helping you straddle him, and you became increasingly aware of how big you’ve gotten as your baby bump fell snug between both your bodies. The cups of your bra barely grazed his chest and you ensured that your knees were as forward as your body was allowed so you wouldn’t fall off when you finally leaned back to look at him.

Eren gave you another smile and a soft kiss to your lips, gently biting down on the bottom one before kissing your jaw as well. His hands went to the top of your bra straps, bringing them down your shoulders slowly before he wrapped his arms completely around the top of your back. As your chests pressed together, you felt the excess liquid trail from your bra between your bodies, but your bump still let you let out a huff as you couldn’t be as close to your husband as before. Judging by the hooded eyes Eren was sporting, you figured he didn’t mind. Your breaths mixed together heavily as your faces were closer than before and you quickly pushed your mouth down onto his. Your tongue running across his lips and the inside of his mouth and you felt his fingers working the hooks of the back of the pretty cotton material.

You moaned into his mouth when you felt the relief of release when he succeeded. Leaning back, you were quick to discard of the heavily damped fabric, your breasts falling heavy and you sighed when Eren took them into his hands. His palms worked the swollen globes in circles, fingers pinching your puffy pretty nipples which caused drops of the thin liquid to fall.

“Oh fuck,” Eren groaned, “They look so fucking good filled up.”

“Augh,” You moaned, head tilting upwards, “Please my dearest.”

Eren kissed the top of your breasts, looking up once more at you and noticing how your eyes had become half-closed in pleasure.

“Is daddy hungry?”

Eren’s head bobbed up and down, his hands pushing your breasts together as he put his face in between. You couldn’t help but giggle a little bit as he motorboated you.

“Can daddy suck on mommy’s tits?” He asked so sweetly that you felt like you could come apart right then and there.

You couldn’t help but grind on him, he was solid and hard as hell from what the two of you were doing. Your slick was wetting him, and you let out a sharp gasp when the tip of his dick slid into you partially. You let out a loud moan of his name when Eren’s hands gripped your hips and pushed himself fully into your heat. He gave you a few moments to adjust to his thick girth, busying himself by kissing and rubbing you everywhere, he raised his hips slightly, giving you the smallest of thrusts that made your head feel fuzzy.

“Please.” You begged in almost a broken cry. It was all it took before Eren latched his mouth onto one of your nipples, the sound of him suckling on them filled the large room. You humped him while he fed, the squelching sounds from where you were connected only made you flush at how wet and ready you were for his dick. The warmth of his mouth made you feel dizzy, his tongue flicking your nipple up and down while the other was being rubbed by his hand. You could feel yourself getting more  damp with how hot you felt, and you almost lost it when you looked down just to see that his eyes had closed, and small dribbles of the liquid fell through the sides of his mouth.

You let out a small click of irritation from your tongue, “Daddy’s a messy eater.”

His heavy lashes fluttered open to look up at you and a small pop was let out when he released your nipple, his mouth was tightly closed and looked a bit full as you smiled at him. Giving him a particularly hard thrust, you saw him close his eyes briefly, the pads of his fingers digging into your waist.

“Open.” You instructed.

His lips parted and you saw the pool of liquid immediately leak out and slide down onto his neck and chest. Eren leaned forward and let some of it fall onto your stomach. He looked up at you, one hand grabbing you by the back of your head as he brought you into a sloppy kiss. You tasted the liquid as you two swapped spit and his tongue felt silky as he battled yours for dominance, you broke it first as you took a deep breath and cooed when you saw the thin trail of saliva and milk connecting your mouths before breaking. His Adam’s apple bobbing hard as he swallowed the rest and you attempted to clamp your legs closed on him. He switched to your other breast, repeating the same movements but this time he sucked harder and enticed louder moans from you. You thrusted down onto him faster, and the vibrations from his own moans could be felt on your sensitive nipples.

Feeling yourself near, Eren was quick to grab you under the thighs, he bounced you on his dick while making sure to keep feeding from your leaking breasts. Your tongue lolled out from the sensations, not even caring that you yourself were drooling. Your hands were hanging loosely on his shoulders, the way he held you tighter was appreciated. As well as the view of his ripped muscular body flushing red and hot by the mind-blowing sex you two were having. You could feel the thin excess liquid from his messy eating dripping down your chest and stomach, pooling between the two of you and you put your head back in pleasure once more.

“Daddy! Daddy!” You kept repeating, “I’m going to-I’m going to cum.”

Hearing him swallow a bit, he spoke around the fluid in his mouth, “Cum on my dick mommy, come on.”

A few more hard thrusts and Eren lifted you off as you were mid-orgasm, you squirted all over his thighs and yourself and you screamed his name in a broken cry. Your legs shook from the force and you rested against him for a few seconds before giving him a lazy smile.

“Get on your knees, princess.” He mumbled, you could see him doing his best to keep his mouth closed and you felt a coil of excitement as you had a fair idea of what he wanted to do.

Despite feeling fucked out and sore, and very sticky, you got on your knees in front of him. His hand found your jaw and you looked up at him with the largest puppy eyes you could muster before saying,

“Can daddy spit in my mouth?”

Eren’s dick twitched and he nodded eagerly, tapping your cheek softly you opened your mouth wide and he opened his, slowly letting the liquid fall into yours before spitting the rest right in. Some spilled off the sides of your own mouth and you were quick to spread and rub the substance all over your chest and belly before taking your fingers and rubbing at your already sensitive clit.

“Holy fuck, my girl is dirty.” Eren watched with wide eyes, here you were on your knees with your legs spread. Somewhat heavy with his child and lactating like the good breeding slut he always asked you to be. You gave him a smile, the white traces of the liquid all over your face and you surprised him when you reached for his dick.

You quickly took him into your mouth, Eren groaning loudly as your locks of hair tickled his inner thighs, he gathered your hair in a makeshift ponytail and slightly lifted his hips as he thrusted into your mouth. You gagged as he hit the back of it but made no complaints, letting your tongue swirl as much as the limited room would allow you released him and noticed the thick trail of saliva and milk that connected your mouth to his penis. Spitting on the head, you worked his shaft with your hand, tightening around the base and loosening your grip as you got to the tip. You could see the splashes of your orgasm all over his abs, legs, and the fabrics of the bed. This was definitely one of the messiest things you two had done, but you didn’t care as you put his penis back in your mouth and let your fingers trail across his abdomen, your cum mixing nicely with your breast milk and giving his muscles a sheer shine.

Your head bobbed up and down on him, Eren torn between closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of what you were doing and wanting to keep them open to not miss a second of you being filthy for him.

Forcing his large length down, you fought the urge to gag as he hit the back of your throat and you released him in a loud slurp. You kept working the hardened cock with your hand as you looked up to your husband.

“You look so fucking pretty right now.” Eren blurted and you let out a giggle at his odd comment.

“Take a picture, daddy.” You suggested with a wink, “Might be your only chance.”

He wasted no time and you bit down the laugh as he stretched himself back to the center of the bed where his phone laid. You watched him swipe at the screen and gave the head of his dick a few licks before suckling at it softly. Eren moaned before asking quite boldly,

“Fuck a picture, can I record you?”

You shrugged before smiling innocently, “Sure, as long as you promise not to show anyone.”

“Who the fuck would I-“ Eren stopped midsentence, looking down to see you leaving a few kisses to his shaft as you observed his impressive length and his mind briefly flashed to the memory of his former captain watching you with obvious lust and the way you had been getting quite cozy with him in return.

“I mean-“ Your husband guided himself into your mouth again, you let him slide further and further into your mouth and his next words caused you to loudly choke,

“Levi might like to see what that pretty mouth can do.”

You couldn’t release him, your wide eyes gazing up at his look of indifference and you couldn’t deny the way you tried to clamp your thighs together for some form of friction, the idea of Levi touching himself to the thought of you pregnant, lactating, covered in cum, and sucking off your husband was…intriguing…and your husband seemed to know exactly what you were thinking as you heard the sound of the recording starting.

Taking your hair tightly in his fist, Eren took you off his dick and you gasped for breath softly. You stared at his swollen head and felt a bit too ashamed to look up and you indirectly confirmed your attraction for his former officer. You hadn’t missed the way Levi looked at you for the remainder of the night you had gotten off on Eren’s thigh during game night. Nor did you miss the way he had offered to help you with the dishes and how his arm brushed against yours standing closely, the way he reached around you to grab the drying towel and his body pressed against you before you felt his warm breath against your ear. When Jean began to argue with Zeke over the rules of Uno you had tried to talk to them over the tall breakfast bar dividing the kitchen and living room, your upper body had leaned over the surface as you tried to use your loudest voice but to no avail. Eren had disappeared somewhere and when you felt hands on your hips trying to raise you off the marble, only then had you noticed how much pressure you were placing on your bump to support your weight. You backed up completely into Levi and didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath and your ass pressed firmly against him and he was truly…impressive. Neither of you said anything but you didn’t exactly rush to move.

After the kiss and that entire night, you had been texting a bit more with Levi. The occasional phone call here and there were innocent as you two only spoke about things like work, friends, and tea. It wasn’t that Eren didn’t come up in conversation but seeing that you were getting heavier with his child every day and you were constantly around your husband, most times he was mentioned was followed up with a funny story about Levi kicking the shit out of him or you complimenting how wonderful he had been treating you. Your growing friendship was innocent.

The loud sound of your husband slapping you echoed around your bedroom, your cheek stung as you felt a sudden thrill flood you and you looked up innocently to his dark green eyes, your cheeks throbbed in pain and pleasure as it had been a while since Eren was willfully so rough with you. His phone still recording you as you continued to play with his shaft.

“Just going to play dumb, princess? Gonna act like I don’t see the way he looks at you?”

“Daddy,” You answered sheepishly as you licked the underside of his dick, the tip of your tongue teased his balls and he bucked his hips for a moment, “It doesn’t matter. I’m married to you, I’m pregnant with your child, and I’m horny for your cock right now. So, will you please just cum for me?”

Eren nodded before giving you a smile that you couldn’t deny had made you feel uneasy previous times. The grip on your hair tightened and he fucked your mouth without mercy for the next few minutes. At some point you had started to feel the tears from the corner of your eyes fall and the choking slurpy sounds coming from your mouth only made him go faster.

“I’m going to cum on your face.” Eren announced and you nodded, only receiving a harder thrust that made the fingers on his abdomen muscles pressed harder on the toned skin. The usually tanned flesh was riddles with sharp red lines from your nails scratching and clawing from how harsh he was mouthfucking you. The words coming out of his filthy mouth only degraded you further.

“Who knew I had such a whore for a wife? A breeding bitch who wants to be milked and fucked stupid.”

“Look at my little cumslut, taking me so well into that dirty mouth. Fuck yeah take it all. Don’t be shy.”

“Is my little mommy crying? Crying and choking on daddy’s dick?”

“I’m the only one who can see you like this, got it?” You nodded at that comment, but the sharp slap on your cheek made you whimper and suck harder. You could feel him start to pulse and you rubbed your clit in faster circles, your hips moving as you felt yourself getting dizzier from how hard you were working to get Eren off.

The tug at your hair made you release him, and you gasped for breath, the trail of saliva breaking as you locked eyes with your husband whose face was a sight to behold as he came. Long ropes of cum shot out from the head, the first landing across your face, from your jaw well into the top of your hair. The second landed half into your mouth and the other half on your left cheek. The other spurts came onto your chest and some onto your belly where you quickly smeared it across. You let your tongue hang out as he tapped his head against it to ensure it was all out. You swallowed eagerly and let out a hum when Eren’s thumb caressed your jaw.

His phone was thrown somewhere to the side and you shuffled a little when Eren stood up. You slumped at realizing how exhausted you felt, and you could hear the faucet running in the distance before Eren kneeled next to you, the soft towel was used to clean you up and you gave Eren a smile when he helped you to your feet.

“Shower?” He asked with a laugh, taking your hand in his before the both of you walked towards the running water.

Your fingers were rubbing the shampoo near your husband’s dark roots when he finally talked again, his arms encircled around your large waist and softly rubbing your lower back.

“I know that Levi likes you.” He murmured, your hands stilling as you met his eyes.

“Eren-“

“I can’t exactly say I’m surprised. Everyone knows how incredibly out of my league you are.”

You sighed as you let your soapy hands cup his cheeks, pretty green eyes looked sad and you got on your tip toes to kiss him deeply, the little whine he released only tightened your hold.

“Baby,” You sighed when you finally released him and relaxed in your stance, “When are we going to get over this? This insecurity with each other? First it was Jean, then Historia, now Levi? We’re going to run out of friends if this keeps up.”

He let out a small laugh, and you smiled meekly before continuing, “Levi has been extra nice to me and I can’t stop it if he ends up liking me on a deeper level, but I also know that he cares about you. About all of us.” You gripped his hand and placed it on your stomach, his fingers warm as he glanced down as your exposed bump.

“It doesn’t matter because all that does matter is our family. You, me, and this little one. No more of this, Eren. We are married, we own a house, and we are going to be bringing another being into this world and we can’t waste what little time we have left alone going back and forth on people who are not part of this bubble.”

The warm water was steadily still hitting the two of you, the granite cool to the touch as Eren backed you up against it. Steady green eyes looked into yours as you received a nod in agreement.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just I know you like him too, Y/N.”

You opened your mouth to argue but the pad of his fingers pressing against your lips stopped you,

“Please don’t try to deny it. I’m your husband and your best friend, I know you better than you know yourself and I know you feel something for the Ackerman. I’m not saying it’s even remotely close to the love you have for me but whether it’s a school crush or some infatuation, I don’t care. You’re my wife, the mother of my child, and I just want us to be honest with each other. It doesn’t mean you love me any less, baby. It just means that your heart is large enough and you are freeenough to be who you are. I just want you to be that way with me, always. Without hesitation or fear.”

“I am not afraid of you.” You quickly replied and held onto his arms a little tighter before sighing, “I was just…afraid of what I felt and that it might hurt you. I choose you every day, and every day I wake up I’m happy because it’s another day with you by my side. I get to know that I’m pregnant with your child and I get to call myself Mrs. Yeager. You are my everything, and if I’m free it’s only because you have taught me how to be.”

You both stared at each other for a few more moments and it was that boyish smile that had you grinning,

“I love you, Mrs. Yeager.”

You kissed him, letting out a yelp when he suddenly grabbed you from your thighs and hoisted you up against the shower. You urged him to be careful, but you knew your husband was strong enough to hold you like so for hours. The feeling of him brushing against your entrance and how ready he seemed to take you only made you blush.

He rubbed his nose sweetly with yours as he slowly began to thrust into you, your breath catching as you leaned your head back on the granite to let out a moan.

“I love you too, Mr. Yeager.” You said, crashing your lips against his before moaning at the harder thrust he gave you. The sounds of skin smacking were drowned out by the rush of the shower, but the sweet nothings and proclamations of love whispered in your ear were louder than ever as you and your husband fucked for the second time that morning in your shared bathroom.

That was the last time you and Eren had sex and you let out a deep sigh as you finished your makeup. You were now twenty-six weeks pregnant and it was also day five since you had seen your husband in person. The week that followed that morning went about normally, you and Eren had been able to go into town and find outfits for the wedding and you only got mildly annoyed with the endless comments on how big and beautiful you looked with that pregnancy “glow” that you were pretty sure was just summer sweat. If it hadn’t been for Eren’s kind smiles and whispered promises to reward you if you promised not to snap at the fifth person who rubbed your belly, you don’t know how you would have survived. The rest of the week had gone by well, you were both busy with work as you were trying to squeeze in as many work hours as you could before you were to be put on maternity leave and before summer would begin. By the time you would get home, you and Eren would have dinner followed by him doing extra work in his study and you catching up on grading papers. By the time you two would shower and get in bed, you just wanted to cuddle and talk about random things. The sex you had together was one of the dirtiest and wildest things you two had done in a good while and your breasts had since then reduced in leaking, so the urge to jump each other was pretty much extinguished. However, that following Friday, your husband informed you that he had to leave for a business trip on Monday and would be back by Wednesday. He was two days late and despite his constant texting and video calls, you felt emotional and lonely without him. The group had tried their best to constantly keep you company, Levi had even stopped by every day since to help with dinner and friends of groups of two or three would always join. Nonetheless, it was the times when you would get ready for bed, double check the house locks, and cuddle with the largest pillow while Eren snored softly through the mobile device perched on your nightstand that made you sad. You missed his warmth and his kisses, more than once you woke up from a sudden night terror and reached for him on instinct. You blamed the release of large hormones on your sudden change in sleep behavior, as well as the anxiety you felt from being alone in such a large house. It wasn’t the first time Eren had to leave for business trips, you even remembered the time he had been gone for almost a month as his business expanded on a global scale, but this time was different. You were pregnant with your first child and with Eren being so tall, muscular, and having the military background experience, you couldn’t lie that it was a bit intimidating that you couldn’t even go to the second landing without huffing for air.

Either way, whenever Mikasa would drop you off from work (She had volunteered to carpool until Eren came back and your feet didn’t feel so swollen) she would do a round around the house, as would Galliard, Zeke, Levi and even Jean that one afternoon he had picked up his son from tutoring and playdate with Kira, Aloisa, and Alexander at yours while their parents went out for fun (it’s not like you could drink with them anyway). You felt lucky having such a supportive team around you and this morning was no different.

“Hey,” Galliard poked his head into your bedroom, arms bracing his weight on the doorframe as his eyes scanned the large room in search of you, his eyes were calm as he politely asked, “Do you mind if I make myself a sandwich before we go? I forgot to pack a lunch before I left the apartment and I like that fancy cheese you two get.”

You smiled at him and released a small laugh, walking over to him you poked his stomach, “I’ll make your lunch if you help me put on my shoes.”

“Deal.” He immediately replied, making way to your shared closet as you sat on the bench in front of your bed.

“By the gods, why do women insist on having so many damn pairs of shoes!” Galliard exclaimed making you laugh even harder before you called, “It’s the pair of flats with the pretty bow in the front.”

You heard shuffling and a loud bang followed by a string of curse words and another thump of something falling before Galliard muttered, “He won’t even notice.”

Six pairs of flats were put in front of you and you almost felt bad at not specifying which pair with the pretty bow you meant. You honestly didn’t even see the pair you were talking about and you internally winced when you realized you had actually left them in the foyer by the door. Seeing how excited and proud of himself Galliard was, you decided not to say anything and picked the nude ones Sasha had bought you for your birthday. After helping you ease into them, Galliard grabbed both your hands and helped you to your feet.

“Oof,” You huffed, and the stupid grin on your friend’s face made you roll your eyes, “Not a word Porco.”

“You’re getting so big,” His hand rubbed your tummy, his smile sweet even though you were fighting the urge to smack the crap out of him, “It’s like a squishy watermelon.”

“Wow Galliard. You sure know how to sweet talk a girl.”

You made way to the kitchen, seeing that the both of you still had time before he had to give you a lift to work so you could finish off some paperwork from the board. Starting on the lunch, you were just cutting up the apple slices when you felt Porco come up behind you.

“What the hell are you-“

“Wait! Just stand still, I saw this online thing where if you lift a woman’s baby bump, it helps ease their back pain.” Instead of shoving him off, you allowed his hands to come around and under your tummy. You actually knew what video Porco was referring to and had been meaning to ask Eren to try it with you but seeing as how your husband was out of town and Porco had already decided to invade your space you shrugged a what the hell.

His hands felt warm as they interlocked, his breath warm as it fanned across the top of your head and he counted down, “3…2…and 1.”

Immediately you felt a weight off your back, shoulders, and abdomen. Your feet for the first time didn’t feel like two cement blocks attached to your legs and you didn’t even fight the moan of relief that escaped your mouth as you leaned back onto Galliard. The muscles on his chest flexing and the sudden weight he was supporting. You could hear him laughing before hearing the front door opening.

“Um-“ Pieck called, “Are we interrupting?”

Being careful not to suddenly let go, Galliard looked up to Zeke, Pieck, and Niccolo and smiled at how you hadn’t even moved an inch.

“I’m helping her back pain.” He motioned to his stance with his eyes, “Got it from some video online.”

“Oh!” Zeke rushed to the both of you, “I’ve seen this too! Can I try?”

Galliard nodded and you consented, feeling him slowly lower your stomach you almost hissed at the undeniable stretch of weight before Zeke who was so much taller than Galliard and bulkier took his place. He had that familiar scent like Eren’s and when you closed your eyes it almost felt as if your husband was the one holding your stomach. You laughed when Pieck cheered, “My turn! My turn!”

“Here Galliard,” You handed the lunchbox to your friend, taking it from your hands you continued, “I put a cheese stick and some pretzels for a snack.”

“She also cut the fruit into little hearts and flowers. Really pretty.” Niccolo said from behind you, his grip a little firmer as he held your baby’s weight.

“I’m a grown man!” Galliard complained, “What are the guys gonna think when they see me munching on some heart shaped strawberries! They’ll think I’m some pansy ass-OH! A go-gurt!”

Pieck looked at you in confusion before you elaborated, “Eren likes them.”

“It’s like my little brother never grew up.” Zeke sighed.

-

Fixing the last of the papers you yawned, stretching your arms in front of you, you let out a long sigh. Looking around the classroom, you smiled at how clean it was for the first time in weeks. Summer vacation was finally in full swing and as much as you missed your kids, the peaceful atmosphere was a nice change compared to how hectic it could get. You got up from your seat, the smallest of grunts reminding you on how big you were getting. Looking down at your figure you were seriously curious on whether or not you truly only were carrying one child. Walking towards some shelves on the side you reached for a manilla folders to place the important documents in.

Eren walked into the building, the smell of floor cleaner and some other pungent odor reminding him of old times as he approached the front office. Walking in, he locked eyes with the front desk attendant. She was obviously new as the one he was used to seeing was probably older than the entire building, approaching her he let an easy smile stretch across his face.

“Hi, just signing in under visitors.”

The girl whose front desk tag read, “B. Purcell.” Looked incredibly flustered, all that was running through her mind were questions about the incredibly tall and hot guy standing in front of her. She stuttered as she gave Eren the clipboard and noticed how nice his hands were as he gave it back, the flower bouquet in one of them also complimented nicely.

“W-who are you visiting today Mr.-“ She glanced at the clipboard, “Mr. Yeager?”

“That would be Ms. Y/L/N.” Eren still felt it odd sometimes to call you by your maiden name at school, not that he minded. When you informed him that you wanted to keep your original last name for professional circumstances, he was nothing but supportive. Outside the workplace you were Mrs. Yeager, and with Eren you were his princess, angel, and everything else in between. He knew how important it was to you to eventually work your way up in your career, however you chose to represent yourself was up to you and as your husband, Eren only wanted to love and support you through it. He didn’t feel intimidated, he was secure enough in himself and your marriage that you choose not to take his last name in these circumstances was honestly not a big deal. It was just times when men would try to advance on you that Eren felt irked, that’s why he had chosen and crafted you with the largest engagement ring he could find.

“Oh, how nice of you to visit a friend. I’ve met her, she’s…nice.” The tone she used made a crease form between Eren’s eyebrows. She gave him a sticky paper and a marker, and he knew he had to scribble his name on the poor excuse of a visitor’s pass.

“Yeah, she is.”

“It’s such a shame she’s not prettier.” She went on and this time Eren sighed as he stuck the stupid name tag on his dress shirt. Obviously the new girl knew next to nothing about his wife.

“She’s not a friend.” He stated simply and by the look of surprise on her face, he was hoping the scowl on his face made it clear that she was crossing a line. The dense girl did not get it.

“Oh, is she related to you or?”

“Eren?” A new voice chirped, turning his head he saw Mikasa walking in. By the stack of folders in her hands he knew she was probably turning in paperwork for the end of the semester.

“Hey sis.”

“I’m so happy you’re home again!” She put the folders to the side and embraced him.

“Ms. Ackerman,” the annoying secretary called, “Do you know Mr. Yeager?”

“Yes,” Eren picked up on her sharp tone and came to the conclusion that this person was obviously not easy to like, “He’s my brother.”

Eyebrows rose in surprise and curiosity but before she could further question Mikasa said, “Are you here to see Y/N? She’s missed you.”

“Yes. I’m actually heading over now. Galliard told me he dropped her off and I asked him to let me surprise her. How was she?”

Mikasa waved him off, “You know her. She’s a tough bird. However, I’m worried about how much time she’s spending on her feet. It can’t be good for her being so far along in the pregnancy.”

Nodding in agreement, they almost forgot about the unwanted third party until she spoke again, “So does she even know who the father is? I heard so many guys like her, she must have like a great personality or something because she’s not that pretty.”

Mikasa looked ready to kill her, but the sudden head bump she got from Eren stopped her.

“Yeah…you’re looking right at him.” His eyes shifted to meet hers, “I’m her husband.”

The way her mouth was opening, and closing would’ve made anyone laugh if it were not for the circumstances. The smirk on Mikasa’s face did not go unnoticed and even Eren couldn’t help feeling a bit amused, but for anyone to have called you anything short of beautiful did get under his skin.

“Y-you’re her husband?” She raised a finger and Eren nodded, “But how-she’s just so-“

“Out of my league, I know.” Eren cut her off, “I consider myself lucky to have a wife as beautiful as her, but what really drew me to her was how kind and caring she is.”

“Don’t forget about her butt.” Mikasa surprised Eren by her comment, but he knew it was most likely the circumstances causing her to get out of her comfort zone. “You always chat up the guys about how fit she is.”

“My wife is quite the looker.” Eren laughed, “I bought these for her, do you think she’ll like them?”

Looking over the rather large assemble of flowers, Mikasa nodded in approval.

“She’ll love them. I’m not sure if she’ll have room though, everyone keeps buying her stuff before her maternity leave. Mrs. Rodriguez got her some baby books, Miss Emma got her flowers, as did Coach Swain and even Ms. Walker from the band hall-“

“Derek Swain?” Eren interrupted and Mikasa couldn’t help but laugh a bit.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re still jealous of Derek? They dated ages ago, Eren.”

That didn’t stop the crease between his eyebrows from forming and the secretary’s muttered curse was heard.

“What the fuck? She even bagged Swain? He’s crazy hot.”

The sound of annoyance made her look at a very pissed off Yeager and she was quick to excuse herself and skedaddle to the backroom.

Mikasa stifled her next laugh when she saw the look of obvious jealousy and irritation on her brother’s features, “You have seriously got to work on your anger issues. She’s six months pregnant with your child, you’ve been married for years, and he’s just being nice. Flowers and lunch does not suddenly mean that she’s going to drop everything and-“

“They went to lunch?”

“Shit.” Mikasa murmured and watched as her brother suddenly marched to the exit.

“Later, Mikasa.” He looked like a man on a mission and she figured it best to not probe any further as he made way to your classroom.

You let out a small groan in discomfort as you moved the folders to the upper shelf behind your desk. You had been sitting for hours as you tried to hurry to finish everything for the beginning of summer. Galliard would be there soon to pick you up and you thought it best to spend the rest of the time on your feet so he wouldn’t have to hoist you up again, but you forgot how much strain it was on your lower back and now you were debating on sitting back down. Looking down at the desk you smiled a bit, things were slowly clearing up and you only had two more folders to go. One, in regard to students in athletics and the other for the board to review your plan for funding summer meals. Your classroom was modest in size and decorated with colors and liveliness, it always smelled of flowers and you weren’t sure if it was because of the aroma therapy you had set up in the corner near the reading corner, your perfume, or the countless arrays of flower bouquets people had given you. Eren leaned against the doorway, watching as you turned to put another folder behind you and the roundness of your breasts and tummy in the pretty sundress you wore made him forget for a moment why he was ever upset to begin with. You really were a sight to behold in his eyes, he meant it when he said he felt lucky to have you in his life, these past few months had been hectic and out of his element. The nights you woke him up to get you mango ice cream from across town had him cursing the whole ride over, but when you’re face lit up when he came back home, it made it worth it each time. These past few days were hell for him, the nights were even worse. Whenever Eren would wake up and reach for you and your swollen bump, he would freak out momentarily before remembering where he was. The hotel room was cold and empty, the blandness of it all made him miss you and your sweet scent. He had missed your morning kisses and the way you would cry over every little thing, even that one time you cried because Eren had slammed one of the kitchen cabinets too roughly and you thought he hated you. Eren had done his best not to laugh as he reassured you that it wasn’t true, going as far as wiping your tears with his thumbs and eating you out on the kitchen floor. Seeing you now was exactly why he had rushed home, mumbling the quickest goodbyes to Armin and Reiner as he all but hauled ass out of the building. You hadn’t noticed his presence and his voice was smooth and husky as he spoke,

“I’ve missed you, Mrs. Yeager.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of his voice, turning to meet those pretty green eyes you missed so much before you stumbled over your tongue-

“Eren?” You took a few steps, arms opened wide and you let out the loudest shriek as you rushed to your husband, “Er-e-e-e-n!”

Eren couldn’t help the small chuckle that escaped him as you quickly wobbled over to him, he could swear your stomach had grown over the last five days and as you were finally close enough, he picked you up and twirled you slowly into the classroom. The small cry of happiness only made him hold you tighter.

“Oh baby! I missed you so much!” You yelled when he finally put you down, you remained in the comfort of your husband’s arms. Getting on the tips of your toes to kiss him, he met you halfway quite eagerly and you missed the way he rubbed at your sides. Kissing for a few more minutes, you released him, rubbing your nose with his gently before giving him a large smile.

His hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs stroking your skin softly as he pecked your lips a few more times before saying, “My wife Is so cute.”

Stepping away he bent down to retrieve the bouquet of flowers he had dropped, presenting you with all your favorite colors and you visibly swooned at how romantic he could be.

“My love! They’re beautiful!” You gasped, taking them and quickly heading over to an empty vase on your desk. You tore the plastic film off, dropping them and carefully shifting the flowers to your liking. You smiled at Eren who had followed closely behind, his cheeks coated in red and you reached a hand to brush from his temple to his jaw. The blush deepened as he gave you a sheepish smile.

“I love them, thank you.”

He nodded, bending down to steal another kiss and you shifted closer to him on instinct, taking in his cologne that you missed so much and laughing when he called you out.

“Are you smelling me again?”

Pushing him away, you went back to the files on your desk, “Don’t act as if you haven’t been taking in my scent this entire time too.”

“Baby, I smelled you down the hall.” He laughed, looking over to the corner of the room, “Seriously it always smells of flowers and-“ He sniffed once more, “something sweet.”

“Oh, some of the kids were eating candies earlier.” You opened a drawer and he peeked inside just to chuckle, the confiscated sweets were right next to your stash of fruit gummies and sugar less gum.

“Such a stick in the mud, my angel.”

You pouted before sticking out your tongue at him. He bopped your nose and sat on top of one of the desks, “Go ahead and finish up. I want to go home and make up for lost time.”

You flushed at his words, blushing even deeper at how thoughtful he sounded which was so unlike Eren. He wasn’t a mean hard-headed guy, his youthful days building quite the shitty reputation that followed him well into adulthood. Sure, he could be stoic, unexpressive, and at times a bit overwhelming, but you knew how firm he was on his beliefs, how he saw the world through a realistic set of eyes and how that often-made people uncomfortable. Eren wasn’t given a fair life, he had been dealt some shitty cards and you knew all about the horrors of his past, even the ones he personally caused. He had grown-up eventually, moving past what held him back and wanting nothing more but a life of peace. That’s where you often came to mind, you gave Eren the space to be himself and you treated him as your equal, never looking down at him but also never putting him on a pedestal for which he was thankful for. You humbled him and hearing how lovely the word home rolled off his tongue only filled you with warmth.

“Okay.” You murmured, going back to the few papers as Eren sat on top of one of the desks. You fought the urge to scold him, reminding yourself how much you missed him and only smiled a bit before getting back to it.

You didn’t really feel Eren’s staring at you, too entranced at the new requests for prospective athletes to be given extensions on assignments and you clicked your tongue in irritation before writing down you request to hold a meeting with the coaches. Your husband couldn’t get enough of how adorable you looked, he had already taken three photos of you, the sundress really complimented your skin tone and the swell of your tummy only added to your glowing figure. The crease between your eyebrows made him wonder what it was that had you getting upset and he shifted slightly when he heard you click your tongue, the fire in your eyes was a rarity but it made him feel like a schoolboy all over again and you were the teacher he most definitely had a crush on. Your hair was tied up and Eren tilted his head in a smile as he noted the pencil that was holding up the pretty locks. He thought about what he was about to say twice, then he realized that he was no longer a schoolboy, but instead he was a businessman, and you were his very scholarly, very pregnant, very irresistible wife the words came out smoothly.

“Let me fuck you on the desk.”

“Eren!” You squeaked; his tone was so casual that you dropped the stack of post it notes in hand. You looked flustered as he raised his eyebrows at you in amusement and he noticed how you softly bit your bottom lip before glancing to the door. Eren was quick on his feet and moved with such a quickness that you quietly giggled. You watched your husband close the door, making his way back to you and taking turns looking between you and the desk. He looked way too excited and you raised an eyebrow,

“You planned this?”

He shook his head while smirking, “Oh, I hoped for it.”

“Anyone could walk in on us or look through the small window.”

Eren only shrugged, “We’ll have to be quick then.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed at how aloof he seemed, “How romantic.”

Stepping closer, you felt his hand softly grasp your chin, tilting you head up at him while his other hand began to explore your backside. You were almost flush against him now that your stomach had grown in size and you noticed how quickly you seemed to run out of breath around your very attractive husband.

“Now, angel. Don’t be rude, we’re married and in love. Even if they do catch us, I’m pretty sure they’ll understand and well who gives a shit? Now be a good teacher for daddy and get on the desk.”

You felt yourself blush as you nodded. Looking at the desk and quickly saying, “Wait! Let me just put this in the pile-“

It was taken from your grasp and Eren read the scribbled front name, his eyebrows coming down in a crease and you came to the realization of what name he had read.

“That fucking Derrick Swine.”

“It’s not Swine-” You began to correct him but the look in his eyes quickly shut you up.

“I heard he bought you flowers…and lunch.”

“Baby,” You warned, “Come on I dated him years ago and it went nowhere. He’s a colleague and nothing more.”

“Which flowers?” Eren began to look around at the vast array of vases before turning back to you, your mouth was slightly agape, and he gave you a pointed look that further pushed you to answer him. Instead, you glanced near the shelves at a particular blue vase that held an array of daisies and tulips. Eren clicked his tongue when he saw it, noticing how much smaller it was compared to the bouquet he bought you and joked-

“Well…that makes two things I beat him in size for.” He looked at you as if for silent confirmation, but you just seemed confused. Eren shook out a laugh as he kissed your head, forgetting that you really did go nowhere with that Swine and he felt better for it.

“Leave it.” He muttered, putting it back on your desk and before you got the chance to protest, Eren hoisted you up onto the sturdy piece of furniture. You were heavier than before, and he noticed the way your thighs had grown in width and internally groaned at how much you were turning him on. Fingers brushed your temple, before going into your hair and you felt the thick locks of hair loosen as Eren removed the pencil holding them up. You were a sight to behold with swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and a low-cut collar that reminded your husband of the last time he suckled on the plump flesh before coating you in his hot cum.

“Lay back, love.” You could only nod, laying back and flinching when your hand bumped a small cup of your favorite pens. You were grateful that the school computer and monitor was stationed on the table next to the desk as you laid down, the upper half of your head not having any support from where the desk ended and you brought your legs up, Eren grabbed you by the back of your knees. Your flesh was soft and warm in his large hands and you didn’t stifle the moan of anticipation when he pulled you closer and your clothed pussy made contact with his front, the excitement of being near you noticeable by the bulge that greeted you.

Fingers moved the pretty lace to the side, your dress bunching up around your hips, and you brought your hand to cover your mouth when Eren began to rub your cunt. Fingers worked wonders as he found your clit and spread your juices everywhere, your breathing was grounding heavier and the kisses he left on your exposed chest only made you tug at his hair.

“I missed you, missed this.” He rubbed faster, eyelashes fluttering as green eyes found yours. Your hips bucked up and you gave a smirk.

“Did you think of me while you were gone?” You couldn’t help but ask, the nights were lonely after all, the both of you so tired that by the time the two of you could be on the phone, only bits and pieces of both your days could be shared before one (Usually you) would begin to speak nonsense from sleepiness before eventually lulling off to restless slumber.

“Every minute of every day.” Eren hummed, kissing a path from your cheek to the dip between your collarbones, “Reiner had to nudge me to focus up during meetings a few times. All I kept thinking was how much I needed you…needed you like this.”

You were shy when you asked the next question, the swirls on the ceiling suddenly seeming so interesting as Eren inserted two fingers inside you, fingers curling in the spongey front that had your thighs trembling.

“Did you-Did you touch yourself?” You whispered the last bit, feeling your cheeks turn a crimson red as your hands gripped his shoulders. Eren shifted into your line of vision and that boyish grin had you calming down before gasping as he fingered you faster.

“I did, it wasn’t even close to the same.” He gave a kiss to your nose and you raised your head and caught him by surprise as you kissed him deeply. You nipped at his bottom lip, boldly licking across the top and Eren took his fingers out you, making you whine silently in protest but watching as he disconnected your shared lips and stood at his full height.

His lips were now as bruised and plump as yours, the smears of your lipstick staining around his chin and his eyes were hooded as he ran his hands all over you. He pulled your panties off, the material shoved into his front pocket, but you could still see some of the lace peeking out.

“Did mommy touch herself while I was gone?”

You don’t know why you felt a bit embarrassed at his question, you looked to the side as you released a nervous laugh and only looked back to your husband when you heard him shuffle. Eren began to unbutton his dress shirt, the muscles of his chest coming to view and as quickly as you could, you sat up. Reaching out for him and swatting his hands. He watched in bemusement on how quickly you worked his shirt, fingers dipping in between every abdominal muscle along the way and you bit your lip as you began to work the buckle of his belt.

“Leave it on.” you said when he tried to take off his shirt, his nod being the only response you got before his hands cupped your cheeks and left multiple kisses upon your lips. Your hand freed his cock from its confines, thumb brushing the tip and you tried to close your legs when his moan was felt in your mouth.

You reached one hand up and let your fingers thread through the pretty brown locks before bringing him closer to your body, lips brushing across his cheek as Eren leaned his weight a bit more on you, his moans and groans deep as you kept moving your hand up and down his hard length. When you paid extra attention to the sensitive tip, your mouth met the shell of his ear and you found the confidence to murmur your answer to his previous question,

“Twice.”

“Ah-h-h, fuck.” Your husband moaned, cheeks the reddest you’ve seen in a while and you didn’t fight him as he shoved you a bit roughly back onto the desk. Your legs were once more supported onto the bend of his elbows.

Eren looked so pretty with his eyes heavy and a hazy look across his face, you wanted him to ruin you completely and make you forget how lonely you had been feeling the past few days. You were never alone, granted, but no matter how many times Erwin let you hold his hand, Galliard let you lean on him, Moblit and Connie helped you at work, or even Levi ruffled your hair, there was the most obvious void that these men could not fill. Although, and you would never admit this to your husband, the one time when Levi came over three days ago to help you with dinner, you had miscalculated a step and almost hit your stomach on the corner of the marble countertop; fortunately, Levi was quicker and spun the two of you around. Unfortunately, he received the sharp blow and the small but noticeable grimace he gave filled you with guilt. His blue button up showed small spots of blood and you were fast to grab the first aid kit and bandage up the rough scratch. You hadn’t missed the way his body felt pressed against yours, nor did you fail to notice how he looked at you with in silent yearning. After he was patched up and the two of you set the chicken to roast, he thanked you quietly. The tug on your hoodie was a bit rough and the brief kiss placed on your mouth couldn’t even be dwelled on as he began to work on the side dishes. Suffice to say, you were red the rest of the time and you had to admit you sat a bit too closely to him during your shared meal.

You weren’t even sure if you felt guilty. Levi was a most trusted friend and advisor to your husband, ever since your pregnancy, Eren had relied a bit more on others to help aid you through the changes in your life. A huge step as your husband had had a knack for being so closed off and broody. You knew you had to talk to Levi soon, his affections were flattering but they were not worth it if the cost was the man you devoted your heart to and have decided to start a family with. You didn’t know if the best idea was to tell your husband, if there was one thing for certain it’s that if Eren’s suspicions were correct and the two of you shared more than just feelings but intimate touches as well, he would feel the most betrayed. The way Eren was currently rubbing his length across your folds had you releasing a moan, the look of utter content on his beautiful features has you forgetting for a moment just how much of a slut you had been feeling like behind his back. You felt the sudden need to remind yourself just how good you had it, tugging on one side of his open shirt and Eren sunk into you easily, both your arousals making you wet enough to accept the welcomed intrusion. Once he was completely bottomed out in you, you felt the slight tickle of his pubic hair lie heavily against your opened thighs. He thrusted a few times, trying to find his steady rhythm and you couldn’t help yourself as you moved your own hips upwards to meet his. Your small whines and mewls informed him on how much faster and harder you wanted him to go and Eren leaned his body over yours, smirk devilish as he encouraged you.

“That’s it baby, fuck yourself on my cock.”

You let your head roll back, the sounds of your desk squeaking and straining against the tile floors made you hot and flush at the fact that just about anyone could catch you two. A well-respected educator who was pregnant laid out on the desk with her tits and cunt out getting railed by a prominent businessman with the body of a Greek god who happened to be her husband. You went on like that for a while, you honestly last track of time and you let yourself get a bit comfortable with being a little loud, you knew the school was basically empty with the holidays and Eren was right. You two were married and madly in love, you had missed him terrible, and you were heavy with his child…and judging by the way he was fucking you, you wouldn’t find it impossible for him to impregnant you again in this position. Your quiet mewls were encouraged, tongues clashing and fighting each other for dominance but the way Eren kept nipping at your bottom lip and pawing at your tummy was enough to make your pussy clamp down on him harder. You could see the thin sheen of swear on his neck and chest and you could only imagine how dazed you looked. His thrusts were consistent and with you squeezing him and practically sucking him in, neither of you were going to last long.

Eren’s eyes flickered up by instinct looking towards the small window on the door and met a familiar pair of eyes. He gave you a particularly hard thrust and a gasped moan was released from your lips, your nails dug harder onto his chest and the red lines were visible. Derek Swain had no idea what to do, his face red in embarrassment and in envy at the fact that he never got to touch you the way your husband was, he never even stood a chance at bedding you or eliciting such sounds, and your baby bump was a constant reminder of how devoted your body and self was to Eren Yeager. He was happy for you, of course. He always knew you would make a wonderful mother and he knew it was something you had always wanted. However, he had to admit that he was often green with envy over the fact that you would be bearing a child with someone else, in particular with the guy he considered a control freak. He wasn’t the only one who thought that way, times where your name would enter a conversation between the male teachers, coaches, and administrators were always followed with positive compliments on your great work ethic, stunning features, and well-rounded personality; nonetheless, it was the mentions of your choice in husband that brought your reputation down. They all thought Eren was a douche, his military record was impressive, but they found him cocky, hot-headed, and too handsome for his own damn good. They knew it wasn’t money you were drawn to, your salary was more than capable of taking care of you and supporting a small family, you were kind and strong with no underlying agendas, so to see you so submissive to a man who now confirmed his suspicions on being rough in bed, was a wonder. Why in the world did it have to be this guy? So many of them thought, the way Eren always took the lead and had you close to his side through events, the times where you would speak of him with such obvious fondness and undisputable love that they firmly believed the grown man did not deserve was irking to say the least. Nor were they able to dismiss the rather impressive size diamond on your ring finger you would unintentionally flash every time you spoke with your hands that only continued to confirm how seemingly rich he was on top of being good-looking and utterly impossible to intimidate. The idea of one day eventually having to coach a son who was the spitting image of his father didn’t settle completely with Swain who obviously still held feelings for you. Feelings that would never be reciprocated and the loud moan that followed in that moment only further confirmed and hurt his shredded ego.

“Daddy!” You swiveled your hips harder, Eren seeming to react to your words and gripping you harder by the legs, the pads of his fingers surely leaving bruises and you could do nothing but let your hands fall to the desk. You gazed up at him lovingly, his dick twitching in your wet slick and you saw how much harder he flexed his impressive abs. You were so lost in the cloud of lust that you hadn’t even noticed how your husband’s eyes only flickered to you for a moment before looking away, one of his hands squeezing your throat and making you pant harder. When he saw Eren smirk at him, eyes flickering down to the way your hands shot out to the sides of the desk, hand bumping a cup that held your writing utensils and not even flinching when they crashed to the floor. You seemed to like being chocked and ruined in such a compromising position, your usually composed and well-preserved self was anything but shy as your moans echoed off the class walls and you begged your husband for another baby, an impossible task but it didn’t stop Eren from grinning at you while encouraging such filth from your mouth.

“Yeah, baby? My little slut wants more of daddy?”

“Yes!” You gasped, your other hand knocking over a small metal folder holder.

“Fuck take it. Take it.” He emphasized with every thrust, you felt him in the deepest parts of you and you could do nothing but let your head grow fuzzy as his name was the only thing you could repeat,

“Eren. Eren. Eren. I-Oh, Ere-e-en.” You knew he was fucking you stupid, but you couldn’t deny how sexy he was and how lucky you felt knowing he was yours and by the way his dick kept flexing in you, how lucky he felt knowing you were all his in return.

It took everything for the coach not to take out his dick right then and there and jerk himself off.

“Is that you can say wife-y? What’s wrong?” He was only teasing you, fingers moving to play with your clit, but you were feeling generous and didn’t mind his ridicules, instead you actually wanted to play along.

“Daddy’s fucking me too hard,” You blushed, “Making princess feel dumb.”

“Oh? Should I stop then?” You shook your head with such vigor that the deep chuckle he released only made you try to close your thighs for more friction. Eren raised an eyebrow, seemingly forgetting that the two of you had an audience that was still unbeknownst to you and instead focusing on making you come.

It didn’t take much, a few more thrust and rubs on your clit and you were quickly gasping out, “I’m close, I’m so close.”

He rammed into you impossibly harder, your thighs turning a bright red with each smack and the growing noises were forgotten as you felt the familiar coiling in your stomach. You also felt the familiar buildup and your eyes grew wide with worry,

“Eren, I might squirt!”

His eyes grew wide in excitement and you knew that he didn’t care about the possible mess you would make. If there was one thing he loved it was you being messy because of his cock. His thrusts became faster and your orgasm racked through your body so harshly that you screwed your eyes shut. You were a vision to behold and Eren followed with his own right after, the spurts of white cum coated your inner walls and could be felt shooting inside your already fertilized womb. The mixture of fluids was too much for you and your pussy contracted and spurt out both your cums in heavy drops on and around your desk. You felt it trail down your ass and pool underneath and even Coach Swain could see the steady rain as it coated your husband’s abs and pool on the tile floor. Your body slumped, worn out beyond belief and you could hardly register the kisses Eren was leaving you until he captured your lips with his. His tongue explored your mouth as he slipped out of you, the small whimper you released only made him whisper the sweetest things to you, hands kneading the flesh of your inner thighs and pussy. You laid there, legs hanging off the side as Eren grabbed the box of tissues on your desk and began to clean you up. Your dress was adjusted before he put you in a seating position and he was even kind enough to attempt to fix your hair and fix your exposed chest.

Another kiss was given, pretty green eyes smiling as he said, “Did I mention how much I missed you?”

You giggled, arms circling around his neck and you laid your head on his chest.

“I love you, Mr. Yeager.”

“Hm-m-m.” He hummed, tilting your chin up and kissing your forehead so gently that you felt yourself melt all over again, “And I love you, angel.”

You two cleaned up, fixing your clothes and you felt a bit bad of how out of order and flushed Eren looked, his hair sticking to his forehead and you could only imagine how you looked. You threw a pencil at Eren when he mentioned your after sex glow and told you to pass it off as a pregnancy glow.

Once everything was tidied up, you snatched the folder from where it was and walked out of the room, turning off the light and locking it behind you before Eren interlocked once of your hands with his. He was holding your bag for you and you had to admit how sweet he could be sometimes, his cheeks blushing at your flattery before grumbling a small threat under his breath.

“Shut up or I’ll make you give me road head.”

“I’d do that either way.” You winked, giggling as you approached the entrance. You turned to the front office and almost cheered at how lucky you were.

“Baby, wait! I have to give this to the front office!” You waved the folder, Eren looking to see a familiar face and smirking again. He led the way and held the door for you, you sliding in and trying not to look as guilty as you felt for fucking your husband just a few moments prior.

“Coach Swain!” You called; the man stiffened where he stood at hearing your voice. He turned to look at you—well technically he was looking anywhere but you—and you did your best at a friendly smile.

“I have those extension papers for you. If you don’t mind, I’ve suggested a board meeting to discuss the details the coaches are requesting. I don’t think extensions will help our athletes, It may only prompt them to procrastinate more so I suggest cutting back on practice and adding in a study hour throughout the week, that way they could feel on the same page as a team and it’ll be fairer for the non-athletic students.”

“Uh-um, I’ll see.” His hand shot out, still not looking at you and you tilted your head.

“Is everything okay, coach?” You reached out to him, your husband immediately tugging at the back of your dress and you were forced to halt your actions. The coach didn't miss the way the upper half tightened on your already strained breasts. You looked annoyedly at Eren, not seeing the coach staring at your chest but seeing Eren give you a pointed look made you huff and accept his jealously to stop you from touching your ex.

Swain finally looked at you, not understanding how you could look so composed and intimidating when just a moment ago you were allowing the man standing behind you nail you on your desk and call you every filthy thing under the sun. He could still see your milk heavy breasts jiggling as well as your round tummy blocking the view of what he knew was a beautiful tight cunt. Judging by the peeks he saw of your husband’s cock; it was large enough to make you submit. His gaze shifted to Eren, whose face was as stoic and calm as ever, he even looked bored to be there. He quirked an eyebrow at the coach as if daring him to say something. His eyes flickered to Eren’s outfit, the crumpled shirt, the two buttons not even fixed and the small peek of purple lace from his front pocket reminding him of his place.

“Everything…is fine.” He grounded out, he took the folder from your grasp, not missing the small yet noticeable wet stain near the bottom and he knew he was going to jerk one out once he was in the comfort of his office to it, imagining himself in Eren’s place then feeling guilty afterwards for pining over a married soon to be mother who was also his ex-girlfriend. He was pathetic and it only pissed him off how your husband Eren seemed to know exactly just that. The tilt of his lips only enraging him more.

“I got to go. Bye Ms. Y/L/N.” He nodded to Eren before hauling ass out and you turned to your husband in confusion, which he seemed to return.

“That was weird.”

“I told you he still likes you.”

“Oh, my dearest, enough of that.” You hushed him, getting on the tips of your toes to kiss him. You had even forgotten about the secretary, wishing her a nice summer break and only getting more confused when she turned red and muttered under her breath when Eren shot her a dirty look. She knew exactly what the two of you had done, not missing the mismatched buttons on your husband or the way your hair was messed up from the back.

You both walked to the car hand in hand, you hummed the entire time Eren opened your door and helped you put on your seatbelt. You undid it only a few minutes into the drive, your husband chuckling as you undid his belt for the second time that day and taking him into your mouth. He almost crashed twice and by the time you got home, and he pulled into the garage. He reclined his seat back to let you finish him off. You were as eager to please as ever and that was the only time he wished you weren’t pregnant so you could climb over and straddle his lap to ride him. Instead, he had you bend over the hood of the car and had you well on your back on the sleek metal by the time the both of you came again.

You were cutting up the onions for dinner, the soft music in the background making you feel happy at the fact that you could cuddle up to Eren tonight instead of a pillow.

“Hey babe!” He called from your shared bedroom and you hummed in response, “…Why is my entire shirt rack on the floor?”

You let out a bark of laughter, shaking your head as you thought: So that’s what Galliard was up to.

[hinnyfied]

Francis Davies was proud of the little sweet shop he had opened nearly ten years ago when he moved to Godrics Hollow. He had been nervous about his new business venture, but the residents of the sleepy town took to his shop immediately. They especially loved the intricate gingerbread sculptures he and his wife put together in the windows every holiday season. Nothing made him happier than to see children stop and point at their displays with wonder.

He and Mrs. Davies were very happy in Godrics Hollow indeed, although it was a bit of an odd place. Most of the time his customers were pretty normal, but there were also some unique characters, as Mrs. Davies would say. People wearing cloaks would come in and marvel at the most ordinary things. “Muggles have the strangest ideas. Can you believe they sell boxes of jelly beans with only good flavors inside? Where’s the fun in that?,” one particularly bizarre-looking fellow had said. Francis had no idea what a muggle was, but he didn’t waste any time being offended as the man bought nearly one of everything in the place. Despite sounding distinctly English, he must have been a foreigner because Francis had to help him with his money.

It was Christmas Day, and Francis was looking forward to closing up shop early and heading home. It was his first Christmas with a grandchild, and he still had a few last-minute gifts to wrap. He knew his daughter would chastise him for the amount of presents he bought little Alfie, but couldn’t help himself.

Just as he was thinking about closing up shop, the bell jingled and a familiar family of six stepped inside. They only ever came in on Christmas Day, but they showed up reliably every year and were rather hard to miss. The eldest child, now a teenager, was always sporting some sort of bizarre hair color, even when he had been quite little. This year it was purple. The rest of the children more closely resembled their parents with jet black or ginger hair. The father was the most distinct of the bunch, with round glasses and the most peculiarly-shaped scar on his forehead. Sometimes his more eccentric patrons would approach the family excitedly as if they were famous. He was curious to know why, but Francis believed too strongly in minding his own business to ask.

“So sorry, I know you’re just about to close up. We’ll be really quick, I promise,” said the mother as the three boys scattered throughout the shop excitedly. “Be quick, we don’t want to be late to the Burrow,” she called after them.

“No rush on my part ma’am,” said Francis, wondering vaguely what the burrow was.

The man with the scar had his daughter in his arms. The years really were flying by, thought Francis. It felt like just last Christmas that they came in with her as a newborn, now she looked to be about four years old.

“Daddy, can I pick out the flowers for gran and grandad’s graves this year?” the little girl asked.

“Of course. What kind would you like?” the man asked, grabbing some candied almonds for himself.

“Sunflowers!” the little girl said, her whole face lighting up.

“That sounds great Lily,” the man said, smiling. Francis had no idea where they were planning to find sunflowers in December.

The rest of the kids returned to their parents, all having picked out a few sweets. They paid and left, heading down the street towards the local church graveyard. The couple looked awfully young for either of them to be without parents. Francis shuddered at the thought of his daughter bringing Alfie to visit him not at his house, but at a grave.

A short while later, Francis locked up and made his way back home. He walked past the war memorial that, for reasons no one seemed to know, was covered in flowers every year around Halloween and again in early May. He had tried looking up the significance with no luck, accepting it as just another quirk of Godrics Hollow.

As he passed the church, he glanced into the graveyard, where he saw that many of the graves had flowers laid upon them by loved ones. Almost all of them were poinsettias, creating a beautiful sea of red, but towards the back there was a spot of yellow, and Francis wondered to himself if they might be sunflowers.

[jawllines]

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?”

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .”

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing.

or

Harry and Y/N are witches, they hate each other, and something’s coming

19K+ words

(A/N: Hiii!! So, I’ll be honest I know absolutely nothing about real witches at all, so what is in this story is not fact! it’s just an AU and doesn’t speak toward any of my real witches out there unless i accidentally got some things right. Happy reading, I really liked writing these guys I hope you like them just as much!!)

i.

It was dark. 

Both in the state of the sky and the feeling that slithered through Y/N’s body while she tended to the Brugmansia finally flowering in her garden. The shift in the air could have easily been inculpated by the cool breeze that blew past her face, shepherding clouds thick and heavy with autumn rain, but Y/N knew better than that. Those feelings typically bring her peace; the rattle of thunder soothes her aching bones while fat drops paint the pavement, wet the dirt to mud, and feed the drying grass.

This feeling made her bones rattle. It crawled beneath her skin like billions of tiny beetles unearthed within her vessels; her stomach churned, her shoulders were weighed down, there was a gnawing pain at her temples, so fierce she held her hand to them. The cold brass of her ring cools her heated skin. This feeling was vile, it was awful, for fuck sake what was causing it? 

She stood from her crouched position and slid back into her store. Technically, she’d closed about three hours prior so she should have been home well by now, but when she’d finally gathered her things in her duffle at 12, she looked out the back window and noticed some of her moonflowers had begun to bloom. There was a small part of her that had been reluctant to step outside at all, but she needed to greet them and water them, no matter the odd, unfamiliar troubling sense that had initially confused her. She ignored it -- she thought maybe she was just nervous to say hi to them, sometimes she was. 

(Flowers and plants hold a special connection with their caretaker, from a tiny seed to a flourishing garden, they place their lives in the care of the earth or a human. If not properly nursed, their wilted petals appear so quickly, a silent plea for water, or sun, or even a little attention -- Y/N found that plants liked a little attention. That’s why she spoke to them, she cooed and gave them well-wishes when she left them alone. They felt just a part of her family as any blood relative had, from the moment she had sliced the tip of her finger in a torn brush and the petal she’d touched afterward fused together her tiny wound. Her nan had always told her that maybe she was a bit closer to plants than others were, so she probably shouldn’t share this with kids in her class because they might be jealous of her (Y/N knows now her nan just didn’t want her getting picked on.) 

It was clear to her now that this feeling was a bit more than that when her goose pimples sunk back into her skin after stepping into the warmth of her store. Though it was not just because she had been keeping her shop pleasantly warm as the nights grow colder and longer; she kept herself protected in here. In between these walls lied a sanctitude that kept all evil out, in all manners, of all species, besides two. 

One of which is her bunny, Thumper, who in all ways but emotionally was her familiar. He was a ghostly white Holland lop, with big dopey ears that she slid her fingers beneath and flipped up and down in spare moments. She accuses him of being evil because he’s always nipping at her fingertips, demanding food with a stomp of his foot, and gives the silent threat that he’ll nibble on her plants if she really pisses him off (he stands by them, twitches his little nose and shows his two front teeth until she gives him what he wants -- it’s usually more hay). He’s nothing but a little, greedy nuisance that showed up on her step one day and hadn’t left since.

The other. . .well, the other was Harry Styles. 

Y/N liked most witches, no matter their point of interest. She knew that there could be a certain level of distrust amongst the syndicate -- hexes, and curses placed upon one another, but she tried to stay out of that -- she held no disfavor toward most of the others either. Everyone connected with things very differently, what she may connect with might not be that of what her neighbor connected with and that was okay. Her nan’s emotions had been in accord with the sea, and even though Y/N spent most of her life fearing water, she bore no judgment. 

What she does is done in the mind of good favor, of bettering oneself with the world around them in a way that would beneficial to not only them but the people in their lives. Open up otherwise closed eyes to the beauty of the spirit and soul they possess, and the beauty and soul that the world around them held. The town she had moved to at 20 was so rich in natural beauty, ponderosa pine and hemlock trees grew tall in an extensive, juniper green forest almost always clouded with thick fog, the soil was soft and fertile, the air was crisp and clean. She felt happy here and wanted the others around her to recognize how lucky they were to be in an area so free of sordidity. 

There was an empty shop up the brick road of the older part of town, that had been crowded in cobwebs, leaves that had blown in from the broken window, and animal droppings. Her nan came to help her clean it up (her mum had too, but she was dog tired after her workweek so spent most of the visit asleep on Y/N’s couch), and did something short of absolving the land so that she could grow a garden behind the store, in the clearing of 200 or so meters before it meets the mouth of the forest. She sold herbs, people came to her for intricate, meaningful bouquets with flowers that could not be found in just any store (and she was good to her plants, so if she asked very kindly, and sent them with a packet that produced a very special brew when dumped in the water, they would live very, very, suspiciously long), plants that would liberate people of their aches and pains so long as they tended to them, journals of reused paper, scrubs, oils. . .there were many things. She offered classes too, to help people learn how to better cater to their flowers.

That had been a year ago, so she was still finding her footing, but not six months into this happy reality she had created for herself, Harry Styles had come to town. It took nothing but a few minutes of coming to contact with him that he was a bad apple, and when the once sweet-tempered town had begun mottling with dark splotches, she knew for sure. Harry was like her, but his book of shadows had pages filled with wicked words of revenge, conjuring demons and letting them wreak havoc. His business was more under the cuff -- he posed as a writer who needed a scenery change for his work, but Y/N knew it had to be more than that -- but he did his bidding in the night, seeding through clubs, in alleyways, in the forest. . .if someone knew about Harry, it was because they knew a guy who knows a guy. 

And for some reason, unbeknownst to her, he refused to leave her be. 

This is why it almost makes sense that the bell of her store would jingle brightly no matter the fact she’d locked the doors hours ago, and her attention would be brought to the pest himself. He wore a sweater that threatened to swallow him whole, and baggy, holey jeans he rolled at the cuff showing off his bat printed socks, stuffed into grandpa-Esque loafers. The necklace he always wears around his neck (a small pendant that she had never gotten close enough to make out) is sat atop of his sweater today rather than hidden beneath it as it usually is. His hair is getting longer, more unruly with his warm brown curls than it had been when she first met him -- she really hadn’t known he’d had curly hair until the more recent months when it had started growing out. 

His eyes were always the same soft, crystal green that matched his character none, and a pawky smirk on his mouth as he dragged his fingers along the lavender jars placed on her shelves, “Shouldn’t you be home by now? I figure it’s past your bedtime.” He leans down like he is about to pick something up, and when Y/N peers over the counter, she sees him slide his hand beneath Thumper’s soft white belly and pull him up to his chest. That was another indicator that Harry was just no good -- he was the only human that he liked, and the little creatine didn’t even like her. 

“Shouldn’t you?” She flips it, continuing to gather her things so she could head home for the night.

“You know these are my typical hours, Babe -- everyone wants to curse someone at 1 AM, there was a study done in the east end.” He pets between Thumper’s ears as he sets him down on the counter beside the cash register, before he reaches out for the wooden crafted incense burners, “Have these cheap little things been selling any?” 

“Piss off,” she stuffs her phone into her purse, then flips through her things to make sure her wallet was tucked in there as well, “What do you want, Harry? I’m about to go home, if you wanted to come around to bother me you should have hours ago.”

Harry feigns a gasp like he does any time she curses, “Thought good little witches didn’t have such foul tongues?” He flicks the candle jar on her counter, an apple scent had been melting around the wick for the better half of the day, “I don’t want anything in particular, just passing through. You know you’re right in the way of the forest, don’t you? S’kinda of obnoxious when you’re trying to summon imps at the cave -- they hate the bloody “stench” of the flowers.” 

“Good,” she retorts, “You shouldn’t be summoning around here anyway, this area’s off-limits.”

It was barely an agreement but still an agreement nonetheless -- if Harry left her be, she would leave him be because Y/N wasn’t an idiot. If he wanted a fight, Harry could start one and he would fight dirty. All she asks him is to stay away from her store and her flat, and to keep away from certain areas of the forest where the soil was always soft -- in return, he would do his activities, sometimes he would need her flowers for different spells and she would turn a blind eye to what he was doing. She does a few gentle protection spells here and there but otherwise, he’s a free man to do as he pleases, just so long as he respects her request. He’d seemed perturbed by the conditions none -- had even chuckled and said as long as he let her keep her “pretty little flowers” he could get away with murder. 

A heavy, weary sigh leaves him, “Yes, I’m well aware,” he rolled his eyes before crossing his arms on top of the counter and tucking his face in his elbow,  “Gimme a moment though, it’s warm in here and I was freezing outside.” He muffles into his sweater. 

Y/N had almost forgotten what she had felt prior to coming back inside, but his words bring it clearly to the forefront of her mind once more. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, hearing the floorboards creak beneath her as she wondered if he’d felt it too. It couldn’t have been him -- no, he was powerful but by no means powerful enough to conjure up something like that. And she’d like to ask him, but Harry has never been someone who took her seriously -- he would just make a joke of it, probably, or tease her. It wouldn’t be worth asking. 

But the feeling that she’d gotten is chewing on her memory, so she asks anyway, “Hey,” she began and the only indication that he was listening to her is the fact his fingers stopped tapping against the wood beneath them, “Did you. . .when you were outside, did you feel that?” 

He picks his head up from the crevice of his arm, “You’re gonna have to be a bit more descriptive than ‘that’,” his brows are raised as he continues, “Are you talking about the new pleasant but cold breeze we’ve gained for autumn, or the gut-twisting odious one?” 

Y/N looks at him impassively, “The latter, idiot.” 

“Yeah, I felt it,” he ignores her insult, “What about it?” 

The skin between her brows pinches, “Are you not concerned? It felt. . .bad,” she couldn’t think of a better word to describe it, “I didn’t like it at all.” 

“Are you scared?” There is delight swimming in Harry’s gaze as he stands up straighter, “Don’t tell me Glinda the Good Witch herself is scared of a little frightening feeling? I thought you were tough as nails and all that, hm?” 

“Never mind, forget I even brought it up,” she tried to dismiss it, as she slings her purse over her shoulder and plucks Thumper up to sit him in the cradle of her arms -- she knew better than to ask him like she might get any comfort at all from his words. 

He steps up and in front of her before she could start toward the door, “Oi, listen scaredy-cat, I don’t know if you’re aware but I deal with shite like this all the time, which means I’ve got a few banishments spells up my sleeve. If it’s really something that awful, I’ll cast it back to hell, easy as that.” Harry follows close behind her as she exits the door, feeling the same shiver of fear slither through her body, “I do want to see what it wants first though.” 

“Of course you do,” she utters in disappointment, “Just keep it away from my garden, please.” 

“I’ll try,” he tells her just as she reaches her car before he dips into his pocket and reveals that he’d stolen a baggy of chamomile, “If I didn’t keep your precious garden safe, then I wouldn’t have anywhere to get enchanted chamomile, and it works lovely in a sleepy time tea, I’ll tell you that -- your lavender is shit though. Never puts me to sleep like it ought to.” 

She pops open her car door, “Stop taking stuff from the store, or I’ll start lacing it with laxatives.” 

“While you’re doing that, won’t you plant them Clathrus mushrooms? I reckon the imps would prefer them way more than the mums.” He looks serious -- not a trace of a joke laced in his features and somehow that leaves Y/N more irritated than if he were laughing at her as he spoke. 

Her response is blunt, “No.” 

“Listen --”

“Harry, I’m not going to plant mushrooms for the damn imps!” 

                                                         .                             .                          .

When Y/N had met Harry, she was angry. 

She had never been a very angry person. Seldom has someone or something truly has gotten so deeply beneath her skin that she felt the need to yell or grump about it -- mild irritation was never off the table, but true, unadulterated wrath and resentment? It was rare she ever felt the need to even make a snide comment. And that wasn’t to say she was better than anyone else, she was just mild-tempered and forbearing. . .it took a little more than a remark or two to make her angry.

But when she was angry, she was an amalgamation of vexation and fire, and there was no surer way to disrupt her peaceful demeanor than to compromise her flowers. 

The day had been uneventful up to that point. It’d been a week since Harry had moved into town and Y/N was surely feeling the negativity that followed in his wake, but she was focusing on maintaining the tranquil, idyllic environment that she had around her previous. As much as she would have loved to seek him out, ready to squabble, tell him off for bringing any dark energy into such a calm place -- she had to come at it pragmatically. She and her friend Niall (who wasn’t a witch but knew about her) had both agreed that while it was aggravating, they didn’t know him. They did not understand the depth of his power, or what he was here for, nor had they understood wholly what he was capable of. Y/N had felt his presence, but Niall had confirmed it after hearing the underground chatter of a dark witch who made promises to turn glitter to gold. 

She was on her way to her store. Though she was closed on weekends, she always went by to check on the flowers, water them, tell them about her day, and with her was Thumper who would be hopping around the grassy field and gnawing on the blades. It was very peaceful -- the time she spent with her plants -- so she always looked forward to it, but that day she was filled with trepidation as she parked her car. Something was off. . .not in the air, but with her flowers -- she could feel it deep in her marrow that they were in pain. 

So she huffed it to the back of the store, and there she found Harry, two of her purple vervains nestled against his palm. He noticed her before she could even think to say anything, and something short of relief had flushed through him, “Oh thank fuck, you’re here,” he sighs, referencing her garden with a wave of his hands, “I cannot for the life of me remember what hazel looks like.” 

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N demanded, stomping toward him, but instead of shoving him to the ground like she wanted to, she dropped to her knees and caressed the remaining vervain, “Why would you pluck them like that? They aren’t ready!” 

“Ready? They’ve flowered haven’t they?” His brows had been tilted while his mouth dipped in a frown, “I need them for an incantation, figured you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed these two. Aren’t we meant to help each other out?”

 “You should have asked, you prick,” she pointed up at him, “And even if you had, I would have said no. I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’re really disturbing an otherwise pleasant place. I wish you would leave.’ 

Harry feigned hurt, placing a hand to his chest, “You wound me,” he mocks her, “Listen Glinda Good Witch, we all gotta get by somehow, yeah? Not all of us talk to plants or whatever it is you do. So do you want me to pay or --” 

“Those won’t work for whatever it is you’re trying to do,” she cut him off, “If it’s something with cruel intent, it won’t happen -- they were grown to do good.” 

“Which is exactly why I needed them from you,” he wiggles them in her direction, “Well, I need to get going. You’re awful in particular about a garden that is subpar at best. Wish you well, see you later.” 

Then he left. No guilt, no apology -- he just up and left, and Y/N was livid. 

(Later that night when she had explained the situation to Niall, he was nothing short of outraged, so they had tried to find out more about Harry. Anything about him, really, but he leaves a very little paper trail in his endeavors -- from public records they find that he’s 25 and from Holmes Chapel, and from a google search they find he has two books out, published online, and doing decently well. There was nothing else apart from that, he kept his socials pretty dry, and what he did post was nonsensical drivel.)

Y/N thinks about this, as she sinks into her tub, the burning water scalding against her skin. Harry had always driven her mad but he has never seemed half as angry as she was -- hell if anything he always seemed like he enjoyed it. 

He was just absolutely rotten. 

                                                           .                                  .                           .

Harry thinks Y/N is just absolutely rotten. 

There were many reasons that he had classified her as such, but namely what he was concerned about now was how she kept her shop closed on the weekends. 

Who kept their store closed the entire bloody weekend?

It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see her -- Harry actually found the girl quite plaguy. Her opinions on his practice were priggish, not unlike the others like them he had met in the past. There has always been an unfaltering stigma that was carried with what he did, one that was quite hard to shake within the factions of other witches that are sprinkled across the world. He’s seen as careless, cruel, greedy, and selfish -- he doesn’t practice magic for the love of the world around him, to feel a deeper, spiritual connection with the fecund soil that covered the earth, or with the water gently slipping past rocks along a stream bank. They look at him and see someone who shakes hands with the devil and ruins lives for a cookie. 

Harry lets them think as they wish, he has no patience to attempt correcting them. If they’d bothered to learn an inch about him at all before passing their judgment then they would have a clue about his true character, but the jury had already made the decision before Harry even realized he was on trial. They never really wanted to give Harry a chance, so he knew he would be hated no matter where he decided to reside. The pack mentality that they carry is the reason he has to move around so often though (more than any 25 years old was typically doing) he gets run out of a lot of areas because a group of soft witches decides he’s no good. 

That’s what drew him to this place -- there was practically nobody. He could sense when there were more like him loitering around an area, and made an effort to keep a decently low profile so that he could stay around longer (but they always managed to find him), but here, he only sensed one. That had been good enough for him to know this was the right move -- the beautiful scenery surrounding them; the soft bed of dirt that Harry’s feet would sink into easily; the dense, damp fog that covered the forest floor in the early mornings; the lush, green trees and how life seemed to remain there when it was meant to be waning in the colder months -- all of that, had only been a plus. 

When he’d met Y/N, he knew that she disliked him, but Harry had expected as much so it disturbed him none. If anything, he was delighted to have a purer witch than himself around, all things considered. There were no others that she could develop a hive mind with to drive him out of town, but she was no competition to the businesses that he provided, and when a decoction called for an obscure plant or an unsullied petal -- well, a Garden witch was not the worst kind to have nearby. She may be devout in her notions that Harry was a disagreeable, repugnant being, but she was good at what she did. Anything done with her plants was twice as effective as any other person’s flowers he’d used in the past, so it was necessary he bothered her often. 

She refused to sell to him -- something about her doing business with a demon, or whatever she’d said -- but so long as he doesn’t go and cut them from the stem himself, she helps him out. Will give him the plants he needs, and in return, he doesn’t taint certain areas of the town and the forest that she declared were off-limits. It was a spoken commercial agreement that both of them went by and because of it, their lives near to one another were comparatively peaceful to any other situation Harry has found him in prior. 

That didn’t come without its faults. They butt heads often, their bickering is nonstop, and Harry could think of many things he would rather do than have to stay in a room with her for longer than the ten minutes it takes him to get what he needs. It was fun to fluster her -- getting beneath her skin was an easy feat that he found a lot of joy in, and sometimes she gave him a run for his money. He always kind of liked making a normally mild-tempered person grump at him a little, if not for his impish ways, then so he could get to know them as their full self. 

So he wasn’t mad that she was closed because he particularly wanted to see her, no, he was mad because he was exhausted. Absolutely drained. The business was incredible when you’re the only dark witch willing to do some questionable, immoral things, but that also meant long nights and incredible emotional toil -- it wasn’t a walk in the park to conjure up a bloody demon! 

Ever since Harry had started this path, he’d had immense trouble sleeping at appropriate times, if he could fall asleep at all. He guesses this was what he gets in return for what he practices, and it could be worse so he doesn’t mind it too much, but it was still a hassle. It had been a good four years since Harry just had a good, peaceful night of sleep. 

Up until he had moved here, of course, because the same little garden witch that thought he was the devil incarnate, made a tea he could brew that set him right to sleep. Kept him asleep the entire night too, which had always been an impossible endeavor spanning back to when he was a child, but there was something about her chamomile -- hell, it really knocked him out. 

He tested his theory -- part of him thought that maybe chamomile was suddenly working for him, but no matter the brand that he tried, or the amount of tea he drank, none of it could compare to what Y/N’s did. When he visited her store, he took what he could to hold him off to the next time he came by. He hadn’t realized how low he was though when he had seen her last and she threatened to lace it with laxatives -- he should have taken two because he used his last bit the night prior to the one he’s suffering through right now. 

And he could have gotten more this morning if she didn’t close her stupid shop on weekends!

If Harry were not positive that he needed to rest, he wouldn’t bother to be trying. There was nothing worse to him than the laying in his bed and waiting for sleep that refused to come...it felt like he was being stood up by a date. It hasn’t happened often, but enough that Harry could match the feeling low in his stomach, indicative of discontent and sadness while he waited. . . . .and waited. . . .and waited. . . .and waited. 

It was useless -- the universe’s retribution for summoning spirits to the living world left him with what a doctor might diagnose as chronic insomnia, but none of the treatments did him any good. No mortal medicinal could soothe him of this ailment. So one would think he would be smarter about keeping a hearty stock of it at his disposal rather than one at a time, but Harry never claimed to be the best at planning ahead. 

And now here he was, staring at his ceiling fan whirl, his cat at his side while he contemplated if breaking and entering her shop was against his morals (he had a few left, surprisingly). 

God, she was so rotten! 

                                               .                                     .                                 .

“Have you felt weird lately?” 

“Hm?” Niall’s face scrunches up in confusion, his mouth stuffed full of noodles he just slurpped into his mouth, “Wha’ d’ya mean?” He muffles out, reaching over to her side of the table for a napkin to dab at the corners of his mouth.

The record store that Niall worked at wasn’t too far from Y/N’s shop so if her day wasn’t too busy, she would step away from the store for her lunch break and seek him out. It was never a planned ordeal; Y/N would stop off somewhere to get them something to eat and appear at his storefront, the sharp ding of the bell knotted on the door alerted him of her presence. He was always one of two places: in the back, tuning the old guitars the owner would bid on different websites, or he was in the front thumbing through the record baskets, organizing and reorganizing them by name. Sometimes he would be sat behind the counter, with his feet kicked up just beside the register but Y/N scolds him for that (he’s always wearing a dingy, scuffed pair of shoes that have no business seeing the light of day, let alone be shown off to others). 

His head would perk up, he would look toward the door, and his face would bloom into one of sheer delight as he would call over to her, “Oh, thank fuck! Thought I would go crazy if I had to listen to myself think for one more second.” 

Today was no different. She brought him ramen from the place three buildings down from his own, where she bends down a street that feels more like an alleyway and the door is hidden beneath a brassy fire escape. The owners were always very kind to her, and since she came often and tipped well, they would give her free bowls if they were in the mood. Y/N never liked the idea of a one-sided relationship with a business, so she always brought them herbs, and gardenias to plant at home (they were the husband’s favorite). She takes their fliers and posts them up in high traffic areas too, and when they have their business cards made and an extra hundred or so, she slips them in the paper baggies that she gathers her customer’s things in before sending them on their way. 

Niall was grateful. He did a little cheer, left his spot from behind the counter, and urged her to follow him to the back where the break room was located (if a customer came around he would hear the bell and duck his head out to greet them, but for the most part their Tuesdays were pretty uneventful). He told her he had sensed her coming so he already had two stools set out for them to sit on, and napkins placed in the middle of the table, but she’s almost a hundred percent sure they had been left like that last time she was here. 

Try as she might to let her mind flee from the dark, hazed feeling that had overcome her last week, she couldn’t. Even as she listened to Niall prattle about some Gibson Les Paul custom that the owner purchased a while back, she struggled not to wonder what it was that was worming itself into her brain; slick tendrils of dismay overcame her. The true, unadulterated, execrable feeling only truly hits her in the night if she is outside the safety of her home or her shop, but otherwise, it was memories of this haunting aura that struck her throughout the day.

She couldn’t place her finger on it though, what it could be. There are feelings she garners when Harry summons certain spirits, but she can typically tell when he’s doing that, and they’ve never felt so. . .evil, before. What Harry deals with is evil, sure, but this was so smothered in turpitude that she couldn’t make it out. Like spilling black ink over a letter written in blue. 

That’s why she asks Niall -- it feels too strong for it to be something only felt by her and Harry. It would also soothe her mind if someone had felt it as horribly and heavily as she did, considering it wasn’t affecting Harry enough that he would try to banish the damn thing before things went sour. 

“Like, do things just not feel. . .off, to you?” She didn’t want to feed him any impressions of what she might be speaking about -- she would like to know if it were true to him. Niall is sweet as he could be, but not always when it was appropriate; he would tell her he did just to spare her from feeling foolish. It’s why she thought berets were her thing for about a month when really she looked like a washed-up indie artist trying too hard (Niall had agreed they weren’t her best fashion venture, but he certainly didn’t think they were that bad). 

His face contorts in a pout as he mulls it over in his head, stabbing his fork into the noodles and catching a bit of pork on two of the pronks, “Hm, let’s see. . .” he looks like he’s spinning through a Rolodex, “I have not for the life of me mustered enough energy to have a wank in about a week, that’s some cause for concern,” when she responds with a blank stare, he holds his hands up, “Okay, fine -- Butternut was biting at the air when I took him on his walk the other night -- like. . .chomping at it, I was actually gonna ask you what that might be about.”  

Now, don’t get Y/N wrong, any other time Niall would have told her that his great Pyrenees puppy was yapping and chomping at the wind, she would have brushed it off. “Niall, you’re just going to have to accept that he’s going to be a big, sweet dummy when he’s older.” But she was so desperate for something, anything -- because if something felt it other than she and Harry, then she wouldn’t feel quite as crazy. 

“Sometimes it feels a bit like something’s watching me,” he tacks on at the end, taking the brown napkin from the stack in between them and dabs roughly at his mouth, “At night, when I’m walking Butternut, I get these chills but there’s no wind around.” 

Y/N leans forward, thankful, “Yeah?” she presses, “Is it like -- describe it. What does it feel like?” 

“Y’know, I do forget you’re a witch until times like these,” he leans back in his chair, a heavy sigh slides from his lips before he closes his eyes like he’s trying to place himself back at the moment, “I’ll tell ya what, it’s fuckin’ -- it’s a bit like I feel it right down to my bones, but then --” he opens his eyes, raises his closed fists and flicks his fingers out at her, “Poof, s’gone as quick as it came and I forget about it. My nan used to tell me that was the devil patting your shoulder, but if it went away quick s’because an angel kicked his arse out of there.” 

It’s enough, Y/N decides, so she nods and relaxes back in her seat, “Okay, good.” 

“Good?” His brows furrow, as he reaches for his can of soda and the aluminum can crinkles beneath his fingers, “Tell you that I get chills and you’re relieved? Should I be relieved too, or worried?” 

“It isn’t anything to concern over, I don’t think,” she explains to him, “If anything changes I’ll let you know.” 

Niall uses one of his fingernails to dig the dirt from beneath the other, “Did that Harry bloke muster some horrible demon up again?” His voice is laced with vexation. Niall wasn’t a hard guy to get along with -- he was loud and Irish, could chat up a storm about anything and everything, and while he could be scrappy at times, it was for all the right reasons. He was equanimous in most situations, even-tempered to a fair degree; if Y/N were in a situation where a cool, calm collected head would be the best approach then Niall was definitely the person she wanted on her side. 

(Like when they had to drive home from a day trip to the massive lake just north of them, but the roads hadn’t been pretreated for the icy sleet that gripped the pavement. He drove them the whole way on the windy roads with little traction from the tires to the road, and was still bobbing his head and singing along to Ed Sheeran on the radio). 

But Harry Styles? Oh, the mention of his name could dig right beneath Niall’s skin. Y/N would like to think that it was because he was so cruel to her, but she knows that there are two main reasons Niall is not too fond of him nor his craft. One of which is the fact that he slept with Liana (she happened to be one of Niall’s flings at the time -- there were plenty, but Y/N only remembered this one’s name because she shared it with a woody stem rooted to the forest soil that made for easy climbing), and the other, the fact that he had helped the captain of the opposing summer footie team with one of his enchantments to make them win. There are few things Niall cares for so deeply that he would dislike someone, but his sex life and his footie were two things a person just couldn’t mess up for him. 

“No, it wasn’t him this time,” she clears her throat, pushing the rest of her ramen around idly, “It’s a bit too strong to be his doing -- more sinister too. He conjures mostly petty demons; the little ones that don’t have much better to do anyway. This is something. . .I don’t know, it just feels different.” 

Niall sighs heavily, “Well, thanks for that, reckon I won’t be sleeping tonight,” he pushes the container away from himself to signify he’s done and when she takes a peek inside and sees nothing but a few noodles limp along the sides, “I like that you keep me in the loop, but sometimes I wish you would let me live in ignorance.” 

“You know, I would apologize, but you’ve gone into an in-depth description of your arsehole to me so I thought any boundaries and forms of secrecy were long gone by now.” 

His brows furrow features contorting into that of the same desperation he had come to her with two months ago, “Ugh, c’mon! You’re practically like a witch doctor or somethin’, I thought you would have a cream or something for it.” 

“You had a hemorrhoid, Niall, for fuck sake! Even if I were a “witch doctor” then I would never let you put anything that came from my plants on your filthy bum.” 

Niall stands, gathering their trash from the break room table but using his free hand as he passes her, he swats her shoulder, “You better be nice to me, or you’re gonna have to start eating lunch with Styles.” He steps on the level for the waste bin, throwing the trash in the bag, “Though I think you two would just end up hate fucking and the food would go cold.” 

“No,” she rolls her eyes, “I would never let that Gremlin near my naked body.” 

“Listen, I’m not saying I want the guy anywhere near your naked body,” he plops back down in his seat, “What I am saying is that you lot have such unbridled sexual tension it is practically palpable when I’m at the shop with the both of you. Maybe it’s ‘cos the two of you are the only witches, and opposites at that.” 

Y/N snorts, “Maybe if we were in some enemies to lovers film, sure.” 

   After they finish their break, and Y/N realizes that she’s been with him for a little over an hour, they make plans to meet up tomorrow for a movie and she heads out. The air was cool -- when she had made her way over here the sun had been glittering rays down that bathed the world in gold, but it was now hidden beneath an overcast of thick clouds. Rain always carried a familiar scent just before it started to pour and Y/N had forgone a jacket, so she huffed her way back, breathless by the time she made it up the hill and saw Harry leaning against her door. 

The sight of him makes her exhausted, but not in the usual way it does. He looks awful -- and typically he doesn’t! Y/N could admit that Harry was gorgeous; his hair always appeared soft, loose curls dispersed along the brunette strands, his eyes are a sea green, tender in his gaze when he wasn’t being an absolute prick and always bright (even when he was). His lips were pink, shaped perfectly, and his skin is typically smooth but even when he grows out his facial hair it still manages to look good. He had dimples. . .hell, Y/N would place a bet that he’d made a deal with the devil to look like that. 

But today, he just looked worn down, and exhausted, like he might not have slept the entire weekend. His eyes were closed, his hands were in his pockets and his chin was tilted down towards his chest. If not for the way his head perked up immediately when her foot crunched into the gravel pathway leading up to her store from the small parking area (that was more so a beaten down, once grassy area now just dirt with tire tracks in it), she would have thought he was asleep standing up. There’s relief in his eyes when they meet her own, which she isn’t used to seeing from him, “Thank fuck.” 

“You look horrible,” Y/N slides her hand into her pocket, pulling out her keys so she could unlock the door, “Budge over.” 

“I feel it,” he rubs tiredly at his eyes, “Go on and open up quickly then. Why the hell do you keep your store closed on weekends?” 

Y/N fits her hand over the knob, twisting it and shoving the door open with her shoulder. Thumper greets them at the door, nudging the top of his head against her ankle, “Do you work every night?” 

“No --” 

“I keep it closed on weekends for the same reason why you don’t work every night,” she heads toward the counter, settling her things down and reaching in for Thumper’s hay stash so that she could give him some, “What’re you here for? You usually come around to bother me later.” She chances petting at Thumper’s head for a moment, and since he was preoccupied with his hay he would allow it.

“Fuck!” Y/N startles, popping up from behind the counter, looking back up only to see Harry with wide, disgruntled eyes, “Where’s your chamomile?” 

Her brows dip, “I’m out right now, so --” 

“How the hell did you run out? Shit, what am I going to do now, hm? Shouldn’t you keep up with shite like this?” He’s going a mile a minute, he’s walking closer to her, distress was written all over his face and Y/N is alarmed to a fair degree -- Harry’s always seemed very collected and calm, it was seldom she ever seen him have more emotion than pure elation to fuck with her or displeased with her presence. 

“ -- so I’m going to make more today. What’s going on with you? Why are you so pissy over it?” She finishes her previous thought, watching as he leans against the counter, propping his face up with his hand and she could now more clearly make out the bags beneath his eyes.

He rubs at his temple with the finger closest to it, “The only way I can sleep is with your bloody tea,” he grumbled, “That’s why I come around all the time -- well, that and to fuck with you, but mostly the tea.” 

“Oh?” She reaches down, plucking Thumper from where he’d been positioned by her feet and setting him on the counter. He thumps his foot at her once but eventually makes his way over to Harry, sniffing at his chin before resting right before him. Y/N wasn’t necessarily doing it to be nice, but the energy he was exuding could really dampen the growth rate of her plants, and Thumper had a soothing way about him that drew all that negativity out. It was one of those odd little familiar powers that went unexplained for the most part. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” 

“Dunno,” he shrugged his shoulders, but the tension in them begins to dissipate as Thumper snuggles beneath his chin, “Reckon I pissed off some demon or summat -- usually it isn’t this bad. Without your tea, I can at least get to bed for three hours before waking up and catch cat naps during the day, but nothing was working this weekend. I think I’ve slept a total of two hours?” 

“Christ,” she tuts her tongue, but her brain starts churning, “Do you think it has anything to do with that. . .with that thing, that’s around? That feeling?” 

Harry huffs a sigh, “Fuck, here you go again -- Babe, listen, I can barely keep a coherent thought, so why don’t I just give you some money and you make that tea for me, alright?” 

“That’s no way to ask,” Y/N chastises him, and though she is already beginning to gather the supplies she needs so she could go out and harvest her leaves, she taunts him, “You’ll have to say please, or I might just decide to wait on this batch.” 

“Please,” he wastes no time in saying, “Pretty please harvest the chamomile so that I can sleep and I promise I’ll sit and theorize with you over whatever the fuck thing you’re feeling.” 

Y/N could go through the trouble of doing a blood binding with him to ensure that he wasn’t lying to her, but she felt that was a little on the extreme side so she took his word for it. She could easily harvest her chamomile here at the shop -- she had two doors behind the counter, one that led to her garden, the field, and the forest outside while the other led to a backroom that was made into a little kitchen area. It was easier for her to do things here rather than at home and have to risk tainting them in transport; for the best results to any enchanted item, one has to seal it immediately and it should only be reopened prior to use. 

She wouldn’t allow Harry to hover over her while she worked, so she sat him behind the counter and told him to not speak to any customers if they come through (“Wasn’t planning to,”) while she went to work. Y/N gave Thumper a look when he had started to follow her, and with a small thump of his foot (his way of saying Fine!) he hops himself into Harry’s lap and settles there. The tension once again eases from Harry’s features, soothing the pinch in his brow and the way his lips had been pursed in a frown. 

It was silent as she set to work, and save for a few customers who filtered in and out (at least a dozen of them, only eight purchased something but her Mondays were always pretty slow so that was expected), there wasn’t much to disturb what appeared to be a dozing Harry. He looked much more peaceful than she’s ever seen him, and for a brief moment she contemplates sending Thumper back home with him, but she shakes her head physically as if to expel the thought from her brain. What was she going on about? She would give him his tea and send the heathen on his way. No matter how empathetic she felt for him (she had struggled with issues sleeping when she was a lot younger), there was no need to go out of her way. . .even if she could admit that the sight of him cuddling with a bunny was a little too sweet not to be documented somewhere. 

She’s finished drying the leaves and carefully stirring them in the fine powder that she still had leftover from her last batch (there were many flowers from her garden ground up and enchanted with an incantation, which sounds like a simple enough task but the entire process took a little over a week -- the magic had to be purified several times, and the potential adverse effects had to be mollified. . . if she didn’t, instead of pleasant dreams of floating in clouds, her customers would be in an unsolicited astral projection) in a little over an hour. Y/N takes care to bag them delicately, adding a little extra in the two bags she would be giving Harry so that he would bother her less over it. 

By the time she’s retreated from the back preparation room, she finds that Harry is awake now, eyeballing her Intimacy and Romance section. When he sees that she’s returned to the front, he holds up the small, cardboard parcel, “I didn’t know you doubled as a Pulse and Cocktails.” 

“That’s a natural aphrodisiac,” she tells him, walking over to her empty chamomile shelf before she begins to fill it,  “You might want to take some so your partners will actually desire you for once.” 

“Oh, Honey,” he shakes his head, a look on his face almost like he pities her, “Don’ know a thing about how people desire me. Barely have to take my cock out for them to be gagging for it -- kind of how you are, but won’t admit it to yourself.” 

Y/N kisses her teeth, “Alright lecher, come and get your chamomile then,” she plucks the two remaining bags from the box she brought them in and holds them out for him, “You should look into some spells to combat that though -- if a demon is purloining your sleep, then it’s probably still hanging around and like deluging your flat with negative energy.” 

“Dunno’ if you know this, but I work with demons often, I’m always surrounded by negative energy,” he plucks the chamomile from her grasp, before reaching in his pocket and producing a small wad of cash that he places in her palm-- Y/N opens her mouth to decline it (she felt that his money was earned in a dishonest way and would not accept it for her flowers, because it felt as if she were disrespecting them. . .she would much rather give it to him for free), but he cuts her off, “Oh, hush and take the money. This is from a care package my Nan sent me, so it wasn’t earned in any rotten way, you spoiled brat.” 

She sighs, clutching the money in her hands, “You still better keep your end of the deal,” Y/N tells him, “I want to talk about this. . .whatever that feeling is, around here lately. And I want you to be serious about it!” 

Harry was already retreating, waving his hand up at her, “Yeah, sure thing, I’ll have my secretary get in contact with you --” 

“Harry --” 

“M’only joking. I’ll come around Friday.” 

                                                                     .                       .                         .

Later that night, with Thumper snuggled in her lap snoozing, Y/N looks into purging a home of sleep stealing spirits. 

She’s only curious. 

                                                             .                         .                        . 

Sleep comes gradually, then all at once, like the shift between summer and fall. 

Wind whistles past window sills singing shallow songs of change, while red apples ripen on their branches in the orchard during harvest season. The air grows colder in the mornings and at night, the day is still steeped in the sun’s benevolent kisses of heat at first until even that begins to wane. An aesthetic of reds, oranges, forest greens and golden hues occupy the minds of many as the leaves start to stain with color. Everyone waits with bated breath for true autumn to come around the corner. 

And when it does, it’s with a cold slap of air against the face when they step outside. The air carries that distinct autumn smell, the world is chilly enough for thicker jackets and long socks, rain comes in sheets during the evenings, and the colorful leaves that had drooped from the trees adhere to the concrete, or in matted piles on the forest floor.  Suddenly, the warm drink in everyone’s hand is a little less for the excitement and impatience for fall to begin, and more so to warm their cold palms from the onslaught of biting wind. 

It isn’t autumn, and then it is -- just like sleep. Harry’s awake one minute, and then he’s passed right out. 

Well, with Y/N’s help, bless her. Sure, she had been rotten before, but she made him a new batch and sent him off with two hearty bags full of tea that would soothe his worries and put his arse to bed. Plus, he had cuddled with her sweet little bunny Thumper for a while and he had a feeling the little bugger was exuding some sort of her soft magic unto him in the form of calming waves. When the rabbit sat in his lap, all the tension eased from his muscles and he sank into an otherwise uncomfortable chair like it was the softest mattress he’d ever been privy to. So by the time he came home, started the kettle, drank a mug full, and hot tailed it to his bed, he was asleep before his head could even quite hit the pillow. 

It was so good. His dreams were pleasant, his sleep was heavy, and deep, and lasted around fifteen hours -- which in the grand scheme of things, made him feel a bit like a sloth, but he knew he needed it. He still couldn’t quite pinpoint what had happened that he just couldn’t sleep even a little bit, but he has no interest in investigating now that he had a full night’s (and partially day’s) rest. Plus, there was no time to do any exploring when he needed to make up for the work he’d missed in his time exhausted -- his powers are nowhere near as strong if he is tired, and it’s incredibly dangerous to be working with little sleep. He could mess up, and a mess-up could mean someone would likely end up possessed and -- albeit how interesting they are -- Harry’s intrigue with exorcisms ended after the seventh one he performed. 

After he woke up, showered off, and ate brekkie, he sat down with his kitten and they cleaned his crystals and a few amulets before he set on preparing some of his finer elixirs, that he always waited until he was down to the last drop to begin making more canisters of considering how extensive the process was. It would be easier if he had someone else to help out, but the only other witch within 160 kilometers of him, he wouldn’t label as the type all too willing to help him break into a blood bank. 

But he did have his kitten Oat. He was his little miracle -- Harry had been so sad when he learned that witches could have familiars, but the animal would come to him and he was supposed to just know. At that point, he’d been practicing for three years and the only feelings he could sense from any animal around him were fear and disdain, so he had thought that maybe he just wasn’t meant to have one. Which felt horrible. . .he loved animals. 

One day, when the chill in the air rosied his cheeks and the cardigan he sported did little to shield him from the cold, he was taking a walk in the forest nearby. He’d left the trail, but not because he was working. . .if he were honest, he thought that the garden that Y/N kept out there was quite magnificent. It flourished even in the winter, a meadow of flowers that’s petals never frost, and the ground never grew hard. There was an air around it that made him feel warm and pleasant, so he visited often without letting her know. Which was what he was doing, walking through the small path that she had created so that she could tend to them (he’d seen her water them once when he’d come unknowing that she was there to cater to them). 

And one moment he was looking at what he believed to be an oat grass, he heard a rustle from the bushes to his left that he looked toward (it was a bird flying away), and when his gaze returned to where it had once been, there a small kitten was laying. She was the kind of small that made his heart ache, with her eyes barely open as she yawned and stretched very wide -- she wasn’t there, and then she was. Harry always liked to say she was born from the soft soil of Y/N’s garden which was why her grey fur felt like clouds and she always smelled sweet as heliotrope. . .and, well, she smelled a lot like Y/N too. He may not be all too fond of the girl, but she did always smell nice. 

She hadn’t grown bigger than one of his boots, the tiny little thing, but not because she was malnourished in any way (Harry always made sure she was well-fed), he just thinks she’s finished growing. He couldn’t tell her breed, but if he had to guess she was some mix between a munchkin and a ragamuffin cat. Harry knows all familiars have their duties and special abilities, but he wasn’t quite sure what hers was -- he just knew that he loved her to bits and pieces, and couldn’t ask for a better little ball of fur to sit on his shoulder while he made coffee in the morning. 

What Harry did know, was that none of the demon’s he had ever conjured had ever bothered her, and she loved to be rubbed behind her ears. 

So Thursday night, when the town grew quiet and the air was still, Harry ventured out with his tote bag slung over his shoulder. It was easy to move about relatively unseen in a place like this, that wasn’t so big there were people constantly looming around the corners of every nook and cranny, but wasn’t so small that everybody knew everyone’s business. It was a pleasant in between, where he could snake through the mouth of the forest, walk a trail and end up on the other side of town without having been seen by more than a few critters. He typically made this journey relatively late, without a worry or stressor in sight -- it only took him about an hour and a half to get everything done. 

Today though -- today, he felt off. It hadn’t been immediately when he’d stepped outside, but after some time in his walk, goosebumps prickled his skin and the hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn’t quite decipher what was making him feel like this when the wind hadn’t rustled the trees in a few minutes, but it put him on guard. He disliked the feeling and had only truly sensed it to this degree that night Y/N had originally questioned him about it. It was an unsavory sensation, and for it to even make him feel uneasy was saying something tremendous. 

He attempts to ignore it, even though it only grew stronger the closer he was to his destination. He weaves through the trees, stepping over the thick roots, crunching over fallen leaves, and appreciating the scent of autumn as he goes. It was a nice night, despite the chill that ran just beneath his skin. . .it was the kind of night that he might go out on his balcony and sip on his tea until he grew weary enough to step inside. Oat liked to sit outside with him, curled peacefully in his lap and resting without a care in the world (she made him feel not so lonely all the time, which he appreciated immensely). 

Harry was thinking about how that was precisely what he was going to do as soon as he returned home after he had emerged from the trees and walked through an expansive field, toward an old road that led him back into town and entered the blood bank (after melting the lock with one of his crystals). Though he sensed something strong when he was walking down the cold, dark hall. . .or someone that is, who --  before he could register their presence -- ran straight into him as they were peeling around the corner and nearly knocked him on his arse (but definitely knocked them on theirs). 

“Fuck sake!” He cried out, steadying himself, looking down at the assailant, “Watch where you’re going, mate, or you’ll -- oh, Y/N?” He pauses, confusion laces through his brain as he recognizes her, “What’re you doing here so late?” 

Y/N was on her bum, scowling at him as she gathered herself before flattening her palms to the cold, white tiled floor and pressing up to a stand, “I could ask you the same question.” 

“It would be a silly one if you did, ‘cos you and I both know what I’m doing for a living,” he watches as she swipes her bum of the dust adhering to her sweatpants -- he had never seen her so dressed down before, in a dark-colored hoodie that just about swallowed her whole. She appeared much less ferocious this way -- not that she appeared very ferocious before, but he is always intrigued to see typically put together people in their sleep clothes. . .he thinks it says a lot about a person. From Y/N’s choice of pajamas, he could tell that she probably kept her flat on the side of too cold because she liked to bundle up. . .she felt safe that way, he would guess, and he would bet 50 quid that there was bunny hair all over it because -- despite his grumpy tendencies -- Thumper loved a good cuddle.

“I felt it again,” she says after a moment, her voice only above a whisper, though there was no security here -- or anyone, for that matter since the place closes at 7 PM, but her eyes still shift around like she’s a high schooler ditching class and the headmaster's down the hall, “. . .that thing, y’know, while I was getting ready for bed, so I followed where it felt grossest and came to check it out to see if it led me anywhere.” 

Harry’s brows furrowed, “Well that was stupid,” he derides her, fixing the tote around his shoulder and shifting weight from one heel to the other, “What were you going to do if you found something, hm? Fight it off with your bunny and rose petals?”

Her scowl returns, “Piss off,” she utters before her gaze flickers to his tote and the reason he’s here becomes clearer to her than it had been before, “You shouldn’t be stealing blood. Isn’t that unethical?” 

“It’s either this or siphoning it from a live vein, Babe, and while I’m aces at plenty of things, I have not been properly trained to set up an IV. I only take the blood that’s about to expire anyway,” He nods down the hallway, toward the refrigeration where they kept all of the baggies, “You might as well continue investigating while we’re here because it’s coming from that way -- plus you can make yourself useful by keeping the door propped open for me.”

In all honesty, Harry expects more fight than he was given considering how often she seems to object to every move he makes, but she merely rolls her eyes and starts ahead of him. The feeling does grow stronger the further they descend into the hallway and he knows Y/N can feel it too, from the way she shuffles just a little closer to him, and he can hear her breathing hitch to a small halt as they stood before the door and it felt like it had all been focused just behind the door. As strong as the taste of frozen orange juice concentrate, it made his face pucker just slightly as he raised his fingers toward the keypad and began punching in the code. 

“You’re really gonna go in there?” Y/N queries gently, and Harry only nods his head in response, reaching for the door handle. An urgent, delicate touch of Y/N’s hand startles him, looping around his wrist and dragging his attention toward her, “Shouldn’t we have a game plan if something is behind the door?” She asks, her hold on him tightening just a little, and Harry notes how soft her palm feels against his skin, “Like, let’s say we open the door and a behemoth is standing there, what do we do?” 

“The only behemoth that could fit in this tiny room is the band from Poland, Babe, and I reckon they have better things to do on a Thursday night,” he retorts, clenching around the knob and tilting it down, “Now unless you want to hold hands in there. . .” 

She lets go before he can finish, and he doesn’t have to look back at her face to know she’s irate. A small smile quirks at his mouth as he pushes his shoulder against the heavy door to aid him opening it, bracing himself to see something potentially horrid. . .

And there’s nothing. 

Actually, as soon as they open the door, the dark, odious feeling that had been encompassing both of them disappears entirely. “Whoa,” Y/N pushes her hand against the door and keeps it open, taking one step inside of the room, “There’s a lot of blood in here.” His gaze flickers back at her, as she looks around, looking more intrigued than disgusted -- there was a lot of blood, 8 by 5-meter room just filled with it, so he could understand some of the awe. The more he returns, the less awe he feels, but he reckons that was to be expected. 

“There are about five other refrigerators in this building too,” he tells her as he lowers to his knees, cracking open his tote, “This one’s computers are easier to get into though, and doesn’t say the date and time the amount was changed so nobody knows anything is missing. Easy peasy.” 

Y/N nods, “Right. Stealing blood -- easy peasy,” she leans against the door, “What is it that you use it for?” 

“It really depends,” he murmurs as he pulls out a rack, counting out the baggies he needed, “Some demons like blood more than ash, so they come when called and are more willing to help you out when given a little gift. There are a few spells that call for it, and elixirs are twice as potent — sometimes I have to drink it, which is...unpleasant,” he hears her shiver, “—but it makes the outcome better. All in a day's work.”

“Oh wow,” Y/N hummed, “That’s...different. I think the weirdest thing I’ve had to drink for a spell was doe milk and I felt guilty the whole time. Like I was taking it from a fawn that needed it.”

Harry huffed out a laugh — Y/N was a soft little thing, comparing drinking blood to milk — sometimes he forgets how sheltered her world of magic is compared to his own.  It was easy to forget with all the spiteful words she could throw his way, but to see her out of her comfort zone. . .it’s refreshing. Not because she is less confident in her surroundings, but because she is more open to his own If someone would have told Harry they would be even remotely civil with one another in a room full of blood, he would have snorted before asking what they were snorting. 

“I oughta call you Bambi then.” 

He was on his last baggy of blood, checking the expiration date, and logging it into the computer when the dreadful feeling returned. Like a fly to rotting meat, it clings back to the room they were in tenfold. From behind him, a sharp clatter and Y/N’s squeal startles him to look back at her, “Harry!” She cried, pointing ahead of her, “The walls! L-look at the walls!”  

Harry follows her finger, watching as a thick, black substance oozes from the wall’s coving. When Y/N had noticed as much, she knocked down a stray IV pole that had been left in here, and it lay at her feet where the same black ooze had begun seeping up from the trim of the floors. In all his time doing what he does, Harry had never seen something so odd, nor had he ever felt something this grotesque overcome his being. It makes him act quickly, and while he doesn’t speak, he does fix his tote over his shoulder and practically jog the short distance to Y/N, knocking her out of the room, grabbing the door by the handle, and swinging it shut. He had hoped to seal it in there, whatever it was, but when they look down at the floor, the goo bleeds beneath the door and they both take a startled step back, “Oh fuck me,” Harry mutters to himself, shaking his head. 

“What the hell is this?” Y/N is panicked -- it’s very clear in her voice, and while Harry was a tad thankful not to be dealing with this alone, he can’t say that a soft which, who planted pretty flowers and made sleepy time tea was necessarily the backing he wanted in the event he had to exorcise a demon. He didn’t even have the proper tools for it. . .he didn’t know what he was exorcising, fuck sake --  “Harry, shouldn’t we --” 

“We need to leave,” he states, pivoting on his heel and hustling down the hall, Y/N was quick to scurry behind him, though she still murmurs some protest. 

“We shouldn’t just --” 

“Listen, unless you have any idea what that is and how to clean it, let alone banish it to hell, I saw we have a better chance through those doors than we do staying in here for even a second more,” he told her, holding out his hands to the crash bar, shoving the heavy door open, only looking back to make sure that Y/N had made it through, seeing that the black ooze had been following them before he promptly slammed the door shut. 

This was one of the back doors, so it spits them out to the graveled employee parking lot that dances along one of the many mouths of the forest that surrounded them. They’re both out of breath, adrenalin zipping through their veins in a tidal wave as their chests heave and they stare at the door. They wait for it to crawl beneath these doors. . .they wait for the building to either be overcome by sludge or combust from whatever sinister being had decided to preoccupy this space. 

But nothing happens. 

The wind picks up, the leaves rustle against the branches, and as if it were a gift from the Earth, the sordid feeling blew right away with it. 

“What the hell was that?” Y/N asks for the second time. 

Harry straightens out from where he’d been crouched, inhaling the cool air, appreciative to be in it. 

“Do you think for a second, with my reaction, that I have any fucking clue?” 

                                                        .                             .                              .

Y/N doesn’t have people at her flat often. 

Actually, apart from Niall and a few maintenance men, nobody had ever really come over. Not for any particular reason, really, and not because she didn’t want them to necessarily -- the opportunity just rarely arose, or more so, she didn’t often allow it to. If she were going to meet someone then she would meet them somewhere else, and they would part ways after they were finished (again, apart from Niall, who would simply follow her home, kick his trainers off, and head toward her couch which he had told her was simply the comfiest he’d ever been on). Her home was her humble abode. . .it was where she came to destress after a long day, and where Thumper sometimes waited for her debating whether or not he wanted to nibble her bathroom rug to shreds.

Not to mention she had plants growing here too, and flowers that she held dear to her, and while people are more reluctant to go touching what isn’t their business at a store, they are much less disinclined to give that same respect to her plants. Once Y/N had a maintenance man over to fix her faucet and she’d walked out from her room to see that he was caressing her snake plant’s leaves. She couldn’t blame him -- the plant had a very encompassing presence about it and had a way of drawing people in if they weren’t careful. . .hypnotized by the way it made them feel. All of Y/N’s soil and seeds are charmed with special incantations and concoctions that took her years to perfect, she would be disappointed if they weren’t causing people to leave all semblance of professionalism to even for a moment feel as if they were in a room with such clear air, their lungs felt renewed and they deemed it necessary to get closer. 

But then she had to apologize to her snake plant for nearly two days after! It had been so upset with her, she could feel it, so she started being even more careful about who she let in.  If she was going to go out of her way to have someone over, then there was a good reason for it. . .or it was Niall. 

And a demonic, gooey substance sweating from the walls of a blood bank, was well enough a good reason to have Harry over. 

It took some coaxing on her part -- he was convinced that they needed to just go back to their respective flats and go to bed, but Y/N was adamant in vetoing the idea. “We’re supposed to talk tomorrow anyway, so we might as well just go ahead and do it tonight -- and you are not leaving me alone after whatever the fuck that was!” 

After a good ten minutes, he finally relented as long as they could stop by his flat so he could get his kitten. Y/N hadn’t known that he had a kitten and thought maybe he would bring out some ragged-looking thing, but she was surprised to see through her windshield window that Harry was approaching her car with a small grey kitten. Her face contorts in the way everyone’s face might when they see something small and cute, “Look at her,” she coos once Harry opens his door, “What’s her name?” 

“This is Oat,” he answered, holding her out for Y/N to pet, “Be careful, she’s vicious.” 

Y/N pet at her head and Oat’s eyes shut as she nuzzled into her palm, “Oh yeah, what a panther.”

 Apart from the nerves that had already materialized from what they had seen in the blood bank, she was a little worried about inviting him into her home. When she visualized her safe space, Harry was not typically who she saw sitting on her couch when she came in from the kitchen, holding mugs of warm tea. Yet there he was, introducing Thumper and Oat to one another (who merely sniffed each other, then immediately cozied against her olive throw blanket on the end of the couch), and Y/N is handing him his steamy mug. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, immediately nursing the mug between his palms and lifting it up to his mouth for a small sip -- the steam disperses around his face in plumes, “And it wouldn’t make sense for. . .for whatever that is to just be a demon.” 

“What?” She inquires, taking her seat beside him on the couch, her body twisted so she was facing him entirely. Y/N had adjusted the temperature to something that would be a bit more suited toward having a guest -- when she’s alone, she keeps it ungodly cold so she has an excuse to bundle up in her clothes and blankets. There’s nothing like feeling safe in a cocoon of various fabrics with Buffy the Vampire Slayer on the telly. 

Harry strategically places the mug between his knitted socked feet, steadying it there as he begins to play with the thick, brassy tiger ring on his index finger, “Demons are strong, sure, but if they’re gonna be that strong there’s typically two reasons for it: they have already inhabited that area, or someone is controlling them behind the scenes. I would be more inclined to believe the prior, but I’ve been going to this blood blank for about a year now and unless there were some pentagrams I’ve missed or a gruesome ordeal that never made the papers in the past two weeks -- then there’s no reason for that to have happened at the hands of a spirit. Even a blood demon isn’t strong enough to make what happened in there happen, and they literally feed off the substance in the room.” 

“So you think someone summoned it or something? I thought you were the only one around here that did that?” Y/N probes, trying to look in his eyes but she keeps getting distracted by his rings -- how many did he have? She thinks he nearly has one on each finger, and he’s plucking them off and placing them on different knuckles as he speaks. Y/N wonders if it’s something he does in response to a stressor, like how she picks at her nails. 

“I’m the only witch that summons things around here, but not even I could conjure something that feels that vile.” He explained, fitting the last ring against his knuckle before he pops the bones in his fingers, and Y/N watches as the skin stretches and moves around the muscles in his hands,  “I think someone is trying to manifest something without the proper safeguards in place. . .the lack of protection charms, crystals, and spells can invite much more heinous creatures to the living world. They feed off shite like that -- naivety. . .thinking that any person could decide they’ll have a demon carry out a job for them. It’s easier for them to take advantage of them that way.” Harry exhales, running the pad of his thumb around the rim of the mug— she’s given him the one that has intricate, realistic drawings of beluga whales on it, not for any other reason apart from that one was her favorite and she liked to see it in use, “And with a full moon coming up? Recipe for disaster.”

“Oh shit,” Y/N holds her tea closer to her being, “That’s why the feeling is so profuse and disagreeable in the air then, ‘cos they aren’t containing it right? When I was looking into a little bit of what you do, I read that there are containment spells so the demon or spirit doesn’t have free range to do as it pleases, but the spell is dependent on the demon in question and the severity of its power.” 

Harry looked pleasantly surprised, “Yeah, that’s right -- what’re ya looking up what I’m doing for?” He settles into her couch, “Have you got a crush on me or summat?” 

If Y/N rolled her eyes any further back, she thinks they would have done a 360 in her eye sockets, “I fell down a rabbit hole the other night when I was trying to figure out why you couldn’t sleep,” an impish grin slides onto his mouth, “And not because I’m “in love with you” -- I just thought it would be interesting to know if your insomnia was the reason of a demon because that would mean one of my items combats against that and wins. My. . .most of my magic is based on prevention when it comes to dark things like that, not really to fight what’s already there.” 

“So your flowers don’t like -- I dunno, Little Shop of Horrors it?” He teases, motioning to her Hoya plant that had just begun to bloom for her, “I reckon when I think of plant magic, I think of you snapping your fingers and thorned ivy whipping around to slow assailants.” 

“No, none of that,” she laughs lightly, shaking her head, “They’re much too nice and gentle. . .they only want to help. And I’m rarely in a situation where I would need thorned ivy whipping around.” Y/N locks eyes with Oat for a moment, whose eyes close nice and slow before she reopens them and Y/N thinks she might just melt, “What do we do then? How do we stop it?” 

He slides a ring with teddy bears from his pinky and spins it between his forefinger and thumb, “There’s nothing to do -- if we don’t know who the problem is, then we can’t fix anything.” Harry shrugs his shoulders, and the action makes his already loose cardigan slide down his arms, revealing more of the cream-colored shirt he wore with Smokey the Bear on the front reading Only YOU! can prevent forest fires, “All we can do is wait for the next fucked feeling and hopefully run into the person causing -- oh,” Harry pauses, motioning toward her, “You’ve got a new friend.” 

Y/N’s confused, brows knitted until she feels a paw press against her shoulder and the telltale purr of a happy kitty. When she turns her head, she finds that Oat has snuck her way up to her, and is now attempting to perch on Y/N’s shoulder. She presses closer to the back of the couch so that she had a better footing, and in return Oat bumps at her cheek with the top of her head, “You’re so cute, stop it,” she murmurs, and when she takes a breath through her nose, she smiles, “She smells like my heliotrope flowers too! How are you the familiar of such a grumpy, cruel lug, huh?” 

“Oi,” Harry mutters, “I resent that. I’m not grumpy or cruel, you’re just rotten.” 

A retort plays at Y/N’s mouth but her phone screen lights up from where it’s sat on the coffee table and strays her attention. She’s confused -- the only person who would be messaging her this late was Niall but she’s almost a hundred percent certain that he was supposed to be out at the bar tonight. It is him though. 

Fuck me, have ya looked at the news? Is this that thing we were talkin bout? 

Harry is a nosy bugger, and after reading the message with her he reaches for her remote, “You told him about it?” He turns on her telly, quick to open her TV guide, “So he knows about you?” 

“Yeah, he knows -- turn to 3,” she tells him, and soon enough the local news is playing out, big bold letters on the blue band stretched across the bottom of the screen. 

MAN TO BE CHARGED WITH ATTEMPTED MURDER ON GIRLFRIEND 

He turned the volume up, so they could hear the news reporter who was on site. There was yellow caution tape stripped around a house, police lights, cops walking around in the back, and frightened neighbors who had left the comfort of their homes to investigate what was happening. The woman on screen had long blonde hair that whipped when the wind blew and muffled her microphone feed, her face set stony as she recounted the events as the police had told her, “. . .has no recollection of the event, and is claiming the “walls” were dripping in blood and demanding that he do it. Jacobs is being taken in for further questioning and pending a psychiatric evaluation -- his girlfriend Amanda Wilson is being rushed to hospital that’s all anyone knows right now. Back to you Tom...” 

“Oh, fuck sake,” Harry groaned, shaking his head, “Now this is a problem, problem innit?” 

“Was it not before?” Y/N takes the remote from him, turning the volume down, “Do you -- does that sound like anything you’ve dealt with? That would try hurting someone like that?” 

He presses his knuckles to his eyes, sighing, “Not that I remember -- I’ll have to do some digging. . .this is bollocks, you know how bad this is for business? Nobody wants to mess with dark magic when shit like this is going on.”

“Aish, don’t think so selfishly. People are in danger,” she tsks at him, “And we’ll need to -- what are you doing?” She asks as he removes his feet from where they had been on the couch, reaching down for his loafers like he was about to put them on. 

“S’getting late,” he responded, “I was g’na head home --” 

“No you’re not,” she told him, her face dropping in borderline disgust as he seemed genuinely confused with her, his face twisting, “We experience something like that, then see the news, and you not only want to separate, but you want to walk all the way home, alone, in the dark? No way, that’s too stupid, you’re staying here.” 

Harry’s brows dipped in, irritated, however, he did stop reaching for his loafers,  “But --” 

“Listen, we may not be fond of each other but I’m not letting you put yourself in danger,” she tells him, before adding quickly, “And you are fucking not going to leave me alone after that! Are you mad?” 

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be doing you a favor without bothering ya with my presence. Never thought Miss. Good Witch of the North would want me breathing her air for too long.” He ripostes and it reinvigorates any distaste for Harry that had been easing throughout the night the more they spoke. He always did that -- always made her feel like she was some stuck up prick who never gave him a chance, but she would have if he hadn’t started out being such an arse to her. Sure, the circumstances they had met under weren’t fantastic. . .she snapped at him for taking her flowers without asking, but he could have just apologized -- could have said sorry, and they could have started over but he was immediately put off by her she presumes, because ever since he’d been nothing but cruel to her. His knocking her out of the room in the blood bank was probably the first kind thing he’d ever done for her, and she isn’t a hundred percent certain that she wasn’t just in his way while he was trying to get out. 

So she glowers at him as she pushes from her couch, “Sod off. I’ll get you some blankets.”

He almost immediately replaces the spot that her body had been with his legs, stretching out as far as he could and his feet flop on the arm of the sofa, “Reckon you should make me some of that tea though, so I can sleep.” He called after her. Thumper hops off and follows after her, while Oat finds her spot at Harry’s side and cuddles into where his cardigan’s extra fabric bundles. Y/N goes to the closet in the hall that leads to her bedroom, pries it open, and reaches to the top shelf where she keeps her extra blankets and pillows. Despite how irritated he makes her, she grabs him one of her heavier quilts, because even with her heat kicked up higher than normal her flat has very poor insulation, and the night’s into early mornings get pretty cold. She’s about to grumble at him that he better thank her for this and the bloody tea, but when she returns to the living room. . .he’s asleep. 

Harry just fell right to sleep. 

She’s confused -- understandably, she thinks, because she remembers how much of a fit he’d thrown about her tea and how she was closed on weekends so he couldn’t have any of it. Had whined how he wasn’t able to sleep without the tea, and she had only given him peppermint tea tonight, so there was no reason that should have put him to bed. 

Yet there he was, fast asleep with his arms crossed over his chest. 

 Tutting her tongue quietly, she unrolls the blanket she had chosen for him and strategically places it over his legs. She is careful to move Oat so that she doesn’t suffocate under the covers as she pulls them over, up to Harry’s chest before replacing her in the spot she had snuggled prior. She pauses for a moment before she leaves them, taking in a completely relaxed Harry -- not that he doesn’t seem relaxed all the time, but he’s just. . .calm. His muscles have melted against her couch cushions, his brow has soothed and his amaranth pink lips are soft and parted. Gentle, easy breaths slip through his mouth. . .Y/N thinks that she likes him like this. Not spiteful, or crass -- this Harry doesn’t seem to hate her. This Harry is warm and comfortable enough to just fall asleep on her couch. 

Thumper thumps his foot against the floor, his not-so-silent request that they go to bed and Y/N snaps out of whatever hypnotic state she’d been in watching him rest. She feels creepy but shakes it off, reaching down to pick up Thumper by his belly and cradling him to her chest as she leaves the living room, keeping her lamp on for him in case he wakes up to have a wee or anything. 

It’s when she goes to the kitchen to grab him a bottle of water to leave at the coffee table for him, that she can feel Thumper judging her. This is only confirmed by the way he is looking up at her when she looks down at him, his small, pink nose twitching, and she can just sense him repeating Harry’s tease of have you got a crush on me or summat? -- it’s not like he hasn’t questioned her before. She reckons if Thumper could actually speak and not just implant little thoughts of his in her head through whatever little bond they have, he would be very free with his accusations about who she might have feelings for. 

Y/N rolls her eyes. 

“No, I don’t,” she disagrees with him quietly, “What do you know about crushes, hm? You’re just a bunny.” 

                                                         .                               .                              .

It had been a while since Harry had worked. 

Though he was always hesitant to call it work, all things considered. Y/N had once described to him that what he did was lurk around seedy clubs and wait to be recognized by a sorry sap that wanted something they didn’t want to put much effort towards, and Harry can’t necessarily say she’s wrong.  He preyed on the lazy; men and women who couldn’t be arsed to obtain a goal without the help of a little magic no matter how negative, and Harry couldn’t really fault them for it. One, because sometimes goals are unattainable with literally anything other than a demon's help, and two because he gets a hefty wad of cash in his pocket for his trouble. How hypocritical could he be to deprecate their usage of dark magic when he is doing the same thing. . .when he relies on that more than anything, even the silly little romance novels he writes so that nobody questions where his money’s coming from. 

It was a Friday night, and since he was no longer tied to the commitment of meeting Y/N to discuss the horrible, no good, terrible thing that was slithering its way through town and apparently spurring bouts of attempted murder -- he was able to visit a club. Though Y/N had made him lock pinkies with her that morning, telling him to keep his eye out for anything suspicious that may or may not have led to the events from the night prior. 

Promise me that you’ll keep informed on what’s going on there, okay? And promise me that you’ll tell me about it. 

The club he’d visited was one of the more popular of the four he frequented, and within the walls, amongst the gyrating bodies in scant clothing and sweat-drenched skin, were many of his regular clients. One of which had been blowing up his phone for the past week telling him how he desperately needed help, and he needed it ASAP. Harry finally replied to his message with a simple time that he would meet him, and that they would discuss the cost once he’s explained what is being asked of him. This guy, in particular, wanted many frivolous things, and typically his requests revolved around wealth, though Harry thought he had more than enough. And while Harry could do a few simple spells that would bring the money gradually and don’t come with the dangers that a demon will, he refuses. Harry has always told each of his clients that a spell and a demon could do the same thing, but demons brought faster results, albeit potentially precarious consequences.

And when it comes to summoning, things can get a bit tricky. If the person who is summoning is the person who will benefit from the demon’s will directly, then it may come with a price, and that price may or may not be hidden between the lines. Especially when it is someone who has no clue about the actual process, offerings that could be made without including their soul for the taking, and spells that could be done that would protect them. After doing this for so long, Harry had developed and harnessed enough power that it was rare a spell every backfired or a demon ever bested him, but if Bradley Evans tried this himself, he’d be good as dead. 

This is why, no matter how this man grates every open end of his nerves with a dull blade, he continues to help him. Again, Harry gets paid an obscene amount of money for what he does, so he sucks it right up -- and it’s not as if this money is just for him. He has people to take care of, his own personal gripes with the smarmy, rich, meat-headed pricks that want him to summon Clauneck for a trip to the Bahamas matter very little in the grand scheme of things. 

He’s leaning against the far back corner, at a table that he’d claimed for the night and a cherry mango cocktail that wets his lips and stains them red. He really isn’t scouting for suspicious behavior like he had promised to, only because his mind had floated elsewhere entirely. Like how, after so long of only ever being able to rest with help of Y/N’s chamomile, he was able to fall asleep without the help of anything. He had asked her about the tea that she and he drank prior to him passing out unprompted on her couch, but she told him it was just a store-bought strawberry tea that was a guilty pleasure. 

It perplexed him greatly. He only remembers her demanding him to stay the night because she didn’t want to be alone (and if he’s honest, neither had he after the night they had), he remembers her standing and him stretching out on her couch, and he remembers asking her for the tea that would help him sleep. 

And then he remembers waking, feeling refreshed, and renewed. Confused, but reinvigorated, he had a wee before poking around in her kitchen for something to satiate his grumbly stomach. Y/N was still asleep -- he’d peeked his head into her cracked open door only to find her dreaming peacefully, relaxed, and content. As creepy as it felt to stare at her as she slept, he did watch for a moment. It was different to see her without the accompanied scowl he usually coaxed upon her face -- the blissful gleam that exudes from her now is the same that he sees when she’s tending to one of her gardens. 

He brewed two chai lattes in her Keurig with Oat on his shoulder like a bird and she woke as he was taking the second mug, setting it on her kitchen counter, “G’morning,” she yawned, Thumper hopping behind her, looking just as sleepy, “Did you sleep through the night? I made you a cuppa and kept it in the microwave in case you woke up.” 

His heart had lurched. . .a genuine clench that Harry had not felt in a while.

“Oh,” he blinked at her owlishly, “I slept just fine, but thank you.” 

“Mm, good,” she was so sleepy still, Harry remembers wondering if she was even fully awake speaking to him, “I  have sliced fruit in the fridge if you want, for brekkie.” 

It was a domesticated scenario that Harry had not been privy to.  

Had it been her flat? Maybe the plants that she had strewn about the room were all enchanted, singing sweet songs of sleep that lulled him to sleep without him knowing. All he could recall was feeling so unbelievably comforted and no matter how cold it was in that damn flat, he felt so warm. . .so warm, and it smelled so good, and Oat was snoozing happily at his side. Plus she had wrapped him in this quilt that was heavy and smelled nice -- he thinks, in that moment, he finally understood why babies liked feeling contained in a swaddle blanket. Regardless of what happened at the blood bank, and what they found out on the news, Harry felt safe in her flat. And he probably wouldn’t have left either, if he didn’t have to work. 

He’s so caught in his reverie, that Bradley’s arrival truly startled him. A clearing of his throat catches his attention, dragging his unfocused gaze from the crowd of dancers to Bradly, dressed in a Lacoste polo that thought was ugly but he would never say it aloud, “Oh,” he straightened up, bringing the rim of his glass to his mouth and taking a small sip of it, “Right then, what can I do for you? Another trip to Barbados?” 

Bradley shakes his head a little frantically, and it's only then that Harry takes in the actual appearance of him, that surpasses the Lacoste and zeros in on the panic that decorates his face, “I need like -- like a demon protector or some kinda spell or -- I don’t fucking know, or something.” 

“Oh --” his brows dip, “What’s wrong? Is something bothering you?” 

He starts to nod, then switches it to a shake of his head, and that morphs into a shrug of his shoulders, “I don’t know man, I just don’t feel -- I don’t feel safe. I wondered if one of those demons from before were like. . .after my soul or summat.” 

“Not possible,” Harry dismisses the idea, setting his glass down on the high round table, “When I work with them we make a spiritual, contractual agreement that they are bound to. If your soul was not on the table, then it will never be on the table -- it must be something else,” he thinks for a moment before a slither of realization stokes the fire in his brain, that sets the coals aflame and heats the cogs to a churn, “What -- explain to me what you’re feeling?” 

“Like something is watching me,” he blinked, crossing his arms on top of the table and leaning most of his weight onto it, the scent of liquor wafts over Harry’s face when Bradly breathes, “It’s heavy and. . .it’s like swimming in ink. It’s horrible and frightening, and I’ve never -- I’ve never been one to rely on vibes, but mate, they were bad. . .they were like -- vile. Vile vibes, man.” 

Harry thinks, while his description is repugnant, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, but there wasn’t much he could do. Harry can make protection spells that are generalized but he doesn’t believe that any of them are strong enough to fend off whatever this thing is. In cases like this one, sometimes dark magic is not good to fight dark magic, it can only make it grow and fester like a nasty, infected wound. He really did not want to try that out on Bradley. . .he may not be fond of the guy, but he didn’t wish anything ill on him. 

“You wouldn’t come to me for a protection spell, for something like that,” Harry begins, “You would need --” You would need Y/N -- is what is about to leave his lips, but it drops away. As much as it’s true -- as much as Harry knows that the reason he felt the safest he’s ever had in Y/N’s presence was whatever protection spells she had put in place and strengthened -- he couldn’t. The thought of sending someone like Bradley to someone like Y/N, makes him feel sick. “Give me one second, yeah? Stay here.” 

Y/N gave him her number that morning, telling him that it was silly for them to be unable to contact one another. Harry saved it into his phone and sent her a picture of Oat so that she would have his, but left it at that -- he had assumed, until this moment, that he would never have a reason to have her number. If he ever wanted anything from her he would just show up at her store. 

But here he was, scrolling through his contact list to find her, pressing her number and holding his phone up to his ear. It only rings twice before she’s answered it, “Hello? Is everything okay Harry, did you get a lead?” 

Harry laughs in disbelief, “What’re you, a detective?” He cleared his throat so he could speak over the music clearly, “I need you for something, and I’ll give you half. And before you get all high and mighty, it isn’t for anything bad -- one of my regulars is experiencing the same fucked thing we have only it’s more vile vibes opposed to blood seeping from the walls. Need a protection spell -- whatever you use for your flat and store.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, long enough that Harry questions if his service dropped, but her voice reappears.

 “Where are you?” 

Fifteen minutes later, Harry is flagging Y/N down to his spot in the club where he stood next to Bradley whose friends kept coming around wondering if Harry was his pull for the night. Her jumper with a printed bunny right in the center made him chuckle to himself -- it was more than clear that she had not planned on coming out tonight, and if not for Harry, he thinks she would have spent three more hours at her store tending to the garden there if not for him. When she sees him, noticeable relief makes her shoulders slump, and as she gets closer, she reaches into her pocket, “Thank god,” she called over the music, “I’ve been in here for three minutes and if I got knocked into one more time I was going to lose it.” 

She produces two things -- one is a tiny vial, with an unidentified green liquid, and the other is a small baggie of her tea. Harry takes both from her hand, “Thank you,” he murmurs, before dipping down closer to her ear, “Go over to that empty table near the bar, I don’t want this guy seeing you clear enough that he could ask you for anything ever again.” 

Though she was confused, she listened to him, slinking her way over to the table while Harry turned to Bradley who had been looking at his phone, before both were placed in front of them, “Thank you,” he tells him, “Thank you, thank you, thank you. How much?” 

“850,” Harry says without batting an eyelash. Typically his business runs closer to the thousands but he cuts the guy a break since he’s scared.

“Each or what?” Bradley asks as he fishes his wallet from his pocket, flipping the leather open and beginning to thumb through his bills. 

“No, just 850,” he takes the bills from him, folding it between his fingers, “I shipped your crystals last week, did they come?” 

Bradley nods, a big grin on his face, “Oh, fuck yeah dude, I almost forgot! I already transferred you the money for them right?” 

Harry thinks it’s a shame that he doesn’t keep track -- he could really scam him if he wanted to, with these black crystals bathed in the water of Asmodeus (they increases stamina and aids them in not being shit in bed; it was a fucking full-day event to get Asmodeus to recognize the clear stream water, in an incubator that he checks every 15 minutes or so to see if the water has been touched red)  “Yeah, you sent double the amount ‘cos your buddy wanted some too, right?” 

“He loved them, mate,  he’s way less narky too now that he’s getting his dick wet.” 

Harry holds back a grimace, “Alright then, stay safe. You know how to contact me if you need anything.” 

Bradley bids his goodbye and Harry seeks out Y/N, who is picking idly at her fingernails and bobbing her head slightly to the music. When he gets close enough to her, he starts on his spiel as he waves the money toward her,

“Listen, Babe, you used your plants to help him, honestly you deserve way more than this -- a fucking Nobel Prize probably,” he holds it out to her, “Here.” 

She shakes her head, but not in the way she would if she were refusing it because she was disgusted by him -- no, instead she closes his hand around it again and presses it closer to his body, “No, no, you keep it, he’s your guy or whatever.” 

Harry tilts his head, brows knitted, “But they’re your plants.” 

“Yeah, but I would just feel guilty taking it from you so --” 

He sighs, counting out 450 of it, taking her hand, opening her fingers, and sliding the bills into her palm, “Even split then. If you’re going to utilize something precious to you to help someone like that fucker, you deserve a little compensation for it. “ 

Y/N must realize that he wasn’t going to let it go, because she finally folds it in her hands, slipping it into her pocket, “What’s with that guy then? Why do you not like him?” 

Harry can see it clearly; the image of his childhood self, his family struggling to make ends meet but going to primary school with the wealthier kids. The ones who laughed at his faded shirts, and holed winter coats -- who would ask him to their birthday parties and talk shit about the gift he’d scraped up coins for doing miscellaneous work around the neighborhood. He thinks about how he knew they would go home to kitchens full of food, and bountiful dinners that they would never appreciate, while Harry never took seconds because no matter how hungry he was, he made sure their bellies were as full as they could be. And Harry remembers how the headmaster did nothing to quell his worries because those kid’s parents could buy out the school if they wanted to. 

He sees it all, and he hears it all, and for a moment -- selfishly -- it makes Harry wish he had never given Bradley the protection spell at all. 

But he only shakes his head, “He’s just a prick,” he answers simply, before nodding his head toward the door, “Reckon we should get out of here, it smells like piss.” 

It’s always a little easier to leave the club than it is to enter it, so they’re out in the cool air soon enough. A small line had formed outside since Harry had been in there last, and as they step out, a group of three is let in through the rope chain that the bouncer is policing. This part of town is always bustling late into the night, so neither feel the cold brush of fear they have been when they’re out in the dark -- or at least the relaxed way Y/N is looking around tells him that she’s pretty content. 

“Do you want to get something to eat?” She asks him, pointing at the 24-hour diner right across the street, that had been strategically placed there because people who are drunk and high who just sweat out half their body weight love greasy food, “I skipped dinner today.” 

“What a coincidence -- so did I.” 

They got a booth in the far back corner, where the white and maroon tilted floor glistened wet from a recent scrub from the mop, and the air smells of lemon pine-sol. This along with the fact that the black leather seats were dusted of the crumbs that usually mottles them, Harry would assume that they had come just in time for their 12 AM clean up, where the first batch of besotted clubbers had left a mess and they were waiting for the second wave to come through. He didn’t miss the eye that the waitress had given them, looking them up and down like she was trying to decipher what state they were both in, but when neither of them wobbles in their stance, or slur through their words asking for a table, she relaxes and asks them where they’d like to sit. 

After they get settled and order their food (Harry convinces her to get one of their malted milkshakes with him -- his favorite was strawberry and after she confessed that she never had their strawberry malt, he was insistent on her trying it), Harry’s curiosity is suddenly piqued as he thinks of something he hadn’t thought of before, “How did you make it over to the club so fast, hm? Do you just have jars of this stuff made laying around?” 

Y/N sticks her clear straw in the icy glass of water she’d been poured, stirring it like there was anything to mix, and the ice cubes clink together soundly, “No, no, I actually don’t make protection spells unless I’m asked directly -- or usually that’s the case, but I was already in the middle of making some for you and me, so I had a little leftover.” 

“For me too?” Harry inquires, genuinely surprised by the concept that she would make him something to keep him safe. She nods though, like it was silly that he thought she wouldn’t have, only this time she reaches into her purse and retrieves two much larger vials with little cork tops, and one bigger bag of the dried leaves, accompanied by a smaller one tied with red ribbon. 

“I was doing some research while I was at work --” 

“You do a lot of research, don’t you?” He cuts her off and she nods. 

“Mhm -- and there’s this like. . .there’s this elder witch who lives an hour or so drive away from us who I think might be immortal, but that’s beside the point. She has this blog that I was scrolling through and she linked her email, so I messaged her and she sent me her number and told me to call her immediately.” She slides one of the vials over to him, along with the tree leaves, “When I did, she told us that we were in a little more danger than everyone else ‘cos like -- whatever this thing is could start trying to feed off of us, especially you. Said that we needed a potent protection spell, and I told her about mine. You feel safe in my store and in my flat right? Like -- like whatever that thing is couldn’t get to us?” He nodded, eyes fixed on hers, “So this is a version of that suitable for our bodies. The tea leaves are for your flat, and then this little bag here --” she points at the one tied closed with the small strip of red ribbon, “-- this is a tea version of it safe for Oat to drink.” 

Not only had she made him some, but she also made Oat some too? As much as he disliked her before, he can’t help how this warms his heart, zipping through his body and makes him feel just as safe as he did when he was wrapped in her quilt snug on her couch. Harry wonders if this is what she’s like all the time with her friends. . .he wonders if this side of her, that researches and makes protection goodies, brews him a cuppa just in case he woke up in the middle of the night and comes out in the depth of night to the seedy clubs she despises just because he called and asked -- if that’s what they get to see. If that’s what he would have seen had their meeting been any different. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, taking the vial and the bags, looking at them against his palm, “A lot. You didn’t have to do this for me.” 

“I did though,” she takes a drink of the water through her straw, “I may not agree with what you do but we’re the only two witches here and there is power in unity, even if our versions of magic are different. We have to be there for each other -- Thumper agrees, and that’s a lot coming from him because he doesn’t like much of anybody. . .he barely likes me,” she holds her hand up, the index finger of her other going from finger to finger as she lists off the ingredients, “So we’ve got fern, anise, leaves from the ash tree in the forest, fennel -- the nice old woman told me to hold off on the mugwort unless we’re planning on astral projecting or doing anything with divination, but if we felt that it was necessary we could wear a wreath of it around her necks. That’s an old wives tale though, I’m pretty sure.” She wiggles her fingers, “All that and a little bit of moon water, and we have ourselves a little protection spell! I dipped my finger in for a taste test and I’ll be honest, it’s awful and plant-y but I reckon we can toss them back like a shot and chase it with a sweet drink like juice or something.” 

It hits Harry that he gave Y/N very little credit for what she did, but now as he’s looking at something that she’d made specifically with him in mind, that wasn’t just a glorified sleepy time tea, it puts some things in perspective for him. Sure, she’s been a dick to him in the past, but he was a dick too, about her magic. While he isn’t going to start kissing the ground she walks on, he decides then that he’ll be more mindful of her craft. Plus, from the amount of time that they’ve had to spend together in the past two days, she’s tolerable when she isn’t on her high horse about him summoning spirits and ruining the town. She’s even helpful. 

“Thank you,” he repeats, “I really mean it, I appreciate this a lot.” 

Y/N smiles at him and it’s a smile that he’s never been gifted before. A smile that makes him smile back, as she places her elbow on the table and holds out her pinky toward him -- she’s big on pinky swears, he’s finding. 

“We’re looking out for each other, okay? I’ve got your back if you’ve got mine. . .I swear it.” 

Harry locks his pinky with hers without a second thought. 

[sepublic]

The Ignition Trilogy’s Morality

(What follows is a tangent that transitions into an analysis on my main issue with the Ignition Trilogy; Specifically in that it fails to provide a proper rebuttal to the cynicism and cruelty introduced with characters like the Piraka or Order of Mata Nui, who basically exist to mock the Toa’s idealism and tell them to ‘grow up’. Which in turn, causes the story’s attempts to be more nuanced to backfire, and instead become even more edgily black-and-white, with one-dimensional villains whom we are supposed to accept as having always been pure evil, unlike our noble heroes who are good and thus could never become bad.)

      Is anyone else miffed that the Piraka defeated the Toa Nuva? I think with characters like the Rahkshi or even the Bohrok-Kal, it didn’t really bother me because… Yeah, the Toa Nuva usually have their initial loss, their harsh learning curve- But the idea is that eventually, they learn to overcome this and win anyway, because that’s what heroes do, against all odds.

      But they never defeat the Piraka- Instead, the Toa Nuva are helplessly shackled with no agency, and provide no bearing on the plot whatsoever, needing to be rescued by others. Sure, I can live with the idea that it was more Brutaka powered up by Makuta that defeated the Toa Nuva, but our heroes never did get their proper rematch with the Piraka.

      In fact, none of our heroes did- Every time there was a full fight between the Toa and Piraka, it was always the Piraka who won, or kind of weaseled their way to victory because of dumb luck. And it really bothers me, because while I have professed to find the Piraka pretty hilarious… They’re my least favorite villains for a reason, and it’s because those obnoxious jerks never got properly put into their place by an actual team of Toa heroes.

      The thing with the Piraka is that they basically kept bragging about how they were better than these goody two-shoes heroes, who were naïve to believe in heroism and whatnot. They were edgy and mean-spirited, constantly talking up how they always beat Toa, because Evil is actually smarter and better… And then the narrative doesn’t really disprove them much, because the Piraka keep winning against the Toa anyway, making our protagonists look like fools of themselves because good guys are apparently dumber, reactive, and naïve.

      It felt like a mockery of our beloved tropes by twisting them around on their heads to be dark- The six-element island is evil, the ‘Toa’ are evil… And the worst part is that 2006 just generally had this vibe of ‘cynicism is more realistic’ that it never quite refuted, just sort of left behind in favor of the more tame and frankly less overbearing 2007. With 2006, there was this idea that heroes were a bunch of dumb and silly idiots, just pitiful fairytales- Our classic Toa Nuva are defeated to make way for more aesthetically-edgy heroes like the Toa Inika, because 2006 really was the angst teenage phase, hence its chain-link aesthetic and THAT rap.

      All of it culminates when the Toa Inika fight the Piraka for one last time… And then the battle is anti-climatically ended because Kongu messes up, because heroes are silly idealistic, pompous, self-righteous fools who are caught up in bold maneuvers and aren’t really smart or practical. The Piraka are never shown their place by proper heroes, in the end they have to be defeated by themselves, and Vezon- Also a villain, derived from one of their number no less! And it was really dissatisfying- Because I guess I was just waiting for some proper heroes to show up and actually defeat them, once and for all.

      I wanted to see heroes show the Piraka that Good and Kindness ISN’T weak, it isn’t dumb- It’s actually far stronger than any of their selfish backstabbing and cynicism. That should’ve been how 2006 ended, to balance out the darkness by reminding us that it IS worth it in the end- I mean, Axonn says as much! And while I do appreciate Axonn’s quote, the way the Piraka are just sort of forgotten and written out of the story, without a proper conclusion… Their mutation felt anticlimactic, after so much talk from Zaktan about how these Piraka were fugitives from the Dark Hunters, only for the Dark Hunters to never show up in their lives, ever again.

      I honestly think the Piraka should’ve been captured by the Dark Hunters, and dragged back to Odina for some horrible, unseen punishment- Something vague yet final enough that it COULD be an ending, but if Greg wanted, he could still bring the Piraka back. I think it’d bring more closure to the constant fear Zaktan felt, the apprehension and paranoia, of their past catching up to them.

      It’d show that for all of their cruelty and boasting, they really were just puny pawns, trying to play at things far bigger than them- Unlike the Toa, who they sneered and ridiculed in a manner almost jealous. And it’d just make The Shadowed One all the more terrifying and imposing as a villain… I think being dragged back to the Dark Hunters would’ve been a poetic end to the Piraka- After being thrashed by the Toa.

      …Instead, we get the Piraka defeating the Toa Mahri yet again, and their defeat by Axonn is largely off-screen. The thing with delightfully nasty villains like the Piraka is that for all of their horridness, it’s supposed to make it all the more cathartic when karma DOES catch up to them… But it never really feels like it does. I mean, technically it does- But the execution leaves something to be desired, in that it’s done by more nebulous, unrelated outside agents, like the pit mutagen, or the Piraka themselves, rather than a hero showing them that for all their boasting, their evil and cynicism isn’t ‘realistic’, it’s transient and will never last in the face of good virtue. I think cheesy heroics like that at the end of 2006 would serve as a proper palate cleanser.

      In the end, the Piraka are whisked off by Axonn, who… While generally heroic as I’ve mentioned earlier, is also kind of emblematic of the Order of Mata Nui- Who themselves represent a rather cynical take on heroism. I guess Greg was trying to go for something more ‘nuanced’ by having anti-heroes, but in practice, it actually felt more black and white, where it was okay for the protagonists to kill or lock up their enemies without a second thought, because their enemies were one-dimensional, evil for the sake of it, villains. Hence Dekar-Hydraxon, who is a cop who commits police brutality against Matoro no less- And it never feels like he, or the rest of the order, is properly called out for it.

      Maybe the OoMN eventually would’ve been, had the serials not been cancelled- But so far, it really does feel like Greg trying to shift Bionicle away from its ‘embarrassing’ and ‘childish’ idealism, insisting the heroes and audience have to grow up and be ‘realistic’ and just kill their enemies- Hence that scene where the Visorak are completely wiped out, with the Toa Mahri duped into commiting genocide, and all Jaller can do is essentially shrug helplessly and decide “Okay I guess that’s how the world really works.” Maybe it’s just me, but I felt these darker tones were never properly countered with the necessary kindness, and the Order of Mata Nui bugged me a lot because they felt like the Matoran Universe’s CIA. There was a lot of horrible things they did that was never called out, like their murder of people who knew the location of Artakha- I’d have liked to see someone confront Tobduk over that.

      And, I guess one could say that the OoMN had that similar problem that the Piraka did- As stand-ins for the author to cynically dismiss the fairy tale idealism of the heroes, who were too kind and thus weak and spineless to do the right thing and just kill their enemies; They had to toughen up and be ‘real’ heroes. And again, that ends up feeling less nuanced as a result, more black-and-white… Which, maybe was intentional since it’s canon that Botar has a black-and-white view of things.

      That isn’t to say our protagonists couldn’t have benefitted from dispelling some naivete- That they didn’t need to learn that they weren’t automatically good and right. But in the end, this didn’t feel like a real and meaningful deconstruction of these Good VS Evil narratives, or else we would’ve had tropes like the Evil Race, in species like the Vortixx and Skakdi, challenged. No, it felt more like what adult TV shows mistake as ‘deconstruction’, when really it’s just making things more cynical and violent and hopeless. Mistaking darkness for maturity and cleverness.

      In the end, we didn’t get our protagonists being forced to stop and question, and critically analyze their own actions- We didn’t see our heroes ask what puts them in the right, and focusing on that to do the right thing. We didn’t see our heroes realize they were acting presumptuously, and instead shift gears to be kinder and more open-minded, which would’ve been the perfect answer to cynicism. Instead, our protagonists are told that they should just kill the villains anyway, because the villains are conveniently more scummy and one-dimensional than past antagonists.

      Our heroes weren’t forced to examine their enemies as more than just baddies, to critically ask why their antagonists became evil, what compelled them to do so- They didn’t deconstruct any power structures or narrative assumptions, like the Matoran are the Good and Default of the universe, and all other species are less important (How other species felt about this could’ve been explored through Ehlek’s vendetta against the Matoran). They didn’t stop to examine how every villain thinks they’re the hero too, that just thinking of yourself as a hero can be a slippery slope to extremism, because being a Hero isn’t how you label yourself- It’s what you do.

      That would then justify the Toa acting more sneaky and using less heroic abilities, not acting in the open because Toa are expected to not hide themselves. It’d be a proper balance between less ‘honorable’ methods, but still with obvious well-meaning intent- And again, masks like the Tryna would be the perfect example of protagonists deconstructing what makes certain powers ‘evil’, to get to the root of what Good really is, beyond a palatable aesthetic. How ‘dark’ things can be redeemed, if they were ever really bad to begin with, that feels like real deconstruction imo.

      But instead, we are introduced to the idea of immoral mask powers in the first place, without meaningfully examining why they’re immoral, and even going by arbitrary reasons- Like a Kanohi deemed evil simply because Makuta used it. And to add to what I said about questioning narratives about the enemy as just pure evil, having our own Makuta species humanized into a race of individuals, with motives behind their fall from grace.

      That could’ve been a neat way of exploring how good people can turn dark, taking further what Krika provides. It could’ve been an educational moment for teens growing up and yearning to see the world in a more nuanced manner, after realizing life is so much more complex than they thought- And wanting reconciliation with stuff that seemingly disproves their assumptions of Good, hence the darkness ultimately being outdone by the persisting triumph of the heroic spirit.

      It could help audiences realize that dehumanizing and reducing your enemy to just plain evil is such a horrible ideology that justifies all manner of terrible genocides, as well as imprisonment without a trial or due process. In the end, it feels like Greg wanted the conflict to feel more gray by having the heroes do darker things… But in the end, it just felt MORE black-and-white, which leads to the Order of Mata Nui’s actions not truly being critically examined, and thus having the narrative lowkey border on copaganda at times, especially with that whole mess that was the Pit and Hydraxon.

      With Hydraxon especially, it feels like the story had a lot of fun with the aesthetic of a Bad Cop, without bothering to examine or analyze what a Bad Cop stands for, misunderstanding what a Bad Cop is about, and the social critique that trope started off as. Yes Hydraxon is a bit of an extremist, but only because he’s going after our heroes, who are obviously good because they’re not actual criminals… Which of course then assumes that if someone was convicted and imprisoned, then this must confirm they are of course evil and deserve it.

      That just leads to questionable stuff like Nocturn, who is portrayed with far less sympathy than I think he deserved- All because he was an actual convicted prisoner, so obviously that means he’s absolutely guilty. Which, compared to the pre-Ignition year of 2004, which had our heroes fighting the evil law enforcement, being wrongly accused, branded criminals… It doesn’t sit right with me. It definitely hits even closer to home in more recent times…

      And stuff like the Toa Empire, it feels more like a paltry attempt that is never applied to the main universe, and also problematic in that it reduces Toa we know and love to just faceless evil. Same with the Shadow Takanuva’s, because they’re antagonists and not OUR heroes and thus less important. It doesn’t really stop to examine how our Toa became evil, they just are now, and Tuyet as an example of extremism is never examined properly- Instead, it’s more about the subversive shock value of evil Toa.

      We don’t compare the Toa becoming villains to the process that the Makuta went through- And thus we don’t humanize these villains by realizing they were just like our heroes, because according to Greg the Makuta were always arrogant and ambitious and only did good to avoid punishment. Not unlike our naturally noble heroes who never have any darkness to overcome, whose alternate actions in a timeline are never considered. Greg will sometimes hint at this type of actual deconstruction, dip his toes in briefly, but then never follow through with it with the full exploration and depth it deserves.

      And this lack of self-examination is a shame, because someone like Brutaka could’ve been a compelling avenue, as a heroic scholar who critically analyzed the situation, and thus went down a dark path- A disillusioned warrior who shows our protagonists the flaws of the system, of the narrative’s assumptions of Good and Evil, and how that broke him… How the Order of Mata Nui’s zealotry broke him. How it convinced him that Good is just a sham and excuse to justify horrid atrocities, so Brutaka just gives up… But then Axonn and the Toa show that no, Good and Heroism IS real- It is meaningful. He can still be kind. Axonn doesn’t care that much about the OoMN himself, either.

      The OoMN doesn’t reflect what a hero is- And Brutaka was right to think of them as wrong. This wasn’t proof that he needed to give up, but proof that he needed to keep fighting even harder for what’s right- Because it’s only the lost causes that are worth fighting for, right? Brutaka can define for himself what is Good and work with that, instead of blindly following Helryx’s black-and-white thinking; I think that would provide more grounds for a compelling redemption, and better transition Brutaka back to the side of good, while also providing more sympathetic context as to his disillusionment.

      So in combination with my issues with the Pit, we could’ve had the heroes begrudgingly go along with the OoMN as necessary, to awaken Mata Nui… While also deliberately working to undermine their other actions. Critically examining the prisoners of the Pit, if they really deserve this just because they did something wrong. Realizing they’re being tasked with the genocide of the Visorak, and foiling that- And in Axonn and Brutaka’s case, willingly choosing not to kill off the Makuta species, by destroying their only means of creation.

      Instead, they work with the Antidermis, and Miserix, in the belief of redemption for the Makuta- Because why wouldn’t Brutaka believe in redemption himself? Maybe the Federation of Fear is partly done because he believes, or hopes, that he can offer redemption to these other villains. In the end it doesn’t work out and they all remain evil, but Brutaka nevertheless affirms that it WAS worth a shot regardless- And it’s always worth it to try and hope anyway. So we have his renewed hope tested after it’s regained, and thus strengthened with further resolve.

      And we could have a neat moment of Lariska, who does feel like an actual gray character, remarking this to Brutaka- And maybe observing how they at least gave a new chance to Miserix, who had been condemned to die. That has to mean something, and it eventually does, because a Makuta is given the chance to prove his species isn’t evil, as someone who never betrayed Mata Nui. The heroes giving Miserix this chance pays off for them and shows that kindness does help- And this outcome perhaps motivates Brutaka to spare the Antidermis instead of destroying it.

      But yeah, those are my thoughts. I definitely got carried away from my intial point about wishing the Piraka got a proper defeat by the heroes- And then started talking about the Order of Mata Nui as well. And I guess the uniting thesis is that the Ignition Trilogy, for all of its strengths, often veered too much into the ‘cynicism is realism’ territory, itself a defeatist assumption that isn’t anymore mature than blind optimism. Our beloved heroes are just fools and puppets playing into the hands of our villain, who is smarter than everyone else, because Good is Dumb and Reactive, while Evil is Smart and Proactive- Because being evil and cruel is cooler, I guess.

      It’s an undertone that felt sneering, and while Mata Nui does help to rectify that, especially with the Glatorian setting feeling a lot closer to that nuanced deconstruction I was talking about –how most aren’t good or bad, just trying to survive in life- it still leaves a bitter taste in my mouth… Because our idealistic heroes who are duped never get to triumph themselves, and personally prove that cynicism wrong.

      Tahu and Takanuva help in the final battle, but they’re just kinda there, and we don’t have our protagonists in the Matoran Universe, the ones outmaneuvered by Makuta, showing how Good can still be just as clever, while still kind. We needed to be shown the triumph of the heroic spirit in spite of all these dark odds that insisted otherwise, through the actual characters who embodied that spirit they were mocked with.

[archived-kin]

petty ghost haunts their murderer but doesn’t actually do anything vengeful, more at eleven

note from kin: i don’t even know what this is myself to be honest but the simple way of putting it is that you were accidentally killed by one of satan’s fits of rage and now your ghost follows him around and messes with him at any given opportunity out of pettiness

basically i came up with the prompt ‘vengeful spirit is more of a slightly miffed and extremely petty spirit who doesn’t actually do much but inconvenience their hauntee, shenanigans ensue’ and ran with it

(as a heads up, reader is not mc in this situation, and this takes place before any of the exchange program stuff, so belphie’s not in the attic and solomon and the angels aren’t in the devildom)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): gn!reader, satan, beelzebub

pairing(s): satan/reader (though it isn’t particularly romantic since you’re, y’know, dead, so it’s more of a satan & reader)

warning(s): references to death, beel eats an entire rotisserie chicken

genre: crack (with a bit of fluff i guess???)

“For the last time, [Name], put the knife down.”

“Bite me, bitch-boy.”

Satan lets out a long-suffering sigh and sets down his mug of coffee, then reaches out and carefully pushes the floating butter knife pointed directly at his jugular back down onto the table. “I don’t know why you keep trying that. You do know it wouldn’t actually get through my skin even if you did manage to hit me, right?”

“It’s the thought that counts,” comes your disembodied voice from somewhere near the ceiling. You’ve probably decided to float up there to sulk like you always do after a failed attack.

“I’d prefer you didn’t think about it at all.”

A still-wet towel pulls itself from the rack on the wall and hits him square in the face. Satan gives an exasperated groan as it slides down his face and lands on the table with a soft splat.

“That’s what you get,” You sniff indignantly, finally materialising in front of him with a scowl. You’re floating upside down in a way that makes it look like you’re standing on the ceiling. “Buttface.”

“Come on, you can come up with better material than that,” Satan shakes his head, pushing back his chair and picking up the wet towel you’ve just flung at him to hang it back up again. “Where did all your creativity from yesterday go?”

“Six feet under with the remains of my body, probably,” you reply with a scowl. Then, as an afterthought, you add, “Confounded cheese wheel.”

“Oh, that’s a new one,” He comments, mildly surprised. “Where’d you pick that up?”

“Made it up myself. Ha!” You bob past him and through the wall, most likely to go terrorise Mammon by making his lights flicker on and off again. “Guess my creativity isn’t as dead as I am after all.”

“You still haven’t gotten over that, I see.” He sighs.

Your head immediately pops back out of the wall and glares across the room at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s been weeks now - months, even,” Satan explains carefully as he sits back down at the table, not wanting to aggravate you further. The last time he'd brought something like this up, he’d ended up making you so angry that you’d managed to become physically corporeal enough to fling him across the room. “I would have thought you’d have passed on by now, that’s all. Surely it doesn’t take this long for the gates to the Celestial Realm to open?”

You consider his words, apparently appeased by their logic. “...I guess. Maybe I’m not passing on because I can’t rest in peace yet, like the ghosts do in horror films.”

“They’re films, you can’t expect to apply what happens in them to reality,” Satan replies flatly. “Besides, even if that was the situation, you've met all the criteria to 'rest in peace’, haven't you?”

“Are you trying to tell me, the dead one here, what merits as ‘resting in peace’?” You counter, floating back through the wall so that your entire body is in the room again. “My murderer’s still walking about like he doesn’t dress in the entire green colour spectrum and think it’s a good idea. How am I supposed to rest in peace knowing that?”

Satan looks down at his outfit, a little offended. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“What’s right with your clothes?” You shoot back, drifting over to him and passing a ghostly hand through his shoulder, apparently too lazy to muster up the energy to make your hand physical enough to touch him. “Look at it! Your blazer doesn’t even have lapels!”

“It isn’t a blazer.”

“Jacket, then.” You make a move as if to pinch at the fabric, but your fingers just pass right through it like a hot knife through butter. “It doesn’t even fit you. The sleeves are too short.”

Satan resists the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to wear it if it didn’t fit me. Besides, why does it matter to you?”

“The demon I might be doomed to be attached to for the rest of my afterlife has the worst fashion sense in all three realms is the matter,” You sigh dramatically and float up to the ceiling again. “Why do you even wear rip-off jeans if you’re going to put a belt over it?”

“First of all, they aren’t rip-off jeans,” Satan tells you as you start idly making the kitchen light flicker. He should probably tell you to stop doing that whenever you get bored, but he’s gotten so used to it at this point that he can’t really be bothered to. “And, second of all, why does it matter if I’m wearing a belt on it?”

“Rip-off jeans are meant to be ripped off,” You explain with all the patience of a mother explaining something to a curious child, completely disregarding Satan’s first point. “Putting a belt on top of it kind makes that redundant.”

Satan thinks about it for a moment and begrudgingly comes to the conclusion that your statement is correct - not that it makes a difference to him. “...they’re still not rip-off jeans.”

“Think whatever you want to think, burro verde.”

“What?”

“It means green donkey in Spanish.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “Where’d you get that from?”

“I took Spanish for, like, three years when I was in high school,” You shrug, and the light brightens and dims slightly with the movement of your shoulders, as if it’s shrugging with you. “Failed all the exams, but at least I got something worthwhile out of it.”

“Three years of linguistic lessons and all you learn is how to string together bizarre insults,” Satan shakes his head. “You really are incorrigible.”

“That’s a big word. You sure you know what it means?”

“Of course I do,” He gives you a slightly disgruntled look. “I wouldn’t use it if I didn’t. What do you take me for?”

“Someone who doesn’t know what incorrigible means, obviously.” You pretend to aim a kick at the spider perched quietly in the corner of the ceiling, but Timothy ignores your efforts to boot him from his web. After a moment, growing tired of bothering the little guy, you ask, “...what does it mean?”

Satan snickers, then answers, sounding as if he’s reading the definition directly out of a dictionary, “In reference to a person or their behaviour, unable to be changed or reformed.”

You contemplate his words for a few seconds. “Is that a good thing?”

“Not usually when that particular word is used for it, no.”

“Oh. Bitch.”

He pauses at that, moving his mug of now marginally cooler coffee away from his mouth again, having been in the middle of taking another sip when you decided to insult him again. “Where did that come from?”

“You called me incorrigible, which you just said is not a good thing to be,” You explain as if it’s obvious, frowning down at him. “So I’m taking it as an insult and insulting you back. Bitch.”

“You didn’t have to say it again.”

“I didn’t, but it’s fun to call you names.” You snort and glide down from the ceiling to float above the table, crossing your legs and pretending to sit down on it. “It’s not as fun as it used to be, though. You never get all puffed up about it anymore.”

“That’s your own fault for doing it so much that I got used to it,” Satan reproaches. “Besides, it was pointless getting angry. It’s not like I can do anything to you in return.”

“You could ignore me and pretend I don’t exist or something.”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“No!” You hurriedly throw up your hands in a gesture of surrender and shake your head so hard that Satan swears he actually feels a breeze - an even more impressive achievement considering that your body isn’t even tangible. “Please don’t. You’re the only being in the entire universe that I can actually interact with.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that is a good thing,” Satan mutters.

“It’s a good thing for me, and that’s all that matters,” You reply, unfazed.

No one other than Satan appears to have the ability to see you, which is an odd thing in and of itself. Ghosts aren’t a foreign thing to the Devildom - they’re so common that you could probably just walk into a convenience store and find one shelving cans of soup - but you don’t seem to follow any of the rules that they do. Sometimes Satan wonders if you’re able to actively choose to not allow his brothers to see you as you drift around the house, but then again, he’s pretty sure that, if you had the option to make Lucifer watch you pretend to fist fight that weird skeleton hanging in his room, you definitely would.

Satan doesn’t pretend to understand the laws of your otherworldly existence - he’s read so many variations on the rules behind lingering spirits like you that he can scarcely tell the difference between pure fiction and actual logical hypothesis. It’s easy enough to wrangle you into behaving for a day so that he can observe you properly by promising to leave his radio on for you while he’s out, but the observations themselves never seem to lead to anything. He knows that you’re able to pass through any physical object (as far as he knows), can make lights (of both the electronic and candle variety) flicker at will, can muster up enough physicality to move and touch things if you try, and can phase in and out of perceivable view, but he doesn’t know why you can do any of those things.

“Quit trying to come up with explanations for everything,” You’d told him wisely a month or so ago, when you’d floated in on him muttering to himself about the possibility of something called ‘ether energy’. “You’re just gonna give yourself a headache.”

Then you’d started making his candles flicker like disco lights until he stopped.

“...but I don’t think he spotted me, since he probably would’ve commented on the floating meat cleaver if he did, and— hey, big guy!”

That last exclamation is aimed at Beel, who has just walked into the kitchen and is now rummaging unceremoniously through the fridge, most likely in search of something to eat. At this point Satan’s pretty sure that you still don’t know any of his brothers’ names - at the very least, even if you do, you’ve never called them by them.

Beel continues to sort through the various already empty boxes and containers in the fridge as you start zooming back and forth through him, marvelling over the sheer broadness of his chest and shoulders. It isn’t the first time you’ve done this to him - or indeed any of the brothers - but Satan can tell that it’s more innocent awe than any kind of objectification or intent to harm, so he doesn’t mind. As mischievous as you are, he’s pretty sure you don’t have a genuinely malicious or wanton bone in your body... well, you don’t have any bones anymore - or a body, for that matter - but the point still stands.

“Hungry?” He guesses, but it’s honestly more of a statement. It is Beel, after all.

The Avatar of Gluttony withdraws from his search briefly to offer a nod. “I didn’t get to finish all of my lunch.”

“Well, there’s a surprise,” You comment as Beel sticks his head back into the fridge, finally tiring of buffeting yourself back and forth like a pendulum and choosing to start hovering just over the second youngest’s shoulders to watch his hunt. “Wonder what he was up to that got him to stop eating.”

Satan opens his mouth to reply, then stops and closes it again. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Beel with the not-really-a-secret of your existence, but he’s sure that at some point or another, Beel will end up letting it slip to Lucifer, who would most likely want to know why your death ended up attaching your spirit to his brother, and Satan’s already gone to great lengths to make sure that the oldest won’t find out about the rampage he went on that cost you your life in the first place. It'd just be a waste of that effort for Lucifer to find out anyway. Besides, it isn’t like the information will make much difference to Beel - he can’t see or hear you, and you’re pretty harmless, so there wouldn’t be any need for him to get involved in the situation anyway.

You, meanwhile, are well aware that Satan isn’t going to be saying anything to you while one of his brothers is in the room - you don’t really understand his reasoning for it, since you like to think that you’re a pleasure of a ghost to know, but you suppose you can’t really force him to make any decisions. Besides, you’re pretty content with the way things are right now; you don’t want to complicate the situation by bringing in another demon who, as far as you know, might just smite you on the spot if they find out about your existence.

Instead, you busy yourself with watching in fascination as Beel somehow pulls what looks like a rotisserie chicken from the very back of the fridge and shove the whole thing in this mouth. You exchange slightly disturbed looks with Satan as he begins to chew - you’re pretty sure you’ve just seen him dislocate his jaw like a snake to fit it in there.

“You might want to calm down, Beel,” Satan advises after a brief moment’s stunned silence, though even he knows that it’s a fruitless warning. “You’ll end up choking.”

Beel nods, but makes absolutely no move to slow in his aggressive chewing.

“This must be what the peak of evolution looks like,” You say in bemused awe as Beel finishes eating. The entire chicken has disappeared down his throat - bones and all. “How the hell does he manage that?”

Satan doesn’t answer, but his subtle shrug says that your guess is as good as his.

Much to your surprise and Satan’s resignation, Beel immediately goes back to the fridge, apparently unsatisfied by the copious amount of fowl he’s just eaten. To be honest, you feel sorry for the guy - while the you from when you’d still been able to eat would have done some unspeakable things to be able to consume as much as he does and still remain that fit, you’re sure that the black hole he calls a stomach must be an awful thing to have to deal with. At least he gets to enjoy a lot of food because of it, though you suppose it’s a double-edged sword if he’s also constantly being scolded for it. Personally, you don’t understand the reasoning behind telling someone off for eating as much food as they need, but they are demons. You probably shouldn’t expect them to have that level of compassion.

By the time you break out of your train of thought, Beel has found something else to eat amidst the many empty boxes in the fridge. It’s much smaller than the rotisserie chicken - some kind of pastry with a dollop of snowy white cream on top, decorated with a few lines of melted chocolate to look like a cat’s face. In fact, it looks almost identical to…

“Hey, wait!” You swipe a useless hand through Beel’s arm as he raises the pastry to his mouth. “Don’t eat that—!”

Too late. The pastry disappears into Beel’s mouth, and you drift backwards again, letting out a defeated groan. Satan shoots you a curious look - you can’t eat, after all, so why are you so upset about Beel eating that pastry? Is there something special about it?

His question is answered when he actually turns to look at his younger brother. The Avatar of Gluttony has gone rigid on the spot and is blinking rapidly, his eyes the size of moons.

“Beel…?” Satan questions hesitantly. “Are you feeling alright?”

Beel takes a long moment to respond, nodding slowly. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Satan takes a closer look and realises that Beel’s pupils seem to have dilated to an almost impossible degree, resembling a cat’s eyes when it’s about to go absolutely feral. Whatever it is was in that pastry, it’s definitely hit him hard.

Now, Satan isn’t one to interrupt good fun when it’s about to happen, so instead of stepping in and performing some sort of spell that might help on his possibly-high brother like a good guy, he sits back and watches as Beel’s head swings around the room as if he's never seen anything in it before like the mischief-loving little shit he is. Beel himself doesn’t appear to be negatively affected, so it can’t be that bad, right?

You float cautiously around the giant as his hands ball into fists. His entire body is trembling slightly with pent-up energy. Then, a split second later, as if he’s been zapped by some catalystic bolt of lightning, he abruptly snaps back on his heel and positively zooms out of the room. You can practically see the cartoony cloud of dust that he’s kicking up as he disappears down the corridor.

“He’s absolutely zooted right now,” You comment, flipping upside with a resigned sigh and crossing your arms a little grumpily. “I told him not to eat it.”

“He couldn’t hear you, you know,” Satan says, moving over to the fridge and slamming it shut, since Beel has neglected to. “What was even in that thing?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. I’ve just been calling it demon-nip.”

“I suppose that it does to demons what catnip does to cats, then?” Satan doesn’t even wait for you to answer before continuing - rude. “How did you even get a hold of it? Never mind that, how did you manage to get it in a pastry and put it in the fridge?”

“I got some help from one of the poltergeists downtown to make it,” You wave your hands about dismissively. “You should pay more attention when you go out. I disappeared for, like, five hours, and you didn’t even notice.”

“When even was this?”

“Tuesday, I think. Remember when you bought that giant bag of cat paw-shaped biscuits and then accidentally dropped the bag in the hall and got them everywhere?”

You don’t miss the way that the tips of his ears go slightly pink as he coughs subtly and averts his gaze. “...why would the poltergeists help you? They hate humans.”

“I don’t know, actually…” You ponder for a moment, then decide, “...probably because I’m cute.”

“Are you?” Satan deadpans. “Cute is what you’d call a cat. You’re just… tolerable.”

“Oh, fuck you, I think I’m adorable.” You huff, flying over and poking him hard in the side of the head. Satan hisses in pain and reaches up to rub the sore spot, but he supposes he should have seen that blow coming - you’re never too humble to make yourself physical enough to hit him after an insult.

“Where did that idea even come from?” He asks quickly, not wanting to take another attack. You may be a mere imprint of a dead human, but your fingers are sharp, and he’d prefer not to provoke you further if he can avoid it.

His change of subject is so abrupt and obvious that it’s almost laughable, but you choose not to call him out on it. As much as you’d like to set him on fire or something, he hasn’t given you a really good reason to commit arson yet, and you’d just end up feeling bad for doing it. Well, to be fair, he did kill you… but still, you don’t want to keep holding that over his head.

“I read it in a book.” You answer. Satan’s eyes light up slightly.

“Do you remember the title?” He asks almost eagerly, and you disguise a snicker. His intentions are practically painted in bright red paint across his face - he’s hoping that there’ll be more schemes like the one you’ve performed that he can use against that sadist of an older brother of his.

Unfortunately for him, the book doesn’t exist. “Yeah. It’s called One Hundred Ways To Get Back At The Ass That Killed You, Free Of Murder and Actual Crimes That Might Get You Persecuted And Sent To Super Hell.”

Satan clearly isn’t thinking very hard today, because for a moment he actually looks as if he believes you - you suppose it’s because he’s grown desensitised to the oddness of such long titles after hearing so many weirdly specific anime titles from the otaku brother that you still have yet to see come out of his room. (You’ve floated in a few times to have a look around and appreciate the decor, but other than that, you’ve barely even seen his face. You’re not even sure what his name is, to be honest…)

He realises what you’re getting at after a moment, though, and immediately frowns at you in disapproval. You just grin, pleased with your small victory.

“You're insufferable,” He says, shaking his head with an long sigh.

“No, I'm cute,” You counter, frowning. “Weren't you listening to me earlier?”

He throws his hands up hastily as you drift forward with a hand brandished and a nasty glint in your eye, unwilling to get jabbed at again. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

You, however, don't relent. Eyes narrowing, you float even closer - so close that, if you'd been physical, he’d have been able to feel your breath on his face. “Say it.”

Satan may be one of the seven most powerful demons in the Devildom (below Diavolo, of course, and possibly Barbatos), but the aggression of a pissed-off ghost, especially if that ghost is you, isn't anything he wants to be on the receiving end of right now. “Fine, fine! You're adorable, you're cute, whatever. Now will you leave me alone?”

You finally pull back, beaming in a gratified fashion. “That's all I wanted to hear!”

Satan gives you an irritated look as you drift back across the kitchen, a satisfied grin on your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’ve said that already,” You sing back, laughing in victory when you see his eyebrow twitch slightly in annoyance. “And you had the nerve to lecture me about creativity earlier! Why don’t you come up with better material, Mr Shoes-Up-My-Ass?”

He doesn’t reply for a good moment, attempting to think of a insult to counter your admittedly slightly juvenile one. Try as he might, though, all of his good jibes seem to have evaporated. “...shut up.”

His pathetic response, of course, immediately compels you to take the piss out of him. Clutching your chest dramatically, as if Satan’s just stabbed you with the knife you’d been waving about earlier, you wail, “Oh, thy words do wound me! 'Tis like thou hath rip’d my heart out with thy own hands!”

Satan glares you for a long moment, but he doesn’t have the heart to keep it up when you’re grinning so brightly. Honestly, you’re a nuisance and a brat sometimes, sure, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t consider you his closest friend at this point. “...do you even know how to use those words?”

You drop the act faster than Asmo throws it down on a Saturday night, shrugging and floating back over to hover just above the chair across from Satan’s. “Nope. It sounded right, though, right?”

“I haven’t read enough works in Old English to know,” Satan admits with a shake of his head. “But it did, I suppose…”

It’s kind of weird that he’s agreeing so easily, you think. Has he just had enough of your bullshit and is complying with to keep you quiet? Or has he just finally seen the light of your brilliance?

...well, you suppose it doesn’t matter. You grin and move to ruffle his hair, but forget to make your hand physical and instead end up flying right through his head. Satan shudders slightly - though he doesn’t feel it, it’s still weird to have an entire hand and arm go through his cranium.

“Could you not?” He complains as you right yourself and pull your hand back again. “This feels weird.”

“Baby.”

“Pet names aren’t going to do anything,” He sighs, pulling his chair to the side so that he’s no longer half-inside your torso. “Hands to yourself.”

“No, it was an insult,” You correct him. “I was calling you a baby. Though bitch-boy works too.”

Satan lets out a long sigh. Now you’re just back where you started.

[buildmeafairytale]

Demon Boyfriends: Elow &Siphorus

Suprise! I wrote something! What’s better than one demon boyfriend, you ask? Two demon boyfriends, duh. I started this literal months ago, and I’m not going to lie, it's very self indulgent and porny. My praise kink is clear and in full swing. I was going to make one of the characters a hard core brat but he turned soft, what can I say. Anyways, I hope you guys like this! This is a link to my Ko-Fi, everything is appreciated but nothing is expected. <3

Life has been going great for you. Too great, really. You landed a well paying job in a cute small town named Talon Valley. You found the cottage of your dreams in the forest a few miles out of town. It was perfectly desolate and had a garden already set up in the back, as well as shelves that will work perfectly to store your potions. You already picked a great altar space, as well. It was your first time living alone, and you were excited to finally practice your craft in peace. 

Except there was no peace, and you soon discovered you were not alone. At first, the misplaced items didn’t phase you. You were still unpacking and you really didn’t know where you set things most of the time anyway. Only after the first couple weeks when things were supposed to be in their places, did you start to notice. 

You were a witch, sure. But that didn’t mean you weren’t easily spooked. You didn’t want to make things worse, so instead of doing a cleanse that could anger something stronger than you, you did a few charms and protection spells on yourself. That did nothing to stop the tiny torments. If anything, they increased. Not only were several potions moved, but they were mixed together haphazardly. Then your blinds would open after you had closed them, or your fridge would be left cracked. All harmless things, but knowing someone or something else was doing this was enough to have you constantly on edge. You just wanted to relax, dammit!

You never thought of this side of living alone. During the day, you were living in a beautiful cottage in the lush green forest, but at night it felt as though you were in a haunted cabin in the woods. You really couldn’t take it anymore. You had cried and whimpered all night when you felt you were being watched, and by the time the sun rose you had resolved to deal with this. 

You gathered some materials and made your way out of the house. After all, a summoning spell required a lot of concentration and you certainly wouldn't be able to do it in there. You found a nice clearing not too far from your home, and set up. You lit a few candles, did a few incantations, and waited. You were about to give up when, in a puff of smoke, a demon appeared. They were crouched down with blue flames dancing around them, but even still they seemed massive.

As the demon uncurled and stood himself upright, it seemed as though more and more limbs appeared. You counted six arms coming out of him, his whole body a gradient of black to white. His pitch black fingertips seemed as though they were covered in soot, and as you got closer to the middle of his body his skin was more and more milky white. Hooved feet clap on the ground. He had dark eyes and horns like a ram’s curled on the side of their head, with long black hair in between, and he towered over you.

He lowered himself and took your shaking hand in one of his large ones, his pure white eyes staring at you. 

“It is lovely to meet you, my master,” his voice is like velvet, and he flashes you his sharp teeth at you before placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “They call me Siphorus. I cannot wait to be of service to you.”

You let out a bleating laugh, unsure what to make of this. You weren’t expecting such a large and powerful demon to come; you weren’t even out of the broom closet and this kind of thing should take years of real practice. 

“Um, master?”

He chuckled under his breath, “Yes, master,” he rose, “You summoned me and I am under your command. I promise to fulfil anything you ask of me.”

You ignored his suggestive promise. Smooth as he may be, you were out in the middle of the woods for a more important reason. “You can just call me Lily if you’d like? And well, I sort of need your help with something?”

“Like I said, I am under your command, master,” he prompts you, a clawed finger lifting your chin up. 

“There’s something in my house,” you tell him, clearing your throat and putting some space in between the two of you. “Something spooky and it...watches me I think. I don’t know how to make it go away by myself.” 

“A powerful witch such as yourself?” he frowns “No matter, I shall play the role of your gallant protector.” 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Honestly, who talks like that? For someone who looks so formidable, he’s a bit on the odd side. At least he is going to help you. 

He starts towards your house, although you aren’t sure how he knows the way.

“Ah yes, I can feel his presence here.” Siphorus opens the door for you with a flourishing gesture.

 As soon as one of his hooved feet lands on the other side of your doorway, chaos breaks out. Cabinets are slamming, furniture is being overturned, and the lights are flickering. 

“She is MY master! GET OUT!” A voice yells out as lightbulbs start to explode. You let out a scream as glass flies at you, covering your face and burying it in the stomach of the demon by your side. With a wave of his hand Siphorus halts the glass midair, something you probably could have done if you hadn’t been so panicked. You step away from him once again, your face hot. You try to convince yourself it’s from his inner hellfire, but you aren’t too sure. 

Siphorus clicks his tongue in a disapproving manner. “Now now, let us not make a mess of our sweet Lilians home, hm?” 

An angry hissing sound responds back, things slamming and shaking but nothing as messy. 

“This is quite the tantrum. Honestly, show yourself and be gone!” Siphorus calls out, and a figure starts to appear. 

White hot flames spiral out in your living room and from within it steps another demon. This one is almost as tall as Siphorus, but not quite. He is lanky, and his skin textured, light colored but red seemed to be pumping underneath, as if it was scar tissue. This one only has one pair of arms, and has no hair. His eyes are cat-like and stare straight at Siphorus, flames around him roaring even stronger.

“GET OUT!” the figure yells, and you flinch into Siphorus once again. 

The flames suddenly go out, and you turn to see the other demon looking at you now.

“What,” he paused, swallowing thickly. “What is going on? Did you...find a new demon?” He asked, his voice sounding distraught.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You stand there confused at his words. He doesn’t sound scary at all, if anything he sounds heartbroken. The fear melts away, and you take a step away from Siphorus. 

“What do you mean a new demon? This one belong to you?” Siphorus asks, eyebrow raised. You just shake your head, and he heaves a dramatic sigh. 

“Of course I belong to her. I became attached to her weeks ago and she brought me home. She was walking in the forest and I felt her energy. It was lonely so I came with,” he hissed these words out, eyes turned to slits. 

“She was scared and I had to keep her safe! She was making protection charms and satchels and sticking them everywhere.” 

“From you, you nimwit! She didn’t even know you were in the house!” Siphorus admonishes him, “You should have at least presented yourself!”

His face falls further and the demon places himself on one of your dining room chairs, dwarfing it.

“But, she never asked for me? I was never summoned to do her bidding, or had any reason to show myself. I just thought she knew I was here, and would ask me if she needed anything. Since she didn’t ask, I just watched over her.” he sniffles, and you get a knot in your throat. 

A pitiful “Oh,” passes through your lips. You move over to him, letting him scoop you onto his lap.

“I just wanted to be a good demon, I’d never had a master that was such a nice witch,” he whines high in the back of his throat, nosing at your hair. You coo at him the way you would a scared puppy, doting on him with attention and sweet pets on his scarred and hairless head.

You then hear a scoff from Siphorus, both you and the new demon turning to look at him.

“What?”

“The two of you are absolutely pitiful, do you know that?” Siphorus asks, baffled.

You stay cuddled up, “Well, wait - what is your name?” you look up into his eyes, his fangs pushing into his soft looking lips. 

“Elow, master,” he replies into your hair, still trying to get as close as possible to you. 

“Elow, it’s nice to meet you,” you tell him, giving him a sweet smile he readily returns. “Well I’m absolutely fine with Elow staying. And I don’t think we’re pitiful.”

Siphorus sputters. “Well, I suppose we have a bit of a problem, then. You summoned me to get rid of him, and I cannot leave until your summons are completed.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I just don’t feel good about making him leave now, Siphorus.” You tell him, and feel Elows long arms wrap even tighter around you.

“Yes, Siphorus. Please don’t make me leave now,” Elow asks him, eyes wide.

You assure Siphorus you will help him in any way that you can. 

“You can stay here until we figure out how to let you go back, of course. I- do you sleep?” you ask them. “I can get some rooms ready for you!” And you scurry off, hoping that the two demons get along.

You aren’t sure how to act now that you have both demons staying in your home. Firstly, you layout some ground rules as far as Elow touching your potions and leaving the fridge door open. He looks so sad after your gentle scolding, so you take some time to comfort him as well. The two of you snuggle up on your small couch and watch a movie. He’s informed you that he has been starved of contact for a long while, and he basks in your touch. You enjoy it as well, and his warmth lulls you to sleep. When the two of you wake, you are covered in a blanket. It’s soft and black, and not one you had seen before. It smelled slightly of fire. 

The three of you had settled into a routine. On the days you went to work, you came home to a clean house, and a meal. It was all so domestic, and occasionally one or both of your demons would produce a human glamour and come with you into town. They always kept on sunglasses, though, because they couldn’t change their eyes. You doubt the inhabitants of Talon Valley would mind. Siphorus had informed you that most of the people living here were some kind of supernatural being. As a witch, you fit right in.

So well, in fact, that you had befriended another witch already. She was much more confident in her abilities, and had already figured out a solution to Siphorus being stuck with you. 

Coming back from a visit with her, you had mixed feelings. You had a solution, sure, but you had grown so fond of your demon. You didn’t want to let him go, and already felt hollow just thinking about him departing. You creak the front door open while lost in thought and were unprepared for what you were seeing. Standing in shock, you take in the scene before you.

 Through the doorway, you can see Elow on top of Siphorus. His head is thrown back, and high pitched moans leave him. You can make out the deep bass of Siphorus encouraging him as Elow bounces on his cock, thoroughly impaled. Siphous is leaning back on one set of hands, with the others on either side of Elow’s hips and face. Elow’s own hardness bobs between his thighs, long and thick. It’s textured like the rest of him, but redder.  You feel your own face get hot, and the gasp that leaves your lips is what finally catches your demons’ attention. 

Elow is embarrassed and won’t look at you, trying to hide behind a tangle of sooty arms. Siphorus just smirks at you, taking in your doe-eyed appearance. You feel as if your heartbeat is between your legs. 

“Isn’t our Elow so beautiful,” he draws out, running his hand along the other demon’s flank. Elow shudders, still fully seated, and you nod. “So beautiful, so good for me. For us,” he purrs into Elow’s ear, his milky eyes still locked on yours. This time Elow actually moans, weather that be from the thickness spearing him open or the words alone, you are unsure. Siphorus beacons you closer, and you feel as though you are under a spell.

With a touch of your magic, the door is shut and locked. Your feet carry you closer to them, and Elow peaks at you, somehow both demure and debauched. He isn’t much smaller than Siphorus, really, but he looks tiny like this. He whispers a “Hi,” into your hand, kissing it gently. You return the sentiment, caressing his face. He squirms and whimpers, and you see his cock jump. “Oh, honey,” you coo, and pull him in for a sweet kiss. One of Siphorus’s hands tangles in your hair, while the other of the set is on Elow’s head, encouraging you two. He encourages you vocally too, his pleased throaty moans making your kiss turn feverish. 

“Join us, master,” Siphorus implores you, a hand wandering down your thigh.

Behind the lust you feel for them, a sense of nervous insecurity rises when you go to take your clothes off. You pull off your outerwear, taking your time. Your demons must sense your hesitance, as they pull you between their intertwined forms, Elow at your back.

“Shh master, just focus on my hands,” Elow tells you, ever so sweet. His hands move along your breasts, kneading the flesh there. One rises up, covering your throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure, just holds his hand there. His thumb comes up to brush along your lips, and you take it into your mouth without a conscious thought, sucking and wrapping your tongue around it, an action that draws moans from both of your demons. 

“Do not try to hide from us,” Siphorus’s voice is but an echoing growl, teeth pressing into your ear. “We can smell you, master. The air is thick with your want, let us serve you.” From where you rest on his torso, you can feel his hips moving, along with Elow’s hardness pressing against your lower back. You whimper around the thumb in your mouth, eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

Elow removes his hands, and you let out a pleading moan, not wanting them to stop.

“You have to tell us, master. Tell us what you want, and it’s yours, please,” Elow says, his voice a breath of a whisper.

“Yes, darling, just tell us,” Siphorus echoes the sentiment, and you feel dizzy with want.

“Please,” you breath out, “Please touch me. Take me,” you plead to them. 

No sooner do the words leave your lips their hands wrap back around you. You push your butt back onto Elow’s pulsing cock, rolling against it. He whimpers out, and you can only imagine how full he must feel. You use your magic to take your clothes off, not wanting to break the contact with your lovers. Feeling them against your skin is worth any nervousness you may have been feeling. Siphorus captures your mouth in a kiss, and although you may be his master, it is clear who is in control. The press of his teeth to your lips has your hips jerking, and you’re sure they can both feel how wet you are perched on Siphorus’s muscular abdomen. 

Siphorus’s hips are moving harder now, meeting Elow’s bouncing ass. A pair of Siphorus’s hands wrap around your hips and in one fluid motion, hovers you on top of his face. Your hands find his horns, steading yourself. He makes a loud, wounded noise at your grip, and Elow moans out at the particularly hard thrust that follows. You take that as a sign to loosen your hold, and pack his reaction away in the back of your mind for another day. You then look down and see Siphorus’s tongue, so very long and pink, seeking out your heat. 

He suddenly growls, and flips you around so that you’re facing Elow, and his tongue presses into you. It stretches you and you feel it press against your walls, long enough that it can still curve to press to your clit. The sensations are overwhelming, and you cannot help but rock against them.

You get to watch Elow being fucked, and you meet his mouth in a frenzied kiss. Both of you are being held tight by Siphorus’s hands, being pleasured by him. The hands around Elow are thrusting him up and down, and the peek you get of Siphorus’s member has you clenching harder around his tongue. He laps up the wetness spilling from you as if he is starved, the noises coming from him sound as if he is tasting salvation. Elow acts much the same, drinking from your mouth as if it is the finest wine. 

You feel all too much and not enough, and you wrap a hand around Elow’s cock. It’s hot and heavy in your grip, and Elow turns to putty, begging. 

“Please don’t stop, please master,” he whines, high in his throat. Incoherent noises keep coming, and you assure him you won’t stop, pressing yourself further onto Siphorus. 

“Not gonna stop honey, wanna make you feel good. Such a sweet demon, aren’t you? My sweet demon.” You praise him and his movements turn jerky. The noises leaving him become even more frantic and high pitched. He reaches a crescendo and spills into your hand, covering you in his thick white cum. You don’t stop until he is pulling away from your hand, a whimpering mess convulsing on your other demon's cock. Your other demon, who is now redoubling his assault against your cunt, seems close as well. You watch him tense up and with an animalistic grunt, fill up Elow with his seed. His tongue is still fucking into you, and the visual he and Elow provide is all that is needed to push you over the edge, tensing and jerking away as your climax leaves you breathless. 

The three of you pull yourselves apart, you considerably more out of breath than your demons, who are much quicker to recover. Elow is behind you while Siphorus leans upright against the couch, stretching out his many muscles and preening before you. You let your eyes rake over him, and you feel desire bubbling in your skin. 

His nostrils flare, and his eyes dig into you even harder, predatory. You feel your heart pound and you’re sure he can smell your want, just as he said. 

“Oh, Lily, you think we are done with you?” Siphorus asks you, reaching over to tuck a sweat soaked strand of hair away from your face. 

“I hope not,” you whisper out, ignoring how hot you feel your face getting. You gnaw on your lip, and feel Elow stretch his arms out. You lean into them, already feeling breathless. 

“C’mere master, please? Can I have you this way?” He asks, tucking you to his front. One hand moves to rest on your throat while the other goes to your leg. You nod eagerly, letting him hoist your leg up as he nudges his member against your opening. He ruts against you before seating himself inside in one lazy thrust. All of your nerve endings are ablaze, and your hands wrap around his forearm, keeping his hand pressed against your neck. He keeps a slow pace, and molasses runs through your veins. The moans that leave you sound desperate, and you watch as Siphorus fists his cock, his other hands tweaking his nipples and moving up and down his body. 

You can feel the magic he is putting off, and it’s as if his hands are touching you from where he is in front of you. He is content with watching this time, it seems. 

“Deeper, Elow. Give it to her deeper.” Not just watching then, apparently. He is giving orders as well. You moan out as Elow follows his direction and presses deeper into you, an eager “Yes'' leaving his lips. A phantom hand, courtesy of Siphorus, is circling your clit. The slow but persistent pleasure had you throbbing and jerking back into Elows arms, the two of you overstimulated together in the best of ways. More phantom hands ghost over you and go to Elow, who lets out a whorish moan at the feeling. 

“Good boy, just like that,” Siphorus praises and nods.

 You whimpered and met his milky gaze, “You too darling, you’re such a good girl for us. Such a good little master, aren’t you?” he asks, his smirk downright predatory. 

His words pull a noise out of you that you didn’t think you were capable of making. Between his words, phantom hands, and Elow’s deep movements massaging your inner walls, you don’t last long. You feel yourself tense again, sparks flying through your veins as you milk the cock nestled deep inside you. Siphorus is still talking to the two of you, praising you though you can’t make out the words. Elow finishes too, locking himself inside you as he fills you with his seed. He grunts and makes breathy sounds into your neck as he continues to fill you.The warmth of it has aftershocks rippling through you, and you lean your head back against his shoulder as the two of you enjoy your afterglow. He slips from you minutes later, and you feel his plentiful cum running down the inside of your thighs. You should feel a bit grossed out, but all you feel is sated and claimed.  

Siphorus must have finished with you as well, since you feel tendrils of his magic cleaning you up. They run up and down your body, prompting you to further melt into them. Your eyes peek open and he is there, smiling and pressing his lips to your forehead. “Shh, let me get us comfortable,” he tells you, before conjuring up a nest of blankets and cushions for you, all with a subtle fiery scent. You and Elow don’t even have to move, all the better since you still very much feel boneless. If Elow’s soft and content noises are anything to go by, he feels the same. Siphorus nuzzles himself in, the three of you tangled together. 

“May I admit something, my dearests?” he asks us, answered only with a humming affirmative.

“I- Well, I didn’t have to stay. I’ve been free to leave but I just really, really wanted to stay.” You had not heard him sound so vulnerable before, and you squeeze one of his hands. You’re surprised, but not upset by the news. If anything, it lifts a weight off of your shoulders.

“Pft, tell me something I did not already know,” Elow teases him, his eyes still closed and a smile on his face. 

Siphorus sputters, taken aback, but it turns into hearty laughter. 

“I’m glad you stayed,” you tell him, kissing him in your half - asleep state.  

The blankets and content hum of magic in the air lull you to sleep, surrounded by your loves.

[dynamicduoofstackie]

I’m curious why SamBucky is so rare-ish in these streets when it comes to pairing Bucky with an MCU character? I get it, I get it, with the Stucky ‘end of the line’; we been teaming up since the comic book days spiel. I personally see Bucky and Steve as brothers after Captain America: The Winter Soldier cause it felt like Bucky was ready to adopt Steve after his mother, who was his only remaining family, died.

That’s me. I know everyone not going to see it in that light. But Bucky gives me big brother vibes whenever he has to save pipsqueak Steve in the MCU. Plus the original comics had Bucky as an adorable, little sidekick that would make you think reverse big brother and little brother, with Steve being the big brother and Bucky the little brother. I don’t read the comics so it might just me. No offense. 

Is it really about the, Steve knew him longer thing? I mean other than possibly Natasha in the comics, Bucky has no clearly defined MCU love interests. Bucky was a flirt before he met Sarah Wilson, so him being able to flirt, just proves he’s coming into his own. I’m not saying he doesn’t like Sarah that way. But he also flirted with Peggy in the first Captain America movie because he’s a lady killer and was more than willing to take the two girls off Steve’s hand at the Stark Expo when Steve floundered. Steve/Tony I sorta get with the enemies to lover trope. The Bucky x Clint thing is really mind-boggling to me because there were no interaction between them in the MCU; so something must have happened in the comics. So okay... But the fact that Sam had more interaction with Bucky in the MCU and had a whole comic book series with him and Bucky shouldn’t have the ships OF SamBucky and Sam x Clint at a 700+ fanfic difference. Fandoms are so weird sometimes... anyway...

Sam and Steve are the only ones in the MCU who really interact with Bucky outside the strong and beautiful people of Wakanda. None of the Wakandians seem interested in Bucky, except in maybe a familial way. Like they found a stray cat, nursed and raised it; but the cat is still an outdoor cat that might visit from time to time, but is mostly out there doing its on thing. Just the feeling I get with how comfortable Bucky was interacting with Princess Shuri and/or the Dora Milaje. They respect him, fixed him, and let Bucky roam free.

Steve is somewhere on the moon or wherever, in The Falcon and Winter Soldier tv series and Sam is the only one willing to stay in contact with Bucky. Shoot in Endgame only Sam and Steve were Bucky’s only people because Steve protecting Bucky caused a rift between the Avengers. It was repaired, but Team Iron Man doesn’t know Bucky at all, and/or don’t seem interested. Team Captain America are either dead (Natasha), being with their family (Clint and Scott), or dealing with their own shit (Steve and Wanda). So that leaves Sam. That’s really no coincidence even though I’ll admit, Steve going to a support group to more Peggy instead of his two best friends that were recently missing was kind of shitty.

So again, getting back on track, why isn’t their more Sambucky love? We already know Stucky is default most popular in the fandom for Bucky pairing. But Sam, who has the enemies turn friends aspect about him and has been the only one, besides Steve, who openly tried to find Bucky. I mean what better love story is it for a man who went from thinking Bucky would be better off dead, to suddenly sacrificing his 9 to 5 and freedom to search for Bucky and help him escape the airport in Germany?

I mean SamBucky is one of the few ships that has a foundation of amazing content from Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan’s interactions with each other. Mackie and Sebastian literally went from play pretending like they couldn’t stand each other, to damn near needing someone to chaperone them in their interviews because they so random shit, flirt and love to be close. Sebastian has talked about Mackie more than any costar and Mackie has a wonderful knack for finding Sebastian on any red carpet event to compliment the hell out of him. They literally had a show created for the two characters because of that amazing chemistry and Sebastian even co-signed on it with this gem below.

The MCU was throwing Bucky and Sam together over and over again, way before they got their own tv series. They argued together, fought each other, tried to one up each other by ripping wings and dropkicking from the air. Even in the television show big-hearted Sam willingly allows Bucky to go on a top secret government mission with him. Checks in on him constantly to make sure he’s okay. The only one that defends Bucky against people like Zemo, Sharon and John Walker. 

Sam really was the one person that helped put most of Bucky’s demons to rest in The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. He gave him the tough love he needed in the end. He gave him purpose. He teased him like he was a normal person and not a former, brain-washed assassin. Sam watched over Bucky because he wanted to. Steve never asked him to check on Bucky. Steve never asked Sam to help him find Bucky. Steve never asked for Sam to sacrifice his freedom and go to the raft just so Bucky and Steve could escape in the airport. Sam volunteered to do that all on his own because he saw how worthy Bucky was. 

Why else would Sam have him on a top government mission? Why else would he try to bail out Bucky from jail or follow Steve and Bucky against his Avenger allies? Why else would he let Bucky talk him into let Zemo go? Or any of the other insane things they did together, unless he didn’t care? 

And that’s what Bucky needs, someone to give a damn about him. Someone to text him and chase after him. Someone to defend him and remind him that he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. Someone to offer him a place to stay and normalcy. Someone who isn’t afraid to introduce to his family or watch his six in a battle. Someone touch him because he knows Bucky’s been touch-starved or tease him because he’s not afraid to be next to him. 

Sam knows this Bucky. The Bucky who was determined to give the Shield to Sam. The Bucky who dangled kids off his arm while talking to Sam’s sister. The Bucky who has trouble sleeping at night because he still has demons. The Bucky who tried to kill him because he didn’t have control of his own body The Bucky who was just as broken as Sam when Steve just Peggy over them. The Bucky who is trying to find purpose in a world that has forgotten about him. He doesn’t have to remake himself into the old Bucky for Steve because Sam only knows this Bucky. Bucky doesn’t have to be anybody, but himself around Sam and he is.

I mean maybe people  don’t care to pair Bucky with Sam because he was against saving Bucky the first time; or didn’t pull up the car seat; or didn’t want to jump in believing Bucky after he threw him across the room by his chin; or maybe because Sam’s black... WHO KNOWS. 

I just thought it was odd that the fandom doesn’t respect Anthony Mackie as a whole, too. Like the poor man has to insert himself into interviews with his white costars just to not be pretty arm candy. But that’s another rant for another post.