#I’m currently buried in commissions and working full time on top of that

[inherited-by-ocelot]

Psyche - Will Graham, Hannibal

[yandere-sins]

Routine

I had the absolute pleasure to write for @bellanovas who wished for a continuation for the events after Different ♥ Thank you so much for your support over Ko-fi and then continously as a commission, you’re awesome!

Characters: Yandere!Atsumu Miya x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Osamu Miya (For clarification: While they reader in the previous one-shots used they/them pronouns, we used she/her here) Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Emotional Meltdown, Forced Affection, Attempted Feeding

Even you knew the charm of routine. 

Even though you were kidnapped and held in this apartment against your will by not one but two crazy men, you understood how a routine helped you to look forward to certain things and not so much to others. Still, it was nice knowing Osamu woke up first, letting you and his brother pull the blanket over your heads a few minutes more until Atsumu had to get up for his morning run and you for your breakfast. You always looked forward to them leaving for the day, despite it meaning they were going to lock you in your room, but at least you had some alone time to either keep napping, read a book, or play a game. It was also the only time you were able to shower or bath without always having the nagging feeling of someone waiting at the door for you, trying to get in even though they knew you locked it. 

Routine meant knowing that your peace would be disturbed with either of the two coming home. There wasn’t a pattern to who returned first and when, the two of them communicating it throughout the day without having a way of letting you know - and not always wanting you to know either. If it was Osamu, you knew you’d at least get dinner soon. If it was Atsumu who walked through the door, a big idiotic grin on his face when he saw you, you sighed, wishing he’d still be at practice. At least, if Atsumu let go of you, he let you roam the full apartment and often brought you new things to get busy with.

However, that was only your day. The meaning of ‘routine’ meant something different entirely for the twins.

Cornering you against the wall, you averted your face to escape the smell of a deodorant shower mixed with sweat. It couldn’t be helped; Atsumu was what he wanted to be - an athlete. Nonetheless, he liked to disregard your personal space in favor of getting closer and closer, even if he only just returned home after a long day, immediately causing a ruckus. 

You see, for the twins, you were the height of their days. No matter how much they enjoyed their daily activities, once they were done, you were the only thing on their mind. No amount of desire and yearning could come close to the drive they felt rushing back from their work to their home to continue their routine of loving you. A feature of this routine was that things you did once had to be shown again. Had to be experienced again, especially if they were cute. 

Thus, your current suffering involved a grown man cornering you, trying to squeeze out the sweet, sweet ‘Welcome Home’ you muttered to him while your mind was foggy from the pleasure you had experienced on that day. It had become a part he’d have liked to implement in his routine, especially with how stubborn you turned out to be when it came to repeating it. You weren’t raising your hands or struggled as much as you did at first when they kidnapped you, but this was a matter of principle. Once you gave in to Atsumu, you’d always have to do it, and once they had this little bit, they’d demand more enthusiasm and more work. You’ve been with them long enough. You knew how these things would end.

It had been foolish, you couldn’t lie. Even though you had only tried to soothe the flared tempers of your captors with these words and were driven by serotonin and other feelings of happiness, you could only blame yourself for doing what you did. Never before had you shown even the smallest enthusiasm over their return, and having, especially Atsumu, latch on to that now, was just an immediate consequence. Any piece of affection you gave him was swallowed wholly and manifested in his head as a new routine for him. Had it been anything else - a kiss, a hug, an apology - you’d be in the same predicament, but it just had to be this silly greeting.

Perhaps you should have tried humoring him just to please him and get him off you, but the thought alone made you want to throw up. Once you’d allow this to fester in his routine, Osamu, too, would demand the same treatment. Before you knew it, the words alone wouldn’t be enough to satisfy their growing hunger for your attention. Suddenly you’d have to be affectionate with them when they arrived at your door, and they’d start to crave for more than you had to offer. There would be no avoiding or forgetting about something they made their routine, and soon enough, it would need to become part of your schedule too.

“I’m home,” he cooed, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. He was prompting you, fishing for what he wanted. Atsumu had a gift to ignore failure, simply trying it again even if his endeavors hadn’t been successful yet. ‘No’ wasn’t in his dictionary, and his understanding of you entirely revolved around loving you and gaining attention and praise from you. Fighting him was the worst. Though Osamu scared you more on a general day-to-day-basis, Atsumu was undeniably trickier than his brother. At least Osamu knew how to take a hint, while Atsumu ignored any and all that didn’t suit him. 

“Home,” he continued, lips fluttering against your temple. “Home~” Another kiss to your chin. Arms started to crawl around your body, feeling like caterpillars wandering over your skin. Knowing what was about to happen, you tensed up, feeling your flight instincts setting in. But where to? Atsumu was already all around you. 

Reluctantly you complied with Atsumu’s demands, his pulls and pushes leading you to the nearby couch. You knew if you wouldn’t move by your own efforts, he’d drag you with him, and not very gently so. At least that much you had already gone through, experienced, and submitted to. You preferred moving over bruising from his grips and pulls. It still wasn’t easy to give in to the fall when Atsumu plummeted onto the cushions, making you lose your steady feet on the ground in favor of seating you on his lap. Still, even that was manageable, though you wished you could have chosen any other position than straddling him. 

The two of you settled like this, his deodorant still filling your nose with its pungent smell, but the hand placing upon the back of your head pushed you forward into his chest relentlessly. It was dizzying but not the worst thing you ever smelled, even though you’d have preferred his deodorant not to be as strong and musky. 

Satisfied, Atsumu embraced you tightly for a few seconds, taking a deep breath of you in return, until you started to stir from the uncomfortable hug. At least for now, you figured he had given up on demanding your sweet voice to welcome him home, if only so because he wanted to cuddle. It may seem like a compromise to him, but you knew it was him forcing you to decide which was the greater bad of the two options he was giving you. Nothing was stopping Atsumu from burying his hands beneath your shirt, his skin noticeably colder than you after he just came home, enough to make you flinch lightly and dig your hands into his arms. 

You tried to get up and free yourself. Still, Atsumu merely chuckled, his response a joking yet demanding, “No! Warm me!” as he reached up all the way over your back, well-maintained, soft hands digging into your sides roughly. Taking a sharp breath, you had a hard time toggling the pain and uncomfortableness that rose in you, wondering what he was up to while Atsumu remained calm and indifferent about your struggles. A few more shifts were all you did, feeling his fingertips squeeze you harder every time you moved, forcing you to give up if you wanted him to release you from the pain.

Immediately, his hands became soft again as he felt you slump in his hug submissively, Atsumu too taking a deep breath before rubbing his cheek against yours affectionately. The areas he had just clenched down on burned up quickly, but you felt the relief set in as the pain slowly subsided. Littering the side of your face with kisses, he finally pulled out a hand from your shirt again, directing your head against his chest once more. You could feel his body relax as he followed your example to slump into the couch, one hand caressing the back of your head with slow, tender strokes while the other one held you in place around your waist precautiously, so you wouldn’t jump up. He held you like a precious, loved child, though he was nothing even remotely close to a parent.

There was no escape from someone so eager to pretend this was a healthy relationship. That you were an actual couple hugging and embracing each other, even if you were more of a limp doll in his arms, barely able to bring up the enthusiasm to hold him in return. All you did was fixate your eyes on the entrance to your room while your ear rested against Atsumu’s chest, hearing an excited beating through his shirt. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

“I did really well today! Everyone was praising me for my setting,” Atsumu began to recount.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“And Bokkun, he--” Interrupting himself with a laugh, Atsumu shook his head, heart beginning to race a little faster. “He tried to look extra cool, but he totally jumped into the net today and got stuck!”

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

“What about you?” he shifted his attention, and you knew he looked down at the top of your head from above, his thumb coming forth to brush over your eyebrows. “I played Mario Kart today,” you whispered, unwilling to create an awkward silence and cause him to urge you on with more painful touches. 

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. 

“Let’s play together after dinner!” Atsumu enthusiastically exclaimed, and you knew it wasn’t an invitation, but a firm statement of how you were going to spend your evening. It also didn’t surprise you that despite talking about Volleyball before, his heart only began to race now that you had spoken up. Atsumu could be that easy to read if he allowed it. 

You thought of the possibility of a nap as he kept spluttering excitedly about how he was going to win against you and how much better he was at games than his brother. Atsumu called it ‘the perk of being the older twin’ that he was winning so much, despite you remembering that he lost almost all the games lately, suspecting it was because he tried to gain your approval by letting you win. 

But your stream of thoughts were harshly interrupted by a sudden hand grabbing you by the arm, pulling you off Atsumu’s lap and out of his embrace. Atsumu’s merrily blabbering came to a halt, and you caught a glimpse of his face wrinkling while you fought with getting to your feet alone. “Go shower, you stink, ‘Tsumu,” you heard Osamu’s familiar voice raise behind you, another help coming to support your struggles.

“It’s not like [Name] cared,” Atsumu hissed, rising after you, their two bodies giving you a feeling of menace as they kept you between each other. “We just enjoyed cuddling, what’s wrong with you?!”

“It’s dinnertime, and you’re still not showered and changed, that’s what’s wrong, Dumbass.”

Atsumu did a short, upset flinch, a huff falling off his lips before he trotted off, pouting. Nothing angered him more than admitting his faults, and Osamu pointing them out didn’t help his swollen ego. Finally, after what seemed to be a quick pat-down, Osamu’s hands disappeared too, and he muttered a short “‘am home,” when you finally turned around, though other than Atsumu he wasn’t as persistent on you returning the greeting as you avoided your eyes and ignored it. Still, he waited for a hesitant, unsure moment, and you supposed the stakes were high when even Osamu considered delaying his routine just to hear your response.

But nodding slowly, his patience took over, and he turned to leave, having you trot after him with a relieved, inwardly sigh. Passing by the twin’s bathroom, you heard Atsumu’s phone play music as he started up a shower behind the door, but with Osamu being unbothered by it, you couldn’t care much about it either. Instead, you felt your stomach grumbling, your last meal having taken place well over five hours ago.

Absentmindedly as you thought back to the bread and egg you had in the morning, you stepped behind the kitchen isle, only to gain a very sharp, alert glare from Osamu, catching you by surprise. Understanding quickly, you were back on the other side, sliding onto one of the three stools on the other side of the kitchen counter, waiting patiently, for this was Osamu’s routine and not yours. 

Where you got your food depended on what either of the twins was feeling like. For Atsumu, it could be a quick plate of pasta on the table in your room or convenience store-bought items on the couch while watching TV. But for Osamu, when it came to be his turn - and luckily that was more often than Atsumu’s - he had you sitting pretty and proper at his side as he finished dinner, mostly served in the kitchen for convenience. 

Cooking was a skill he had in his blood. No wonder he raised ‘Onigiri Miya’ to be a famous hotspot in no time. But besides lavish onigiri, he also was decent with everything else he tried out and wasn’t stingy on bringing home fresh ingredients to feed you and his brother. Even Atsumu’s unique needs for his sports career were met by Osamu’s food, and though he did it with a straight face, you knew he enjoyed cooking very much. 

Being dependent was despicable, that much you knew, but even so, his food could make the world a little better. Even if you wished it wasn’t, well, from someone so toxic and sinister. Someone, whose greatest pleasure was watching you eat the food he prepared for you. Someone who was that kind of crazy. 

It was criminal that the plate before you smelled so damn good. 

Going without food for a long time, or even just a few more hours than usual that day, it was heaven to smell the curry whose steam rose to your nose sweetly. Without doing anything lately to upset Osamu, he even picked out the vegetables and ingredients you liked. A trick he liked to use on you whenever you ‘misbehaved’ was feeding you with only the things you despised. So right now, it was pure bliss, even though you knew it was nothing short of being the reward part of his carrot and stick methods.

You started to scoop a spoonful of it up, not waiting for any signal - you didn’t have to do that, luckily - before putting it in your mouth, letting the hearty taste lay down on your taste buds and the comfortable warmth spread in your body. Usually, you cursed Osamu in your mind, but this day all you could think of was how wonderful the nourishing this meal was for you. Enthusiastically, you kept stuffing your mouth full with it, hoping you’d never get full and your plate never empty.

At least for a while, it truly seemed that way, as you ate and ate some more. However, soon enough, your tummy started to feel stuffed, every spoon getting harder and harder to swallow. You weren’t sure why you were feeling this way when you snapped back from your food trance, hesitating to take the next spoon, only to catch an entirely different spoon putting rice and curry on your plate. Confused, you looked up and at Osamu, who had a very pure and tender smile playing on his lips as he kept taking small portions from his plate, to leave them on yours. 

“Uhm…” you mumbled, blinking a few times in confusion, and he, too, seemed to snap out of his thoughts, meeting your gaze wordlessly. “I’m full, so…” you tried to explain, putting your spoon aside. “Why? Don’t you like it?” It was almost laughable with how much his voice dipped low in disappointment as he said that, Osamu’s eyeing your plate gloomily, shoulder’s slacking. “N-No, it was delicious,” you muttered, a pang of nervosity driving through you. The last thing you wanted was to get on his bad side now. 

“Well, then,” he chirped up again, continuing his curry transfer. “You had no dinner yesterday, after… you know…”

Oh, you knew. And frankly, remembering it now made you feel even worse about the kitchen counter you had sullied the day before with your actions than you usually felt sitting here and contemplating your life choices as Osamu cooked. “Breakfast wasn’t much, so I wanted to make sure you eat enough today.”

“I’m fine, really,” you assured him, but Osamu biting his lip with a doubtful shine in his eyes almost made it seem like he couldn’t believe it even after you ate your portion and most of his. “One more,” he prompted, holding up the hill of rice-curry-mix on his spoon to you, and you felt your stomach turn both from thinking about consuming any more and from letting him feed you. Backing away ever so slightly, you bit back on the urge to decline his offer verbally, instead taking your own spoon to eat from your own plate with your own cutlery. 

Osamu merely watched, a shade falling over his eyes. Still, unprompted, he proceeded to leave the fill on his spoon on your plate again, proceeding to push you to eat more. You didn’t like to acknowledge this side of him, always wanting to believe he was more mature and tempered than his brother, but Osamu, too, could take too much pride in his doings and get pouty when he didn’t get the recognition for his work. It was a bad trait they shared, and though you tried to ignore his watchful eyes whenever you ate his cooking, you knew he was watching you with boundless joy because it was his cooking you were eating. Sometimes, like that day, you even ate with pleasure. 

It made you aware that he reveled in this feeling of being your provider, the hand feeding you, and you wondered if he always thought this way about himself, or only now that you had allowed him closer than ever to you, caressing the remnants of doubts into security. Perhaps, he felt more confirmed in his beliefs after you led him on, believed more in a connection than he did before. 

Scooping only the smallest amount of curry onto your tool, you proceeded to have some more tastes, hoping it would satisfy Osamu if he saw you eat at least a bit more. You dared to think not even he really knew what he wanted from you, and his actions were only placeholders for his true intentions. The intentions of watching you do things that were pleasing to him. 

Even though the hand enveloping yours suddenly came as a shock, it was almost a saving grace if not for the person behind it. Cooling drops of water fell onto the side of your face, and your shoulder as Atsumu leaned over your side, pulling the spoon to his mouth with a loud, “Aah!” 

Before anyone could react, he had already taken a mouthful, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb while his other hand held up the towel around his hips. “It’s good!” he announced, letting out a fond sigh while licking his lips. “Where’s my plate?”

“Where are your clothes?” Osamu retorted sharply.

“In my room, why?”

Staring each other down while Atsumu used your hand casually to keep feeding himself curry, you were both baffled by the exchange as well as him not getting his own spoon or not use your hand to navigate food to his maw. Mannerly, you turned a blind eye towards the towel or the lack of clothes thereof, but an uncomfortable friction began to spread in the air nonetheless.

“Get some clothes and stop spreading water all over the floor, and we can talk about you getting dinner.”

“You’re too sticky with yer damn rules,” Atsumu complained, finally letting go of your hand and turning to leave for his room. “What if someone slips? What if she,” Osamu worried, pointing to you though you weren’t comfortable with being used in this conversation, “falls and hits her head? You want that?”

“‘Course not,” Atsumu quietly admitted, sounding offended, a little worried even, but mostly pouting. “At least get me a plate too,” were his last words before he toddled off, and Osamu sighed, rolling his eyes at his brother before getting up. He wasn’t fooling you, you knew you weren’t a child anymore, and you wouldn’t slip on a few drops of water on the floor - at least, not seriously. It would have made sense for him to think so little of you, simply to undermine your being, but you couldn’t believe it yourself. Watching as Osamu filled another plate with steaming, delicious curry, you pushed your plate away from you, making it very clear you were done. 

However, before you could go, Atsumu returned, taking the seat at your other side for himself and using your spoon to get an up front fill on the food, Osamu returning shortly after, scolding him for eating your food. “Don’t steal from other people’s plates, ‘Tsumu.”

“She’s done,” he confirmed what you had wanted to tell Osamu all this time. “You’re just jealous because I get to eat from her plate.”

“‘Am not.”

“Tell that someone who believes you.”

Their bickering continued, a laughable display of their sibling relationship. As if they could not go a moment without a tease or a snappy comment. As if this was normal, and to some degree, it seemed like it. By the corners of their mouth ever so often twitching upwards, as they joked on each other’s expenses, or the plates being put into the sink to be washed off later, it was all so normal. Just an ordinary evening, on a typical day, with not so sane individuals around you, but overall it appeared so awfully normal. 

Supposedly, that’s what routine did to you. It made a situation that was nothing short of abstruse seem alright and normal, even though the tears welling up as your heart clenched with the realization, weren’t at all a sign of normality. Rather, it was desperation, pity, and fear of what was going on. What was becoming of you when even you started to adapt to this routine of your new days, a routine brought to you by the twins rather than from your endeavors and your life going forward. What would happen? Where would your life lead to?

You couldn’t care about the gazes you earned, two conflicted bastards watching the tears leave lines as they rolled down your face, cold and calculating. Still, neither of them reached out to comfort you yet. They wanted to see where the situation was going, what was happening. If you’d lash out again at them, throw a tantrum, or just fold into yourself. Fulfilling your needs wasn’t always easy with the relationship you three had, and they glanced at each other, hoping their twin would know more about what to do than they did individually. 

But neither of their routines included tending to a meltdown, and yours didn’t either. They could pretend to be normal as much as they wanted. Still, the paradise they tried to uphold daily was rotting and decaying under the surface even if everything seemed to be fine. Laughs, fun, and forceful measurements couldn’t bring them what they really wanted, but it broke you into pieces more and more every day. Their routine and their acting slowly made you wilt and lose yourself, and neither you nor they knew how to deal with that. How to deal with your own routine of slowly succumbing to their forcing. 

They didn’t know.  

They didn’t know, so Osamu emerged from the kitchen to help you up, drag you back to the couch in your room, and sit you down between the two brothers as they put on the TV, latched a big blanket over you three. Their hands rested on your body, but you weren’t even uncomfortable with their touches at that moment, one palm rubbing over your lower back and one on top of your thighs comfortingly. A thumb drawing circles over your knee, while Atsumu pulled you to rest against his chest again, experience the warmth and comfort of another person wanting to help you through whatever you were experiencing. It was something they couldn’t understand, but didn’t intend to happen, at least, that much you took from Osamu’s worried frown as he wiped away the tears escaping your eyes.

You simply hoped that these meltdowns wouldn’t become a part of your or their routine ever.

Especially not when they took turns in gazing at you lovingly, adjusting their bodies so you’d be comfortable, and leaving tender kisses on the top of your head, learning that despite it all, they were the closest you’d ever have in terms of comfort ever again.

[raendown]

Todays follower milestone gift fic is for @sparklemagpie with the prompt word importune. Can you tell I had fun writing this one?

Pairing: ShikamaruTemariTayuya Word count: 1966 Rated: T+ Summary: For the two women in his life Shikamaru will do whatever it takes. As long as they're happy he's happy. When they're not...well, when they're not you get situations like this one.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Just The Right Cherry On Top

Shikamaru would have told anyone who asked that it didn’t start off as begging. No one was really asking, though, and the shreds of pride still buried in the back of his mind somewhere told him that was a problem. If no one was asking questions that usually meant they thought they already had the answers. But they didn’t. They really didn’t. When it came to his two girls Shikamaru was smugly aware that he was usually the only one with answers. 

Well, answers to questions like ‘are you sure they’re not trying to kill each other’ or usually ‘how can you stand to live between that’. The questions about what might be going on in either woman’s mind were ones he didn’t even try to guess at. He knew when to back away from a problem he would never figure out. 

Right now he didn’t so much have a problem as he did have a disaster. He knew very well that relationships took work, that his work would be doubled when he agreed to marry both of the most important women in his life, and since he had not a day went by when he didn’t consider that work so very worth it. For the most part their days were happy. Blissful, even. Shikamaru was as flawed as any other human being but among his flaws pride wasn’t usually the one that tripped him up. Disaster only really happened when pride snuck up on the other two parts of his soul. 

Tayuya, as usual, was the first to start throwing insults. And of course Temari, when faced with a hot temper, flared her own with the kind of heat usually accomplished only with the most deadly katon. Standing on the other side of the kitchen with a frying pan in one hand and his face in the other, Shikamaru briefly wondered if there were any missions available that would take him far away until these two crazy goddesses sorted their own shit out. 

There weren’t. He checked. Discreetly, of course. 

After the first couple days of cold silence it became obvious that this was one of those fights they needed him to bring them back from, when pride and stubbornness and sheer petty spite held both of their lips shut, eyes refusing to meet, tempers refusing to back down. These were the kind of fights that reminded Shikamaru why the three of them really worked as a full unit, one single whole, any weakness in one covered by another. Knowing that never made it any less annoying trying to be the cover to their weakness. They might need him but in those moments they sure didn’t want to need him. 

“What’ll it take this time?” Shikamaru could hear the exhaustion in his own voice but that’s just what happened when he hadn’t gotten more than three consecutive hours of sleep for the past week. 

“Nothing,” Temari snapped. “Maybe this is just it!”

Drawing a hand down his face spoke louder than words how little he believed that. If he looked really close he could see the lines of aching tiredness in Temari’s expression that told him she didn’t believe it either.

“Right,” he murmured. “I’ll just go talk to her then.

And so he did, though it would be hard to express just how unsurprised he was to get a very similar reaction from Tayuya.

“Fuck that bitch and her high horse!”

“You could if one of you would say sorry,” Shikamaru couldn’t help pointing out. 

“Oh no fucking way! Not with a ten foot god damned pole!” 

“What if I said please?”

So that was how it started. Or got to the middle, really. Much to the contrary of what other people seemed to think, Shikamaru was not so whipped as to just fall on his knees and beg any time he encountered the slightest of resistance in their relationship. He had some self respect. In the face of these two boneheads, however, self respect was a concept he was more than willing to throw out the window in favor of a full night’s rest, something he would not be getting until their home saw peace again. 

One instance of saying please did nothing. Twice did little more than that. Somewhere around the fifteen ‘please’ he switched tactics and added a cherry on top. Tayuya rather harshly reminded him that she hated cherries and described in very colorful detail where he could stick his polite words. Clearly another tactic was needed.

As a smart man Shikamaru very carefully ignored all of Naruto’s well meaning suggestions like sending his wives flowers pretending they were from each other. Maybe that would have worked on someone like Hinata who was determined to look at the world and see the best in everyone but Shikamaru had married two people determined to look at the world through a cold lens of cynicism. Gods but he loved it. Loved the both of them. He just didn’t love the fights. Naruto meant well but the one and only time any of them had seen Hinata truly mad had been the middle of a battle against the reanimated body of a dead man handing Naruto his own ass. It was great for the two of them to finally find happiness. When he thought of their calm and sweet relationship Shikamaru sometimes just couldn’t help but wonder how they didn’t get bored with no one around to throw a plate or two. 

Since being nice about it didn’t do much his next step was to try being firm. This time he went to Tayuya first because if he could crack her then honestly he was pretty sure he could crack the whole world. His efforts in this round were about as successful as the first. 

“Go ahead and try to tell me what to do one more time, Nara.” Right up in his face Tayuya was all fire, in her hair and in her eyes and in every move of the arm currently jamming in to his chest. “I’ve had just about enough of being ordered around for one lifetime, you hear me?” Oh he did. He did hear her. He also heard the undertone of heat and it wasn’t until an hour after he left their home in the daze of post orgasmic bliss that he realized he’d been had. Maybe Choji was right and he did think with his dick a little too much. 

Going to see Temari hadn’t exactly had better results - although he’d known better from the start than to consider either one of them ‘better’ than the other in certain departments. After making it very clear how much she both enjoyed and scorned his attempts to law down some kind of law Temari rode him against the nearest walls and sent him off afterwards with a few choice words about how she really didn’t mind wearing only his marks on her skin from now on. Since he hadn’t been the one to bring that up Shikamaru saw through it right away. They missed each other, a blind man could see that. Getting them to admit it was the hard part. 

So that was a bust on trying to put his foot down but if he were honest Shikamaru hadn’t expected any different. The next thing he tried was bribery. After the harsh years both of his wives had experienced it was entirely understandable that they should enjoy being waited on hand and foot. Usually the offer was an irresistible one to them; hence why he didn’t make it very often, a special treat for special occasions when he needed to remind them just how precious they really were. When not just one but both of them turned him down this time Shikamaru had to take a nice long walk through the woods and feed the deer for a while, wondering if maybe the magic offer had lost its touch at last. Or if maybe he was the one that had lost his touch. It took a good long while and three different deer taking curious nibbles of his ponytail before he shook himself and stood up with a little more steel in his spine. 

Clearly this problem was running out of control and that meant bringing in the biggest weapon he had at his disposal. One didn’t spend a lifetime best friends with the Yamanaka heir without picking up some tricks. 

“Please?” 

“No.”

“Please please?”

“I said no, fuck off Shika.”

“Uhhh, please and please and please?”

Tayuya actually stopped walking to round on him with furrowed brows. “You get hit upside the head or something? This is- you’re acting like a damn child!” 

“Maybe.” Shikamaru clasped his hands together and lifted his eyes to the clouds above them. “How many times I gotta say please? Cause I will. Give me a number, I’ll do it.”

“For real?”

“Please, please, please, please, plea-”

Ignoring the baffled looks of anyone passing them by was a lot easier than ignoring the sharp voice that spoke from the doorway, rough at the edges under the heavy weight of defeat and sadness. 

“He might not look like it, but he’s really just a child in a man’s body.” Temari studiously did not look at her wife when Tayuya whipped around to stare at her, missing the ripple of yearning that went through all those well honed muscles. “You probably shouldn’t test it. He really will just keep going.”

“Sounds annoying as hell,” Tayuya ventured. 

Neither of them seemed to notice when Shikamaru fell silent, still, waiting with baited breath. 

“It’d probably be less painful if we just give in. He already did that to me for two hours this morning and I don’t know if I can listen to it for much longer without violence that I’m pretty sure I would regret.” The proud set of Temari’s jaw was that of a queen making concessions. The dark warmth of her eyes when they finally canted sideways was that of a wife who missed the touch of her beloved.

“Good fucking god, two hours? Yeah, hell no. I ain’t listening to that. Let’s just get this over with or something then.”

“For the best.”

Despite that agreement it still took about five solid minutes of staring wordlessly in to each others’ eyes before either of them made any more toward the other. In the end they moved at the same time, reaching out with the same hand, laughing in a fondly awkward way as their fingers entwined. The moment would have been utterly beautiful if Shikamaru hadn’t breathed in very deeply just to let it all back out in one great rush. 

“Finally,” he muttered. Both of his wives frowned at him. 

“Wait.” Temari narrowed her eyes as though only now realizing what she’d done. “How did you do that?” She didn’t seem to appreciate the sheer exasperation filling him up in place of all the soft pleading he’d been wearing for days now. 

“You don’t just hang around with Ino for this long without learning how to annoy someone in to giving up.”

Before either of his wives could say anything Shikamaru was spinning on one heel and marching out the door, grumbling under his breath while he rummaged around his flack vest for a pack of smokes. Troublesome women and their troublesome tempers. At times he really did wonder why he put up with it. Two sets of footsteps rushing after him was a good reminder, though he thought he would be well within his rights to make them do a little begging after all the trouble he’d gone through just to bridge the gap between their overinflated prides. Worth it, absolutely worth it, but damn if they weren’t trouble sometimes. 

[goldgalaxytea-fanfics]

Warmth

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: M/M

Fandom: Harry Potter series

Relationship: Harry Potter x  Marcus Flint

Characters: Harry Potter, Marcus Flint, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Severus Snape, Poppy Pomfrey, The Fat Lady

Additional Tags: commission, Enemies to Lovers, Getting Together, Slow Burn, Crushes, Boyfriends, Sleepy Cuddles, Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Creature Inheritance, Parseltongue, Harry/Parseltongues have a creature inheritance, Snake-Like Harry, Nesting, stealing clothes, Hogwarts Fourth Year, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Boys In Love, Yule Ball, Dancing, Mistletoe, Forehead Kisses, Cheek Kisses, Sleepy Kisses, Sleep, Unconsciousness, infirmary

Words: 5,517

Summary: 

Blanket nests aren’t weird, Harry assured himself, people make them all the time. Besides it keeps him warm at night, more so than just huddling under his own blankets. Also it made him happy, it was almost impossible to feel any sort of negative feelings bundled up all comfy and cozy in the nest’s warmth. Surely something that made him warm inside and out was normal… right?

Notes:

This is a commission for @emgkheadcannons​! Thank you again for commissioning me!!!💖

Winter is a beautiful time to view, yet an awful time to experience. At least, that's how it is for Harry. The teen has always despised the cold temperatures, somehow always freezing despite wearing layer upon layer of warm clothes. Even now, during his fourth winter at Hogwarts, he acted like a moth drawn to a flame at any semblance of warmth he could find. Though Harry never worried about his lack of tolerance to the cold, chalking it up to just being how his body works. Like how his friend Neville gets sick easily in hot weather, Harry's body just can't stand the cold.

Especially now, down in the dungeons of the school. The lower level was chilly any other time of year, yet during the winter didn’t feel any different than being outside in the falling snow. The fourth year shivered as he made his way to potions class, feet dragging as he buried his face in his scarf. Harry, too preoccupied with preventing himself from turning into an ice sculpture, paid no mind to his surroundings. Due to this he failed to notice the booming footsteps of someone running towards him until it was too late.

Something large barreled past him, knocking into his shoulder roughly. In his daze the Gryffindor’s books fell from his hands, spilling across the stone floor. Harry’s mind snapped back to the present as his eyes focused on the source of the accident.

Standing before him was none other than Marcus Flint, one of the Slytherin prefects.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you standing there.” The older student’s tune and face was the exact opposite of genuine, though Harry didn’t expect it to be. He was all too familiar with what kind of person Marcus is, knowing full well the so-called ‘accident’ was intentional. Harry pointedly ignored him, too tired to deal with Marcus and his antics.

“See you in class, Potter.” Marcus smirked before walking away.

Harry groaned, he had completely forgotten Marcus would be in his class today. The prefect was assisting Snape as a teacher’s aid as a part of his prefect duties. With a sigh he bent down to pick up his books, losing himself in thought once again. Though this time he couldn’t stop thinking about how warm Marcus had felt. Just brushing against the Slytherin had felt like walking past a cozy warm fireplace. He really wants to feel that warmth again…

Harry quickly shook that thought from his head. What the heck is wrong with him? He’s never thought anything like that about Marcus before and it shouldn’t be happening ever. The Slytherin has always been mean to him, never once saying anything nice, so why was he having those thoughts?! Harry was too tired to deal with his internal crisis so he simply chose to ignore it for now. Though that’s always easier said than done.

Once in class his mind drifted off once again, tuning out Snape’s words as he couldn’t help but stare at Marcus. The Slytherin was taller than him, the perfect height for him to rest his head on Harry’s while he buried his head in the crook of his neck. Marcus’s long arms would hold him safely against his broad chest, a blanket wrapped around the two as they cuddled. The Slytherin’s warmth would keep out any cold that tried to attack Harry. Harry would pull back just enough to bring his face close to Marcus and-

“Learning only works if you’re listening, Mr. Potter.” Snape spoke, his irritation clearly visible on his face. The teacher’s voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts, his face going red once he realized who he had been daydreaming about.

“Sorry, professor.” The Gryffindor quickly apologized, ignoring his classmates' curious stares.

Snape went back to teaching as Harry tried not to freak out. Why in the wizarding world was he daydreaming about Marcus?! Harry didn’t like him one bit, so why did he want to cuddle him? The Gryffindor didn’t understand why he was thinking those thoughts, so he decided the most logical thing to do was to ignore Marcus. If the Slytherin was the cause of his strange behavior then not interacting with or seeing him should fix it right? It was easy enough, he doesn’t see Marcus too often outside of Potions class. Setting his plan in motion, Harry tuned out the weird look Marcus was giving him and focused on Snape’s lesson.

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

Fate simply did not like Harry, or at least, Snape really didn’t like Harry. His plan to ignore Marcus was thrown out the window when the potions teacher assigned the Slytherin prefect to help him on a project. Harry’s plan had been working well the past week, at least he thought it had been. Apparently he still had been zoning out enough that Snape had noticed and thought he needed extra help, thus forcing him to interact with Marcus.

Said Slytherin was currently sitting next to him, ‘helping’ him with his assignment. Marcus definitely knows Harry has been ignoring him and is doing everything in his power to get any sort of reaction out of him. Luckily for Harry, he’s faced much harder challenges then a fellow student making his life difficult. Though despite that it’s still incredibly complicated blocking out someone that refuses to leave you alone.

“Here, Potter. Put this in the cauldron.” Marcus held out a very obviously wrong ingredient, grinning evilly while he waited for Harry to take it. Both were aware putting it in would cause a minor explosion, so Harry reached past Marcus to grab the correct one. As he picked up the ingredient his arm brushed against Marcus, feeling the warmth radiating from the prefect. Harry refused to let any thoughts about the Slytherin overtake him, quickly pulling his arm back and placing the right ingredient into the cauldron.

“Come on, Potter. I’m trying to help you.” Marcus lied. “Here, I measured out the next part.” He held out a cup that was overflowing with the next ingredient.

Wordlessly Harry took it from him, trying his best to ignore the skip in his heart when their fingers briefly touched. The younger student removed the extra material, making sure the cup held the correct amount before dumping it into the cauldron.

“Oh my bad.” Marcus grinned. “I must have read it wrong, sorry Potter.” The Slytherin was obviously trying to get a raise out of Harry, but he refused to show any sort of reaction. What would Marcus say if he stuttered over his words? Or if he blushed? The older student would definitely poke fun at him. Or possibly figure out why he was acting strangely. Harry can’t let Marcus know the thoughts he’s been having about him or else-

“Knock it off.” Marcus demanded. “I don’t want your filthy hands on me.”

Harry snapped out of his spiralling thoughts, quickly noticing he had unconsciously moved closer to Marcus. So close in fact, that if he moved a few more inches he would be touching him. Harry swiftly moved away, focusing back on his assignment.

“Hey what’s with you? You’re acting weirder than normal.” Marcus jeered. Harry risked a quick peek at the other’s face, trying to tell if his secret has been discovered. The Slytherin’s face held his usual cruel grin, though now there was a slight red tint to his cheeks. Must be from the cold Harry reasoned. What other reason could Marcus possibly have for blushing if not the chilly weather? Harry didn’t dwell on that thought for long.

“It’s rude not to answer when someone’s talking to you. Didn’t your parents teach you any manners?” There was something off about the prefect’s tone. Marcus was obviously frustrated, yet he almost sounded confused.

Harry continues ignoring the older student, never once glancing in his direction for the rest of class. Though he’s very aware of Marcus staring holes into his head, waiting for Harry to finally acknowledge him. An awkward tension hangs between the two for the rest of class, each too stubborn to do anything about it.

As soon as class ends Harry is quick to make his escape, leaving Marcus sitting there even more confused than before.

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

A few days pass without anymore incidents involving a certain Slytherin prefect. Harry is thankful for that as he makes his way to Quidditch practice. Though once at the fields he feels a strange pull, like his instincts are trying to lead him somewhere. Without a second thought he follows it, something inside of him telling him it's important.

Harry certainly didn’t expect to end up in the Slytherin’s changing rooms. Luckily no one was currently there, only Gryffindor had Quidditch practice today. His instincts lead him to a pile of stuff that he somehow knows belongs to Marcus. Harry is overcome with the urge to take the sweater laying at the top and so he does. Before he can rethink his actions he’s already in the Gryffindor changing room hiding the article of clothing with his own.

Harry doesn't second guess why he took the Slytherin’s sweater. Logically it made sense, he needs more sweaters to keep warm. At least that’s what he told himself. It gets cold at night, was his excuse for taking the blanket Marcus left behind in Potions class. I lost my scarf and needed another one, he told himself when he picked up the scarf Marcus had dropped as he was running by. The hands are the quickest thing to freeze, if I don’t wear gloves I’ll get frostbite, he reasoned as he took Marcus’s gloves when he wasn’t looking during class.

Each time Harry found a piece of clothing that belonged to the Slytherin prefect he was always ready with a reason why he needed to take it. Besides, Marcus never seemed to notice his missing stuff, so surely what he was doing was okay? Despite the million and one excuses Harry had come up with, he never wore or used the stolen clothes. Well, at least not how they should be used. Each new treasure Harry found was put onto his bed and arranged in a way his instincts told him to. Slowly his collection grew and grew, until the pile on his bed resembled a blanket nest of sorts.

Blanket nests aren’t weird, Harry assured himself, people make them all the time. Besides it keeps him warm at night, more so than just huddling under his own blankets. Also it made him happy, it was almost impossible to feel any sort of negative feelings bundled up all comfy and cozy in the nest’s warmth. Surely something that made him warm inside and out was normal… right?

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

According to Harry’s friends, it wasn’t normal at all.

Ron and Hermione approached Harry while he was reading in the Gryffindor common room. Harry sat in the chair closest to the fireplace so they sat on the couch nearby. He didn’t notice his friends approach nor sit down, too focused on the text in front of him.

“Um Harry…?” Ron waved his hand in front of his friend’s face, causing Harry to finally look up from his book.

“Oh hey, I didn’t see you guys there.” Harry greeted his friends, who both shared a look before Hermione spoke.

“What’s going on, Harry? You’ve been acting strange the past few weeks.”

“Um,” Harry averted his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We’re talking about the blanket nest you made on your bed out of Slytherin clothes.” Ron said, clearly displeased Harry was trying to avoid the topic.

“And your odd behavior.” Hermione added. “You’re always freezing - which definitely isn’t normal - and you’ve been acting weird around Marcus Flint. Did something happen between you two?”

“Nothing happened!” Harry was quick to reassure. “Everything’s fine I promise-”

“That’s bull and you know it.” Ron cut him off. “The one morning when I tried to wake you up I touched your blanket nest and you hissed at me. You’re always crazy protective of the stuff on your bed, anytime I look at it I’m worried you’re gonna bite my bloody head off.”

“It’s my stuff so of course I don’t want you touching it.” Harry countered.

“It's not yours, the clothes belong to Marcus.” Hermione pointed out.”

“I-” Harry fumbled to find the right words. “It just… makes me feel so warm… I’m always freezing in the winter and having a lot of clothes helps me not freeze at night.”

“Then why can’t you use your own stuff?” Ron questioned.

“...” Harry looked away, too embarrassed to answer.

“Please Harry.” Hermione pleaded. “We’re worried about you.”

“...it makes me happy.” Harry sheepishly admits.

“To use Marcus’s clothes for your nest?” Hermione clarified.

Harry nodded before it finally hit him. His behavior was definitely not normal.

“I think you guys are right… somethings definitely wrong with me.” Harry’s eyes were wide as he remembered everything that transpired since his weird behavior had started. “I don’t know why I’m acting this way, it doesn’t make any sense…”

Hermione reached to grab Harry’s closet hand, lightly squeezing it in to comfort him.

“Don’t worry.” Hermione reassured. “I’m going to go down to the library tomorrow and figure all this out. I’ll let you know the exact moment I find something.”

“Thanks, Hermione.” Harry smiled at his friend.

“Of course.” Hermione returned the smile. “What are friends for.”

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

A few days later and there was still no explanation found for Harry’s odd behavior. Though that didn’t deter Hermione, the young witch spent hours every day searching the library for any information she could. She was there right now with Ron, the redhead helping to speed up the search.

Meanwhile Harry was on his way to see Hagrid, wanting to thank the man for informing him about the dragons. The weather outside was colder than usual, easily attacking Harry through the large amount of layers he wore. The freezing weather slowed his steps and destroyed his energy. Harry yawned, extremely sleepy all of a sudden.

Next thing he knows he’s on the ground, body violently shivering as it desperately tried to fight off the cold. Snow falls onto his face and body, only making things worse, yet he’s unable to move let alone get up. All he can see is the white snow surrounding him. Harry lays there, an unknown amount of time passing as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

Out of nowhere a warmth embraces him. Harry tries to get closer to the warmth but his body still won’t listen to him. Though luckily for him the warmth helps him move, bringing the half frozen boy closer to the heat. Harry also makes out a familiar smell but in his daze he can’t place what it belongs to. No longer in any danger Harry relaxes, sinking into the warmth holding him. He feels safe and so he stops fighting off the sleep his tired body demanded. Surrounded by a protective warmth, Harry allowed his consciousness to fade away...

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

When Harry wakes his sight is once again filled with white, though the color isn’t cold and wet anymore; it’s soft and warm. Wearily he blinks the sleep away from his eyes as the room around him slowly comes back into focus. The first detail he notices is he’s laying down in a bed, his head propped up by a soft pillow with numerous heavy blankets covering his quivering body. The next thing he notices is he’s not tucked away in the safety of his blanket nest back in the Gryffindor dorms, instead he’s laying in one of the various beds that reside in the infirmary. Not only was he in an unfamiliar location but he wasn’t alone. Those facts immediately set the teen on high alert until his hazy mind registered who they were.

Madam Pomfrey stood beside his bed, watching him wake up. Harry attempts to sit up, only making it a few inches before falling back down. Perhaps he was still weak from the cold because his body felt three times heavier than usual. The old woman sees his struggle and quickly moves to assist him. Her hands are gentle as she helps him into a seated position, positioning his pillow behind him to support his weight.

Once Harry is settled the woman leaves with a promise to be right back. Her departure brings his attention to the other people surrounding his bed. Hermione and Ron are standing on the opposite side from where Pomfrey once stood, concerned expressions on both of their faces. Yet that wasn’t all of his visitors.

Harry is surprised to see Marcus standing at the end of the infirmary bed. The Slytherin stood with his arms crossed, an aloof air about him. Despite the prefect’s best attempt to appear like he doesn’t care, his eyes betrayed his act. No matter where Marcus looked his gaze would always drift back to Harry, the concern clear as day every time he checked on the Gryffindor. Before any of them can even attempt to speak, Madam Pomfrey returns with an unknown beverage held in her hands.

“Here drink this.” The woman holds the drink up to Harry’s mouth. “It will help warm you up.”

Harry sips the warm beverage, thankful for the assistance. He doubts he would be able to hold the cup in this condition. When he’s done the matron takes the glass away, moving to check on another patient nearby.

“I’m so glad you’re okay, Harry.” Hermione speaks, relief clear in her voice.

“Same here. You gave us one bloody hell of a fright when we heard you were in the infirmary.” Ron says. “Especially since we now know what’s happening to you.”

“We found a book about parseltongues.” Hermione explains. “Not only are they able to talk to serpets, but they also inherit features from those creatures. For example, they easily get cold in the winter, which causes them to seek out heat. Though unlike snakes, parseltongues aren’t attracted to just any warmth. They’re attracted to their mate, which translates to ‘warmth’ in parseltongue.”

“Which explains why you’ve been acting so strange around Marcus and stealing his clothes. It's because you have a crush on him.” Ron clarifies.

“That’s ridiculous.” Marcus snaps, a slight pink dusting his cheeks. “I don’t care about Potter, so how could we possibly be mates?”

“You’re not serious are you? You’re the one that found him and brought him to the infirmary!” Ron points out. “If you didn’t care about him you would’ve let him freeze to death.”

"Well-” Marcus tries to argue more but he's interrupted by violent coughing. All eyes turn to face Harry, watching the teen’s body tremble as he wheezed. The commotion alerted  Madam Pomfrey, the woman swiftly returning to Harry’s bed and drawing the curtains surrounding him. The matron held a knowing look in her eyes as she shooed Hermione and Ron through the curtains. Pomfrey followed the two Gryffindors out, leaving Harry and Marcus alone.

As soon as there’s no other eyes watching them, Marcus shifts closer to Harry without a second thought. His mind is still in panic mode, the fear and stress muddling his brain and controlling his actions before he can even realize what's happening. All he can focus on is Harry; he needs to cuddle him, he needs to keep him warm, he needs to make sure Harry won’t die from the cold, he needs to-

A noisy cough snaps Marcus out of his daze, the Slytherin immediately freezing in place as he takes in the situation. His arms are outstretched, only a few inches away from enclosing on Harry in a hug. Marcus quickly moves away, putting as much distance as he can between the two and recoiling his arms back to his sides. However something prevented him from going far - a hand that trembled and still felt much too cold held onto the bottom of his sweater. Harry’s grip was weak - if Marcus wanted to break out of his grasp he easily could. Despite that he found himself unable to move. The distress on Harry’s face made it impossible for the perfect to look away.

“Please cuddle with me, it's so cold…” Harry pleads, voice barely loud enough to be heard.

Right away Marcus knew his answer, yet he still hesitated; his thoughts overpowering him and keeping him as still as a statue. Another violent cough from Harry prompts him to break free from his trance and take action. Marcus delicately climbs into the infirmary bed beside Harry, his long arms enveloping the Gryffindor and pulling him close. Harry settles his head on the Slytherin’s chest, eagerly hugging Marcus back as he snuggles into his warmth.

“Just so you know, I’m only doing this because the school would have my head if I just stood back and let you freeze to death.” Marcus states. “I personally hate this and can’t wait for it to be over.”

Regardless of the harsh words Marcus spoke he still held Harry close, his body relaxed as he absentmindedly stroked Harry’s hair. Marcus’s face was as red as the Gryffindor’s scarf as he glanced every which way except for where Harry lay. Harry smiled to himself, knowing full heartedly that Marcus was enjoying this just as much as he was.

Surrounded by his warmth, Harry felt his consciousness slipping away from him once more. This time he welcomed it, knowing that he was safe with Marcus watching over him.

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

For a second time Harry awakes in a different location then where he fell asleep. His groggy mind makes out that he’s being carried, strong arms supporting him bridal style as familiar walls blurr past him. He manages to catch a glimpse of a window, the sky outside dark and speckled with stars.

Harry’s body no longer feels deathly cold, but it’s still easily chilled by the icy wind sneaking its way into the school. He senses his warmth holding him and so he cuddles closer, burying his face in Marcus’s chest. In turn the Slytherin pulls him closer, making sure Harry is warm enough.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at the Gryffindor Tower. The Fat Lady was asleep in her portrait so Marcus forcefully cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Who on earth is causing a ruckus at this hour?” The Fat Lady jolts awake, annoyance distorting her face. “What the-?”

The woman’s voice trails off as she takes in the scene before her. Understanding wipes away her irritation, a fond smile shaping her lips.

“I heard what had happened to our young Potter - word travels fast with us portraits - and I’ve been worried sick all day. I’m glad to see he’s alright.” The Fat Lady speaks in a hushed voice as to not wake Harry. Said boy could not make out the conversation happening right in front of him, his mind dancing along the thin line between sleep and being awake.

“I’m glad too…” Marcus mumbles, shyly refusing to look at her or Harry

The Fat Lady chuckles, opening her portrait for the prefect. “I’m allowing you in under special conditions, so don’t think I’ll let you in any time you please.”

“I understand, thank you…” Marcus nods.

“Of course.” The Fat Lady’s smile falls as her expression grows serious. “You better take good care of him.”

“I will.” He reassures her.

“Good.” Her smile returns. “Now off to bed with you. It’s late and you both need the rest.”

Marcus enters the Gryffindor Tower, swiftly making his way to the dorms. It's easy for him to find Harry’s bed, as it's the only one with a pile of Slytherin clothes atop it. Marcus gently sets him down in his nest, pink covering his cheeks as he recognizes his clothes on Harry’s bed.

“I know your friends said you were stealing my stuff-” Marcus comments in disbelief. “but I’m still surprised you actually were…”

Marcus makes a move to leave, not quite ready to come to terms with the fact that Harry views him as a mate. However, his attempt to depart is thwarted; Harry’s hand lightly urging him to stay as he holds onto Marcus’s wrist.

“Please don’t go…” Harry requests. “I don’t want you to leave me…”

Marcus attempts to replay with a definite no, except he can’t. Not when a half awake Harry is giving him the cutest puppy dog eyes he’s ever seen. The prefect feels his resolve slowly crumble apart under the boy’s expectant stare. That, combined with a part of Marcus that yearns to cuddle Harry more - a part that he will never admit to having, not even to himself - compels him to stay put.

“It’s okay.” Marcus whispers, softly freeing himself from Harry’s grasp to instead hold his hand. He gently strokes the other’s palm with his thumb, seeking to help the boy calm down. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly but surely, Marcus joins Harry in his nest. The Slytherin is careful not to disrupt the structure the Gryffindor had constructed, gently climbing in and finding a spot to lay down next to Harry. As soon as his head hits the pillow Harry is on top of him, face resting on the older boy’s chest; directly above his heart. Marcus pauses for a brief moment before wrapping his arms around Harry, securing him in place.

The steady beat of Marcus’s heart leisurely leads Harry back to sleep. A feeling of warmth and comfort envelopes the two boys as they doze off, feeling at peace in each other’s arms.

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

As Harry’s drowsy form begins to stir he’s greeted with shimmering rays of sunlight filtering through the window. It was now morning.

Harry hides his face in Marcus’s chest, shielding his eyes from the bright light. The Gryffindor’s foggy mind registers a faint pressure on his head. As his head clears he discerns that it’s the prefect’s hand tenderly petting his hair. In addition to the light strokes, the older boy is mumbling something. His words are too quiet and muddled together to make out, yet Harry is clearly able to catch I like you.

“What?” Harry questions in shock, lifting his head to look at Marcus. He’s extremely certain of what he heard, but he wants confirmation just in case he misunderstood.

The older boy’s face explodes with color, cheeks burning red as he stumbles over his words.

“I- um- ah-” Marcus attempts, visibly flustered and refusing to glance at Harry. “Don’t make me say it again…”

Harry studied the Slytherin’s face as he spoke, easily understanding that what he had heard was correct based on Marcus’s reaction.

“It's okay.” Harry reaches for one of the prefect’s hands, intertwining their fingers once found. “I like you too.”

The Gryffindor’s confession instills Marcus with the courage to finally meet Harry’s gaze. Green orbs meet dark ones as Marcus at long last lets himself speak honestly.

“I knew you took my sweater from the changing rooms.” The older boy confesses. “I happened to be stopping by to take my quidditch clothes to be washed, and I saw you go in and come back out with my sweater. I know you get cold easily so I didn’t say anything. But I didn’t see you wearing it so I purposely ‘lost’ different items so that you could use them to keep warm. The only thing I didn’t know was that you were using my clothes to make a nest…”

Neither move, simply letting a comfortable silence fill the space between them; each boy reflecting on the new found revelations.

Harry is the first to move, his hands moving to gently hold either side of the older boy’s face. The Gryffindor gradually shifts his face closer to the Slytherin’s, allowing enough time for Marcus to pull away if he desires. Even so, Marcus remains in place; letting Harry inch closer and closer until their lips meet. The kiss is brief and hesitant on both ends, yet love and affection are conveyed clearly through where their mouths touch.

When the two withdraw from each other they simply observe the other, taking in the other’s reddened cheeks and the endearment reflected in both their eyes. The pair linger in that moment for a little while longer before drawing close once again. Both of them hold each other closer, cuddling together as they exchange numerous kisses. Soft pecks litter each boy’s face; a feather light kiss to the lips, a fond smooch to the forehead, gentle pecks to both cheeks. The two students lose themselves in the tender moment, tuning out the outside world as they solely focus on the happiness they felt.

Regardless of the joy overwhelming Harry, his body was still tired. The younger boy pulls back briefly to yawn. A small smile tugs at the corners of Marcus’s lips, the older boy marveling at how cute his boyfriend looked when sleepy. Harry leans back in, planting tiny kisses on his warmth's face as he mumbles sweet words to him.

“Ssssssssss” Harry hisses. In his tired state he was unaware that he was speaking Parseltongue and not English. Nevertheless Marcus didn’t mind it one bit. In fact he found it extremely adorable - plus he loved simply hearing the language. Despite not knowing what was being said, Marcus could tell that the words were full of endearment based on Harry’s tone. The lovers stay that way for quite some time, enjoying the soft moment and their newly founded relationship.

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

A few days elapsed for the happy couple and before they knew it it was time for the Yule Ball. Harry arrives at the party with Marcus as his date. Both boys are dressed in elegant suits for the special occasion.

Familiar faces pass them by as they descend the stairs hand in hand and set foot on the ballroom floor. As they enter Harry notices Sirius and Remus standing and chatting nearby. The Gryffindor waves to them and the two men look over, excitedly waving back. Harry leads Marcus over to them, as happy to see the two again as they were to see him.

“I missed you!” Harry exclaims, releasing Marcus’s hand so that he can hug Sirius and Remus. The two return the embrace, smiles lighting up their faces.

“We missed you too.” Remus mentions. “Sirius wouldn’t shut up about how thrilled he was to attend this ball.”

Sirius lightly heartedly punches Remus’s arm, the movement playful and harmless.

“Remus missed you just as much, didn’t you Moony?” Sirius quips.

“That I did.” Remus admits. ”Now tell me Harry, what have you been up to since we last spoke?”

“I started dating Marcus.” Harry says, gesturing to the boy standing beside him.

A look of shock and surprise pass over the men’s faces - the two knew of Marcus’s mean behavior towards others. Yet in spite of that, Harry looked the happiest he has in quite some time and the fond gaze Marcus directed at Harry appeared genuine. Sirius and Remus quickly replace the startled expressions with their bright smiles from before - if Marcus made Harry happy then they’d accept their relationship, although begrudgingly.

“Congrats, my boy. We’re happy for you.” Remus says, lightly patting Harry’s shoulder.

“Oh what I would give to see the look on Snape’s face when he learns one of his Slytherin students is dating harry!” Sirius chuckles.

“Oh he already knows.” Marcus laughs. “Speaking of-”

Marcus ignores the astonished look on Sirius’s face, instead turning to face his boyfriend.

“-I have a present for you. Snape helped me get it.” Marcus pulls out a wrapped gift and hands it to Harry. “Merry Christmas, love.”

The Gryffindor carefully unwraps the box, finding something soft inside. He removes it to get a better view. It’s a Slytherin blanket made of a thick yet soft material.

“It's made of a fabric that keeps heat in. It will help you stay warm in the Winter.” Marcus explains.

Harry throws his arms around Marcus, hugging him tightly.

“I love it, thank you!” Harry presses a small kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. Harry pulls back and turns to Remus. “Can you hold this please?”

“Of course.” Remus takes the gift from Harry. “Have fun you two.”

Harry drags Marcus over to the dance floor, excitedly placing his hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder while the other holds the prefect’s hand. The two lovers spin and twirl, holding each other close as they dance to their heart’s content. Smiles never leave their face as their feet sway to the music. Harry and Marcus dance as if they were the only two in the room, too enraptured with each other to care about their surroundings.

After a couple songs the music briefly stops as the band takes a break. The couple awake from their trance, noticing they were standing underneath a mistletoe. Marcus leans down to kiss Harry, the younger boy eagerly kissing him back.

“Ss ssss sss.” Harry hisses against his lips. Parseltongue for I love you.

“I love you too.”

Notes: If anyone is interested, I've opened fanfic commissions! This post has info about them! ^-^

[alannah-corvaine]

the big ‘so you’ve found my blog’ post;

So. The follow button has led you to me, and now here you are with me on your dash. I assume you’re here for one to three reasons: the ffxiv content I post and reblog, my character(s), and/or the aesthetic content. Possibly also my riveting commentary on why ffxiv hasn’t added a sidebraid hairstyle yet. You’re all valid and welcome here. 

Maybe you’re curious about me and my OCs, but you don’t want to go digging through my blog and the absolute mess of tags I’ve amassed over the years. I’m here to present a half-assed solution to your curiosity instead of fixing my tags in any sort of meaningful way.

                                   WHO RUNS THIS BLOG?

I’m Alicia, I run this circus.

she/her pronouns, I’m cis.

I’m 31 years old at the time of writing this post.

This blog is 5 going on 6 years old.

If you see @alannahcorvaine​ that blog is also me but I don’t use it anymore, as it’s a sideblog and I moved over to this blog years ago.

I’ve been playing FFXIV since 2015.

I also play Elder Scrolls Online and World of Warcraft and have separate blogs for related OCs, content, and aesthetics.

I’m a cat person but I also love dogs.

I have a five year old black cat named Kilala who keeps me in line.

I’m not much of a people person, I’m made of anxiety and paperclips.

I yell into the void a lot, the void being my blog.

I don’t really RP outside of spectacularly outstanding circumstances these days, but character and world building are my jam.

Even if I don’t RP, I’m always down for character connections and relationships. I’m totally up for brainstorming and bouncing around headcanons.

Most of the time in game you’ll find me either standing around my house or out in the world taking screenshots. My mailing address is gpose.

I have a full roster of 8 characters on Balmung, but currently only 3 are active. You’ll probably see screenshots of the others too from time to time.

                                                    THE OCs

                                      A L A N N A H  C O R V A I N E 

Your first assumption on seeing my blog name is that it’s probably the name of the titular OC that this blog focuses on. You would be correct. All of my OCs have their own blogs, however I am infinitely lazy and just end up posting screenshots of everyone here because this is where the followers are and the sideblogs end up being used as aesthetic warehouses. Anywhoo, here’s some need-to-knows about Alannah.

Alannah has two main verses: Warrior of Light and Non-WoL.

Her non-WoLverse is actually the primary one, but with Shadowbringers I’ve been focusing more on her WoL story. 

I also have an infinite amount of AU verses for her based on various media but nobody has time for me to list all of those.

In both verses she’s a White Mage, a capable healer, but focuses more on offensive elemental spells (wind, water, earth).

Alannah is my only OC with a Warrior of Light verse.

She’s 23 years old.

She has severe allergies to  grass, pollen, dust, dander, and certain foods.

Her allergy reactions are largely kept at bay by a delicate chain diadem made and blessed by padjal. It also helps correct her shitty vision, magic is great.

Her deepest fears include deep water and phurbles.

She has four older brothers: Faron, Ean, Davon, and Brennan.

Family issues. Just so many family issues. That’s an entire post on its own.

Her hair is dark brown, not black. I cannot state this emphatically enough no matter what my edits look like.

The white streaks are magical scars, the cause of them vary by verse.

Non-WoL Alannah is married to Nine Outway, they have a three-year old daughter named Aislinn.

Warrior of Light Alannah (hereafter known as WoLannah) I ship exclusively with dead ghost boyfriend Ardbert.

Deep-seated anger issues buried beneath a placid and friendly exterior.

Her aether is just irreparably borked and highly chaotic and is controlled via her staff and arcane symbols painted onto her arms in aether ink.

Her childhood dream was to be a powerful thaumaturge, which didn’t work out with her aether control issues. 

                                R E B E C C A  “B R I N A”  C R O S S                                               ( @thesilentcygnet​ )

26 years old.

Born to a moderately wealthy Limsan merchant family.

2 older sisters: Pippa and Lacy.

Jacke Swallow (of rogues guild fame)  is her best friend (and secret love) since childhood.

Her entire family was murdered when she was 16 because her father made shady deals with the wrong people and owed them money.

She’s been mute since the day of the massacre after witnessing the murders while hiding in the cellar beneath their feet.

She’s been staying with Jacke and his cohorts in the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss since then, though he’s the only one that knows her true identity.

A long chain of events has lead to her being kidnapped from Kugane, shipwrecked off the coast of Othard twice, sucked into a magical whirlpool, and left stranded on the First.

Will she ever get home? Perhaps, when I’ve finally decided that her ridiculous journey has been Odyssean enough.

                                           K H I A R N A   K H A                                               ( @khi-tastrophe​ )

29 years old.

An incandescent ball of unquenchable rage, probably for valid reasons.

The daughter of the khan of a minor offshoot of the Kha tribe.

Had a twin sister named Khiela, who pretended to be kidnapped by an aggressive suitor and lead Khiarna on a wild goose chase across Eorzea in an attempt to find her.

Khiela and her lover conspired to and succeeded in murdering her father.

Khiarna returned to Othard and murdered the shit out of both of them in retaliation for killing her father.

She was then unanimously chosen as her father’s successor and currently reigns as khatun to the nomadic merchant tribe.

While traveling across Eorzea in search of her errant sister, Khi was involved in a relationship with a pathological liar, which has severely damaged her ability to trust people (on top of her family drama).

Currently in a relationship with Sidirahg of the Sixth ( @sidirahg​ ), who has the patience of a saint with her issues and also might be a masochist.

Khi is a shaman and uses a mix of conjury and pugilism in combat. 

She covers her fists and feet in a solid layer of rock and then lights them on fire, using a combination of speed, flexibility, and disorienting blows to fell her opponents.

                                    COMMON TAGS I USE

#alannah aesthetic - aesthetic tag.

#screenshots - tag for unedited screenshots of my characters.

#edits - tag for screenshot edits done by me.

#drabbles - tag for writing done by me.

#about alannah - tag for character profile memes, ask replies, relevant quotes.

#art of alannah - tag for art i’ve commissioned of Alannah.

#commissions - tag for art i’ve commissioned that also includes my other OCs.

#lanna things - tag for posts relevant to Alannah.

#9 - tag for posts related to Nine Outway.

#familial faultlines - tag for all of Alannah’s family issues.

#benedictions]&[bulletholes - ship tag for Alannah and Nine (contains screenshots, quotes, and aesthetic inspiration).

#the gravity of guilt - sub-B&B ship tag referencing events at the ruins of Nym.

#scars of nym - another B&B tag because I don’t have enough of them.

#otp: as one fool to another - ship tag for WoLannah and Ardbert

#AU: Warrior of Light - WoLannah tag.

#AU: Gloriana - tag for the AU in which Alannah goes power mad / angry at the world and misuses her magic to become an unstoppable force of destruction.

#AU: Dark Sunrise - tag for the AU in which Nine perma-dies and Alannah sells her soul to the darkness.

#keeper’s captain - ship tag for Brina and Jacke.

#boyfriend adjust - ship tag for Khi and Sid.

#tbd - tag for me yelling into the void that I pretend I’ll delete later.

                                             OTHER BLOGS

@eastofean - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Ean Corvaine.

@aether-and-ash - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Aislinn Outway.

@blacklacelullaby - ffxiv aesthetic inspo blog for Katja Iryut.

@cleric-stance - salty healer memes.

@sundownsanctuary - nsfw aesthetic inspo blog.

@lannahlearnsart - my hoard of digital art tutorials.

@halion​ - general World of Warcraft blog and inspo for my WoW OCs.

@veil-of-blades​ - ESO inspo blog for various Elder Scrolls OCs.

@theviciousnothing​ - my personal aesthetic blog.

                                           PARTING NOTES

You’ve done it, you’ve reached the end of this post. All of this is just a basic overview of me and my characters, if you ever have any questions about anything please feel free to drop me an ask or a DM any time. Thanks for following. ♥

[peachyteabuck]

got sacks, goldman

summary: a commission for @caroldantops​ (aka my LOVE), who asked for “carol danvers x reader with pet play”

pairing: ceo carol danvers x reader

words: 2,517

trigger warnings: pet play, degradation, cock warming, brat taming, punishment, overstimulation, daddy kink

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

“What, kitten?” Carol tsks without looking up from her paperwork. “What are you whining about now?”

You slink away from the cage door, pouting in the corner farthest from her. As you move, the tiny silver bells on your collar (the ones just below the tiny lace bow, attached to the matching silver nameplate that says property of Carol in fancy cursive script) jingle unceremoniously and remind of why you’re currently locked in a perfectly pink cage with your hands behind your back with matching pink, fur-lined cuffs and an equally pink sleeping mask keeping you shrouded in darkness. Your knees, bare as the rest of you, dig into the thick stack of blankets that line the floor of the cage.

“You’ve only been in time-out for what,” you can hear her tapping the face of the bedazzled Rolex watch on her left wrist, sighing deeply and dramatically as he does so. “A few hours? Are you really that much of a baby you can’t stand it?”

You do your best to pout with wide eyes and your bottom lip out as far as it can go, desperate for sympathy. Carol just got back from a business trip yesterday morning (one you had not been allowed to go on) and you were left to fend for yourself in her home. It had been terribly lonely, so much so you were willing to touch yourself – thereby breaking one of Carol’s very strict rules. You deserve this, you know you do, but somehow you still find yourself whining and desperate to be freed. Somehow you can hear her rolling her eyes, her annoyance at your indignation tinting her words. “Fine, you can sit on my cock while I finish this if you promise to be good, alright?”

You nod and make happy noises high in your throat as you hear your owner undoing the lock and opening the cage. Obediently, you wait for her to take the mask from your eyes and give you permission to exit the cage.

It takes a few blinks for you to adjust to the flood of low light, sitting on your heels as you wait for further permission. Carol frees her strap from its confines under her sweatpants (she has the day off, no need to perform femininity for those not watching) before snapping her fingers in your direction.

“Come up, kitten,” she says, still not looking at you. Her eyes are narrowed as if she’s reading fine print, but part of you think it’s just to tease you. “Come warm my cock for later.”

You shiver – no, vibrate – in delight and abide, crawling into her lap and lowering yourself onto the thick strap on with surprising ease.

Carol laughs, shaking her head as she rolls her eyes. Still, she does not look at you. “God, your tight little cunt is nearly dripping, isn’t it? Just a little slut always desperate to get fucked, aren’t you?”

You nod, burying your face into Carol’s neck. She’s wearing a hoodie, one from her college days, and you welcome the soft fabric against your feverish skin. It smells like her, of her favorite brand of Old Spice – the thick heavy scent - intertwined with her favorite cologne and those fancy three-wick candles she adores so much. If you could melt, you would’ve done it right then and there.  “Yes, Daddy.”

She hms above you and kisses the top of your head before going back to her inches-thick stack of work.

The cock she’s wearing is huge, long and girthy and filling you full; it doesn’t take long for you to start drooling onto the deep maroon fabric you’ve attempted to bury yourself in. Carol notices this, because of course she does, and shifts to grab a sticky note from the far end of her desk.

You moan as the strap shifts with her, clutching the arms of her hoodie and the neck of her hoodie and the sleeves of her hoodie and the worn college logo on the hoodie and, and-

“You’re so sensitive, darling,” Carol laughs lowly as she moves in her chair once more. “Such a little cockslut, aren’t you?”

You don’t disagree. In fact, you don’t say anything. With your whole front pressed into the thick fabric and those stupid bells finally inert you can somehow think for the first time since early that morning, since Carol woke you up with cold metal on the small of your back and her kissing your forehead intertwined with whispers of “I know what you did, Kitten, I always know…”

The plug in your ass keeps you impossibly wet, the white fluffy tail swishing every time you try to find your own pleasure. Every few minutes Carol will pet down from your hairline to the base of the tail, tugging at it a little and making you moan.

It becomes a game between you and her, where you’ll stay as still as possible and Carol will do her best to see that you break her rules so she can make fun of you.

The only problem with this is that Carol, a woman who runs a Fortune 500 company and therefore is very busy, doesn’t get much done. She’s got deadlines, lots of them, and you ruining her sweatpants doesn’t lend itself to focusing on meeting them and keeping the Board from breathing down her neck like a pack of vultures.

With a slap on your ass she sends you away, instructing you to wait in your proper spot. You yelp at the emptiness of your pussy and wish to grip at Carol’s clothes so her body remains flush to yours, but eventually slink away without any further begging – petrified of stepping out of line.

The tail moves behind you as you crawl up across the hall to your shared bedroom. There, next to the bed, you sit back on your heels and wait.

You want to be obedient, want to wait patiently and silently for Carol to come greet you and allow you onto the bed. But it’s hard, so hard because you’re wet and desperate for her and all you want is her fingers in you or your mouth on her or her mouth on you or your mouth on her cock or her cock in you or something better than the nothingness you’re currently swimming in. You try to stare at the details of the paintings, photos, clutter around the room – try to find something to focus on, like the pile of your clothes that had been there since Carol came home last night and caught you misbehaving…but it’s not much to distract you from the ache in your center.

It feels like hours later when you hear Carol shut her office door and walk to the bedroom, the sound of her feet against the hardwood making your heart jump.

She smiles when she sees you on the floor, following the rules like a good little kitten.

“Up the bed,” she tells you. You follow orders, climbing onto the California king and laying on your back with your arms at your sides.

“Does my kitten want me to fuck her?” Carol asks, running her perfectly manicured nails over your ribs as she speaks.

“Yes, Daddy,” you gasp out, desperate for something, anything to fill your aching pussy. “Daddy, please I want you to fuck me!”

Carol just smiles languidly, still tracing the bruises from the night previous and random patterns over your chest. “You’re so cute when you’re desperate,” she laughs as she pinches one of your nipples and you gasp in pain. “And so reactive…”

You’re nearly pleading now, words you don’t recognize falling from your lips like some sort of cultish prayer.

“What’s that?” Carol coos. She gropes at your bare breasts and you nearly start crying.

“Daddy please fuck me I’ve been so good I’ll be good I promise Daddy please!”

Carol fake pouts, pushing your hair from your sweaty face. “Alright, kitten, but only because you’ve been so good. Now, flip over and get this ass up in the air.”

You do as you’re told, eagerly sticking out your tail and trying to grind it against her. You’re met with a simple, quick SLAP! to your ass, yet you still can’t help but moan at the contact.

Carol laughs, and you can somehow feel her rolling her eyes. “Such a slut,” she mumbles as she lines her cock up with your pussy. “Such a fucking slut. But only for me, right? Only a little cock whore for me?”

You nearly purr when Carol enters you – her agonizingly slow place making you want to scream and whine and claw at her back. You moan unabashedly, pushing back against her.

“Yes! Daddy, I’m your little cockslut!”

Carol grabs you by your hair, bunching it up in a fist and pulling your back flush to her chest. The bells jingle once again. You gasp but don’t touch– terrified of disappointing her.

The woman behind you notices, because if she doesn’t watch your every move and analyze it like stock or whatever the fuck it is she does, she wouldn’t be Carol Fucking Danvers. She’s spent years training you, spent countless hours inside of you. Of course she’d notice if you disobeyed one of her biggest rules – sluts are not allowed to touch without permission. It���s why you were in that damned cage, it’s why eight months ago she locked you in the cage for a week, only feeding you the scraps from her plate by hand. She’d spent every night edging you until you cried, then wouldn’t touch you until the next night, when the cycle started over once again.

“Good little kitten, so good at following rules today aren’t we? Being a good little kitten for Daddy?”

You nod, nearly panting as Carol fills you. “Yes, Daddy.”

Carol bites your neck hard enough to leave bruises. She doesn’t stop fucking you as she does, and you can feel her toothy grin on your skin as she continues to thrust.

As quickly as you were pulled against her you’re shoved back onto the bed once again, face smashed against the expensive, mused sheets. Carol pins one arm behind your back and the other above your head, pressing down on them for leverage as she fucks into you deeper, harder, faster.

If you could speak, you’d probably beg for more, more faster please Daddy I’ve been so good I’ve been so good all day Daddy I’ll do anything I’ll do anything you want Daddy please fuck me harder-

But you can do no such thing, as anything leaving your lips sounda closer to choked gasps and moans than coherent language. Somewhere, through the blood rushing in your ears, you can hear Carol mocking you from above.

“Can’t even speak Daddy’s fucking you so good, huh?” She laughs, almost out of breath from how hard her hips are snapping into you. “Such a little cockslut you can’t even speak, right? If I knew this was all I needed to do to shut you up I wouldn’t taken this pussy earlier this morning.” She punctuates her words with slaps to your ass, making your burning skin even hotter. The tight coil in your stomach is close, so close to exploding inside of you. Carol can tell, too, can tell you’re so close you can practically taste it – your teeth and tip of your tongue and in your throat. She lets go of the hand holding your arm behind your back and reaches around to rib at your clit.

“C’mon kitten,” she coos in your ear. “Cum for Daddy.”

Her words are all it takes you for to fall apart like a building torn apart by an earthquake – shaking, its core ripped apart and crumbling onto the ground as if the concrete building, as if your flesh and bones and muscles were structurally sound as a dried rose.

Same as a natural disaster, though, Carol doesn’t stop just because you’re laying there limp, destroyed, begging for mercy from the onslaught of power above you.  She continues to drive into you, grabbing at your hair again to keep you close. Tears stream down your face at the overstimulation, your babbling becoming louder as the skyscraper inside you rebuilds itself so it can be torn down once more. Carol shoves three fingers into your mouth, ones covered in the thick, dry scene of you. You suck on them, hoping it’ll bring you reprieve.

Unfortunately, you’ve never been very lucky.

Carol speaks into your skin between kisses. “Just one more, kitten, then I’ll let you go. Okay, love? Can you give me one more?” The tears don’t stop as you nod, whimpering something that resembles a yes Daddy before burying your head into the sheets once more.

Her thrusts are much sloppier this time, less directly punishing and more about establishing control. You cum with three spit-covered fingers circling your clit and your juices soaking Carol’s grey sweatpants, your body collapsing onto the bed with one final scream.

You gasp when Carol pulls her cock from you, both at the emptiness and the rush of cold air that bites at your skin. She leaves you for a moment, just a moment, to run to the bathroom; to strip out of the comfy clothes she’ll have to wash and into comfy clothes of which are clean.

When she returns she flips you onto your back, watching your chest heave and your skin seat.

“You good, baby?” Carol coos as she wipes a cool cloth over your center. You hiss at the sensation.

A tense mmhm is all you can get out with your grit teeth and eyes screwed shut. Your whole body is on fire but also on ice and it’s stiff but lacks what structure you assume you skeleton is supposed to provide. You lay there, boneless, waiting for whatever it is Carol wishes to do with you now.

“Good. It’ll be over soon baby, I promise,” Carol peppers her sentence with tiny, featherlight kisses along your forehead, hairline, nose. They’re sweet, and you’d smile if you could control your facial expressions.

You stay quiet (except for the occasional squeaks) as you’re cleaned off and the plug is removed from your ass. Carol makes you drink cold water and forces you to let her rub you down with lotion that’s definitely way too expensive and smells like a field of genetically modified roses. Once you’re dressed in one of her worn shirts and a pair of clean cotton panties, she finally lets you curl up into her chest.

She runs her nimble fingers through your sweaty hair, humming some pop song from a playlist one of her interns insists on listening to in her office. You fall asleep easily, snoring lightly.

“You’re so cute,” Carol mumbles to herself. “I love you so much.”

You, already deep asleep, do not respond. The woman wrap around you allows unconsciousness to follow soon after, the pair of you drifting off as the sun sets through the large window across the expansive bedroom.

[vs-redemption]

Crime is Common. Logic is Rare. (Ch. 19)

Chapter Eighteen: High-Ends (HawksxGN!Reader)

Plot summary: You thought your hands were full as a regular quirk geneticist, but then you meet Hawks and things get even more exciting!

Warnings:  

⚠️This story contains spoilers from the manga.

⚠️Some events and plot points have been altered from the original manga

Tag List: @gayforkeigo @marshmallow-witch @redflannel @toyo-shiro @elsasshole @astronomyturtle @iambashfulperson

Next Chapter : Chapter Guide

The rain was coming down in buckets, so you were relieved when you finally made it to Jaku Hospital and could escape the weather. Even though you’d had the sense to use an umbrella, it hadn’t stopped the bottoms of your pants from getting soaked from the puddles. The situation reminded you of the first day you had gone to work at Hawks’ hero agency in Kyushu. You’d arrived late, soaking wet, and extremely embarrassed. It had seemed like a nightmare at the time, but compared to how things were now, those had been much simpler times.

Thinking about your boyfriend only reminded you of how much you missed him though, so you tried to steer your focus onto your mission as you made your way to the secret elevator that took you down to Dr. Garaki’s lab. You had spent the past few days buried in textbooks and research journals. Most of the information wasn’t new to you, but you needed to have it all ready at the forefront of your mind whenever you used your quirk. The easier it was to call on that information, the easier it was for your brain to pick up on clues and make deductions. Hopefully, this would help you better understand the way All For One’s blood was able to bind two different DNA samples together.

“We need to find a way to isolate the genes specifically related to quirks,” you tell the doctor in frustration while backing away from one of the expensive microscopes. “I have no idea how the nomus can function at all with these beefed up chromosomes, but a normal person would never survive this procedure.”

“Except All For One,” The doctor rubs at his thick mustache. He was usually more cheerful when you worked with him, but there’d been a shift in his attitude lately. He seemed more serious and impatient about making a breakthrough with the research you both were doing. Everything would be so much easier if you didn’t have to pretend you didn’t know he was working with the League of Villains. You look closely at Dr. Garaki for a moment as he worried over his slides and samples. He’d responded well to the risks you’d taken in the past, but one wrong move and he could turn on you in a moment. He must realize by now that you suspected him of creating nomus though. He knew you were smart enough to figure it out, so why did he continue to allow you into his lab?

“I need to see a high-end nomu,” you tell him bluntly. He raises his bushy eyebrows and tilts his head towards you curiously.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” he asks. “Neither one of us have that level of security clearance with the Hero Commission’s research lab.” You continue to observe him for a moment, wondering how far you should push.

“The nomus I studied from Hosu and Kamino were strong but mindless,” you tell him. “They were just monsters created to destroy anything in their paths. The high-end nomu that fought Endeavor was different. It could think and speak. I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say it had full consciousness, but it was certainly closer to being human that the previous nomus. Having All For One’s DNA helped confirm that it could be used to make the original Nomus, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m working with outdated information.”

“I don’t disagree,” The doctor sighs. “But what can we do about it?” You were starting to lose patience with him now.

“When I showed you my proposal I said the next step of your research would be to try to create a nomu,” You remind him. “We clearly have the means to attempt that, but all we’ve been doing is studying my quirk. You said before that you wanted to use it for something, and I still don’t know what that is.”

“You want to try to make a nomu now?” The doctor looks surprised.

“No,” you admit, “But I don’t think you do either. I’m thinking you’ve got your sights aimed higher, and I can’t help you unless I get my hands on a high-end nomu.” Dr. Garaki takes a deep breath and puts his hands together.

“You’re assuming I have a high-end nomu to show you,” he says flatly.

“I also assumed you had All For One’s DNA,” you shrug, “and I ended up being right.”

“You ought to be careful,” Dr. Garaki tells you, sounding sincere. “It might be better to drop this conversation.”

“Better for me? Or better for you?” You can’t help but ask and Dr. Garaki lets out one of his weird chuckles.

“Better for both of us,” He states plainly. “Don’t you have a pro hero as a boyfriend?”

“Don’t you run a hospital for orphans and old people?” You retort with a raised eyebrow. “I’m not here to judge you. I’m here to learn more about quirk genetics so that people in the future can use that information to benefit humanity. If doing so helps you with whatever your goals are in the process, then that just makes this whole arrangement mutually advantageous for both of us.” The doctor hums in thought before looking over his slides and samples again. After a moment he nods his head, apparently having made his decision.

“Follow me,” He says before leading you to the back of the lab to a metal panel on the wall that you’d always assumed led to a furnace room or some other kind of maintenance closet. There was a slight electric sort of hum from behind the panel that only got louder once Dr. Garaki unlocked it and opened it up. You couldn’t help but be surprised as a long narrow tunnel came into view. The doctor wasted no time in climbing up into the secret passage.

“So you really are a mad scientist, huh?” You try to keep the lighthearted teasing in your voice. “You have not only one, but two secret labs.”

“What can I say,” he almost sounded excited about showing you whatever was on the other side of the passage, “I’m an enthusiast.”

The tunnel was longer than you anticipated, and you had to watch your step because there were thick wires and mysterious tubes running along the floors and walls. It took about fifteen minutes to make it to the other side where Garaki had to unlock another door. The sight that greeted you on the other end was even more shocking than the tunnel.

“Oh my god,” You couldn’t hold back the comment. You’d just stepped into a large space that was crammed with at least twenty giant glass tanks containing black creatures of various shapes and sizes. You knew they all had to be Nomus, but if they were all as strong as that high-end from Kyushu, that was going to be a big problem for the heroes.

“These high-ends are nowhere near completed,” The doctor sighs as he beckons you to follow him through the tight spaces between the tanks. You carefully stepped over the wires and tubes that continued out from the tunnel and branched off in all directions on the floor. “The one that fought Endeavor was the first prototype. Dabi was supposed to bring the body back to me for analysis, but the police got to it before he could.”

“Dabi?” You ask curiously, “Is he that blue fire guy?”

“Yes,” The doctor confirms as you make it to a huge super computer at the back of the room. There were multiple screens showing information about each of the deadly test subjects currently growing around you. You never would’ve expected there to be so many, and it was nerve wracking to be so close to them. The monsters towered over you as they slept suspended in the liquid filled tanks. The top two heroes in the country had barely been able to take down one of these things.

“You want to know how All For One can transfer quirks from other people to himself,” The doctor smiles a bit while waving his arms around the room. “I want to do the opposite. I want to transfer All For One’s quirk to another person.”

“What?” You put a hand to your head to try and comprehend the magnitude of what he’d just said. He didn’t just want to use the super villain’s blood to bind quirks together. He wanted to transfer the quirk itself. All Might had nearly died trying to defeat All For One and all the quirks he’d collected during his lifetime, and now this insane doctor wanted to give that same power to someone else? Weren’t the villains strong enough as it was, especially once all these high-end nomus were finished?

“Do you still want to study the high-ends?” The doctor asks seriously, “I’m sure this is all a little overwhelming.”

“Too late to back out now,” You tell him with false excitement. “My curiosity is officially peaked.”

[gentlemanoftimetravel]

Mos miraculous prompt #4

The Liar Duo 3

Beginning Previous Next

Marinette groaned and buried her head in her arms. How did that happen? Bad enough that Félix knew her secret but now Chloé. Tikki will so gonna kill her.

“Noooo ... really? Wait! Really?! You’re ... REALLY?!” Chloé’s squeals.

Marinette looked up, she sees the excitement in Chloé’s eyes, her unspoken questions, her admiration towards her. She groaned again and buried her head in her arms.

She gets startled by a really loud snicker. Once again she looked up. But this time Félix is the one interrupting her inner turmoil. His snickering turned into a full hearted laugh.

“Oh Netta, you should see your own expression right now. That is glorious! Thank you Chloé! I didn’t get to see her face like that very often.”

“You’re not helping Fé!” Marinette said with a pained expression.

“But this is so worth it!” he replied with a wide grin.

“I hate to interrupt your lovely bickering but I have like so many questions! Marinette may I ...” Chloé tried to speak up.

“Not here in the open area Chloé. I don’t need a third person know about my secret identity. Two are already two too much. After dinner let us go to my house, it’s always easier talking about delicate messages over some cookies and tea.”

“Fine!” Chloé grumbles. “Waiter, where’s our god damn meal? We don’t have all day long!”

“Chloé!” Marinette warned.

“Yeah I’m sorry! But you can’t expect restrain from me after such an epiphany!” Chloé said that with such an honest expression that against her better judgment Marinette smiled.

“Fine! But don’t forget our agreement!”

“Promise! And now, eat!”

——————

Lunchtime arrived at school. The whole class and quite some people from other classes gathered around Lila and Leyla to listen to their awesome story’s.

“You all remember that one time as I defeated Style Queen? I’m so sorry Adrien that I couldn’t save you on time, originally I wanted to give the Bee Miraculous to Lila to help me but that Chloé brat stole it from me. So I wasn’t able to work that fast as usual. And than she let herself get akumatized, how amateurish from her. Lila would have never made such an error. Oops, I’m sorry Adrien, I didn’t meant to insult Chloé since she’s a friend of yours but you see Lila would have been such a great Bee themed hero!”

“Oh thank you Leyla, that’s way too much praise for me! But my hero persona Volpina, is in my opinion, the greatest partner for you. Oh, have we told you all about that one time Leyla and I saved Chloé again, this time from her akumatized father. What was his name again? Lamediktator?” Lila and a bunch of other people snickered.

“Malediktator.” offered Adrien.

“Ah yes, yes. What a lame costume, not much style in my opinion. But I saw the newest fashion trends on the runway in Milan, you know I was invited by one of the top designers there, actually I helped them out with some ideas! That dress that Leyla is wearing is a exclusive!” Lila gestured toward Leyla to stand up and spin around.

“Yeah, you know being Ladybug has his advantage. Everyone admired me and wanted to say thank you in their own way. That dress was a present since I saved that person from a Akumas wrath!”

Oh’s and Ah’s could be heard among the crowds, some nodded along because what a truly kind person to give such a beautiful dress their saviour.

“Oh remember that time as ...”

*DING DANG DONG*

The school bell rang. Lunch’s over.

“Let us all get back to class! We don’t want to be late, what an example would your beloved Ladybug be if she’ll be late!”

Chatter and screeching sounds could be heard as the school began marching back to their previously classrooms.

Plagg squirmed in Adrien’s pocket. “Adrien! Locker! Now!”

Adrien sighs. He would rather follow Leyla and get lost in her beautiful blue eyes and their amazing adventures as Chat Noir and Ladybug as going to the locker to talk to Plagg. But if he didn’t follow that order he knew that Plagg would do something stupid to his belongings and that would be the greater trouble right now. He sights again and adjusted his way down the hall towards the Locker room.

After checking that he was really alone, he let Plagg fly out of his pocket.

“What is it Plagg? Cut it short, I really want to go back to my Lady!” he crossed his arms.

“Are you really that stupid or just that oblivious? Adrien! You can’t be serious! You really believe that Liar? You knew exactly that Ladybug will never reveal herself, she told you so many times!” Plagg almost screamed out.

“But Plagg, she said that before to protect Lila from any harm! And now that she finally transferred in our school, in my CLASS, she could openly say who she is because now she’s always by Lila’s side to protect her. Maybe I should reveal myself too! Than we could be together outside and inside the Mask! Oh that’s the idea, I will ask her out on a date as civilians, ask her if she want to be my girlfriend and then at our next patrol date I will kiss her and reveal myself!” Adrien’s eyes lit up with joy, he dreamed about their future, marrying, having kids, protecting Paris till the very end.

Somewhere outside of his little bubble he could hear Plagg say: “Scratch that, you’re just really really dumb. If you do that, if you really reveal yourself to Ladybug, I will not save you from her wrath. And I will certainly not help you if your hopes and dreams will be shattered. Because I knew what will come for you if you really follow that stupid plan of yours!”

“Oh Plagg, you little pessimist. Everything will be fine! You know Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s are meant to be, we’re Soulmates and she loves me! Everything will turn out good. You’ll see!”

“I tried to warn you Adrien! I tried to help you. Remember, everything that will happen now is your own fault.” With that Plagg zapped in his pocket again.

Adrien simply shrugged. He found his Lady and he will have his Happy End with her. That little Bad Luck that carrying around the Black Cat means, will certainly not stop him from achieving his goals.

Well if he’s not wrong there.

——————

Back at the Dupain-Cheng bakery, Marinette lead Félix and Chloé up to her room.

“Make yourself at home. I will prepare some tea and get us some cookies. When I come back we can talk about my little secret.” Marinette gestured around her room, then turned around and vanished throu her trapdoor.

Félix walked towards the chaise and made himself comfortable. Chloé stood stunned in the middle of the room and tried to gather all the new informations that shes getting in Marinette’s room. Her workspace, her mannequin, her designs, lots and lots of pink and an calendar that contains all commissions she’s currently working on and the dates to which she needs to finish them.

“Wow! You know Félix, I was never up here. I didn’t know that Marinette has so many commissions, I always thought that she sew something for her classmates to try to improve herself, but that is really impressive.” Chloé get a little closer to the calendar. “Are those Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale on her commission board? Félix do you know what that means?”

“That she is rather impressive? Or that she is trying to hide for whom she’s making outfits so that nobody can try to sabotage her? Or that she is almost as good as Gabriel Agreste and your Mother?” Félix shoot back.

“Yes, yes and yes! Wait, did really somebody try to sabotage her work?” Chloé asked with disbelief in her voice.

“Sadly yes, Lila claimed that some of Marinette’s designs were stolen from Lila and some of our stupid Classmates ripped Marinette’s scetchbook in half. So she’s designing her work under the pseudonym of MDC. But that’s another story and not relevant for today’s top secret number one!”

“Didn't they learn anything from the Hat debacle? Marinettes signature is embroidered in all of her designs! How will Lila claim those her’s if it could be easily been proven wrong? Are our classmates really that stupid?”

“Are you really asking that question?” chimed Marinette in. She’s back from the kitchen with three cups of tee and a plate full of Cookies. “We all know that our classmates share one braincell. But enough from them, we’re here to discuss another delicate message. So Chloé what do you want to know?”

“How did Félix found out you’re Ladybug?”

“Make yourself comfortable, that is a long story to tell.” Marinette sighted and looked in Félix smug face.

“It all started ...”

~~~

[Ch. 1] [Ch. 2] [Ch. 3] [Ch. 4] [Ch. 5] [Ch. 6] [Ch. 7]

Chapter three is finished. Next time will be the one sided reveal from Ladybug towards Félix. Stay tuned :)

If somebody want to be tagged, tell me and I will Tag you for the next part.

If anybody has suggestions what should happen next, feel free to leave a comment.

I hope you had fun so far reading this fic. See you on the next part!

I’m sorry if I have forgotten someone for tags!

@miraculous-of-salt @marinahrasauce @bobothyross @northernbluetongue @kristycocopop @kuroko26 @sonif50 @i-am-fandom-trash30 @yokizu @fandom-trapped-03 @totellismert @persephonebutkore @corabeth11 @sarcastic-jenny @royalchaoticfangirl

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Reliving An Old Nightmare - Chapter 14

<= Chapter 13

Summary : Snatcher has a meaningful conversation with his ex-fiancee. Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/22337299/chapters/57711178

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

NEW CHAPTER, YOOOOO !!! Didn't see it coming, DID YOU ??? WELL HERE IT IS !! Sorry for the long wait, I hope you'll like it ! At least, I had the time to work on plenty of next chapters (I finished writing the 18th chapter today, YEAAH). That way, you won't have to wait so much for the next chapters, as most of them are already written.

ALSO, this chapter has FOUR DRAWINGS ! FOUR !!!!!! The first one is one I commissioned from my very good friend Puck ! SHE'S AN AMAZING ARTIST !! A big thanks for Krekka, for the correction !

Happy reading !

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Chapter 14

Snatcher found it extremely hard to find the courage to leave his room. After the doctor left, the ghost knew very well that he was expected on the ground floor. The very thought of having to deal with Vanessa and her accomplice when they fought the same day… it made him rightfully nervous. Furthermore, he had no idea what was waiting for him. If Vanessa was still angry at him (and she probably was), then there were chances that she would punish him in whatever way she could. Even though “Simeon” was apparently against it, for a reason he didn’t know yet, Snatcher couldn’t help but be wary. In his position, being prepared for anything was the best he could do. Maybe it was a trap. Who knew?

As the shade went down the stairs slowly, he remembered what happened in the bathroom. God, it had been terrifying. Snatcher wasn’t afraid of many things, but stuck in this fleshy body, that was a different story. For a moment, he had thought he was going to die, that the Time Rift was collapsing with him inside. Granted, it didn’t last long, and things seemed to have gotten back to normal. However, there was one thing that Snatcher couldn’t get out of his mind: his shadow, or, at least, what it had looked like.

It had looked like his spectral form. Why?

The question remained unanswered as he arrived on the ground floor, bracing up for whatever was going to happen. Maybe it would just be a simple dinner! Maybe he was just expecting the worst!

…who was he kidding? He knew Vanessa too well to try to reassure himself like this. There was no way his ex hadn’t prepared something in retaliation for his earlier outburst. She really was resentful. She was still mad at him for something he didn’t even do, even centuries later! Thus, he wasn’t really relaxed. How could he, when she had an even bigger reason to punish him?

The ghost soon arrived in front of the closed kitchen door. Vanessa was probably waiting for him there. Delicious smells seemed to pass through the door, one of them feeling more familiar than the others. Snatcher felt his mouth water at the thought of eating, but he knew better. While smells were enjoyable, and while his body did need to eat, chewing food was not a pleasant experience to the spirit. The tastes and the textures always felt weird on his tongue, and managing to swallow bits of food was often difficult. Then there was the whole digestion process, which felt absolutely disgusting to him. Humans were so gross. Feeling things moving inside of him, hearing weird gurgling sounds coming from his own body… this was definitely something he wouldn’t miss.

Snatcher forced his mind to focus on the current situation and took a deep breath. He had to do this. This was his last chance to convince her; if it didn’t work, he was still going to search for the Time Piece at night in the manor. He was determined to get out of there, whether his ex liked it or not. That’s when he managed to push the door open, revealing the kitchen, plunged into darkness. Well, it wasn’t completely pitch black. On the dinner table, a few candles were lit up, enlightening their surroundings. The dining table was covered with a white tablecloth. On top of it, two place settings were put out, each on opposite ends of the table. Between them, there were a few cloches, probably keeping the food hot. White and pink flower petals were scattered around on the surface, while a flower vase was in the middle of the table, containing a bouquet of the same flowers, apparently. As soon as the ghost’s eyes fixed upon them, he found them familiar.

And finally, at one end of the table was Vanessa, waiting for him. She was wearing a beautiful red and black dress, and she was smiling brightly at him, something which made Snatcher even more uneasy than what he already was.

-“Oh, there you are, my dear!” said the Queen as she pointed to the opposite seat. “Why don’t you sit down?”

She was clearly acting as nothing had ever happened between them. Her smile was obviously fake and there was this whole… staging. What was she trying to create, a romantic setting? What a joke! The ghost frowned at the thought, trying his best to remain as stoic as he could. He wanted nothing more than just turn around and go back to his room. What was the point of all this other than making him terribly uncomfortable? Though, when he saw Vanessa’s smile waver at his hesitation, he understood quite well that she wasn’t simply asking him to sit down. It was an order.

With extreme reluctance, the shade moved to the opposite end of the table and took a seat. The Queen’s smile widened at his compliance. It made him sick.

Snatcher pointed to the table, already annoyed with Vanessa’s attitude.

-“What’s all this?” he asked, glaring at her.

The woman ignored his hostility, resting her head on her joined hands, smiling mischievously.

-“What do you mean?” she retorted, faking ignorance. Oh, this was just making Snatcher angrier. Great. So that was the game she wanted to play? Pushing his patience until he lost It? He didn’t have his powers anymore, though the urge to retaliate physically was becoming stronger and stronger. Of course, he knew better. In this state, he had zero chance against her. Unfortunately.

-“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Vanessa,” countered the spirit, pronouncing her name as if it was poison on his lips. Well, it wasn’t that far from the truth, considering how much she poisoned his entire life and afterlife combined. Apparently, she disliked his tone, and her malicious expression wavered for a brief moment. If she wanted to play that game, Snatcher would as well. And oh, he was good at playing that kind of game. There was a pause, both of them looking at each other defiantly. Snatcher thought he was doing quite a good job at being intimidating, yet he had a moment of weakness when his ex snickered.

-“Oh, you’re so cute when you’re angry,” Vanessa teased.

-“What?”

The comment made Snatcher shudder with disgust and surprise. He could feel his whole body tensing up, confusion replacing most of his emotions. What did she just say? His disarray was soon intensified as Vanessa started laughing louder, covering her mouth, eyes shut.

-“You should have seen your face!”

The ghost remained shocked for a moment, not knowing how to react. Did she just… laugh at him? He frowned as his annoyance quickly came back full force. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, trying his best to stay calm despite her attempts to peeve him. The spirit was stronger than that. He had to deal with a brat for days! A child who had managed to hurt him when he was supposed to be invincible!

Vanessa was more dangerous, yes, but she was certainly less annoying than a certain hat-wearing kid he knew quite well.

The ghost took a long breath. He could do this. He would just have to ignore her until the diner was over. How hard could it be? And, once he would return to his room, he would just have to wait for the night to come to start looking for the Time Piece. It was easy! Or, at least, that was what he was thinking until he lifted up the closest cloche in front of him, revealing the food hidden inside. As soon as he did so, the familiar scent he had smelled earlier hit him suddenly, much stronger than before. Right in front of him was a plate full of bacon slices, cooked just how he loved it.

The spirit’s first reflex was to look at Vanessa, afraid of her reaction to it. Did one of the servants make a mistake again? Was it even possible to forget Vanessa’s outburst about it when it only had been one day? However, when the ghost couldn’t see any fury in the Queen’s eye, he couldn’t help but become confused once again. His eyes went from hers to the plate successively, as if he was demanding explanations silently. From her smug expression, he deduced that it couldn’t have been a mistake. She was the one who asked for this particular dish. But why, when she absolutely loathed it so much that she had even banished it from the entire manor? It didn’t make sense to the ghost.

And, as his mind was trying to think of any possible and logical justification for this, Vanessa’s smile widened as she clarified her intentions:

-“I thought that after our… disagreement, I would bury the hatchet,” she offered, sighing as she stared at him a bit too much to Snatcher’s taste. She sighed happily and finally looked away, her smile slowly disappearing. “I’m sorry for earlier. I didn’t mean to shout at you.”

Snatcher froze the instant he heard her words. Vanessa, the immature and resentful Queen who had not hesitated to murder an entire village for a stupid misunderstanding, had just apologized to him? This couldn’t be possible. She had just yelled at him an hour ago about her not having done anything wrong! And now she was apologizing... for shouting at him? The ghost knew he wanted her to have regrets and remorses, but… it didn’t feel right. He had wanted her to realize what she had done in the past, stop acting like everything she had ever done was the right thing to do. Of course, it certainly didn’t mean he would forgive her with just apologies, but it was still something he wanted. For closure, perhaps? To feel better about what happened to Subcon? To make her pay? Probably a mix of all those things.

Now? Something was wrong and the spirit just knew it. The romantic setting? His favourite dish? Vanessa being nice to him? And especially apologizing? It was all so perfect and… fake. As a liar himself, Snatcher knew very well when he was lied to. This, right there, was the perfect example of a poisonous and dangerous lie.

The ghost frowned at the realization and glared at her. She was lying to him; she didn’t feel a single remorse for anything, whether it was about Subcon Village or what happened earlier. She was just pretending to. Her face was showing a fake sadness and the spirit knew her too well to fall in that trap. When Vanessa used to be sad about something, her lips trembled, she couldn’t bear to look at him and she had trouble to breathe calmly. But now… her lips were just sealed close, unmoving, and she was throwing glances at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. As for her breathing, it was just the same as before.

Snatcher knew it. He felt his anger growing stronger and stronger in consequence. How dare she? Was she only doing that because she had been told to? Did Simeon demand her to apologize to him? What was she even trying to do with this awful setting around them? Snatcher didn’t understand, yet he did know that Vanessa usually never did anything without a reason.

-“You don’t mean it,” muttered the ghost with a low voice. “I don’t know what you’re trying to do right now, but don’t ever lie to me about you regretting something. You never did.”

Vanessa’s fake sadness disappeared as soon as the words left his lips. Annoyance appeared on her features as if a mask had been taken off her face. She visibly wasn’t pleased about the current events and shifted her posture to reflect her irritation. Crossing her arms onto her chest, she sighed loudly.

-“I’m trying to be nice, this is what I’m doing,” she explained, frustrated. “I’m doing my best to be the better person to put the past behind us, but you’re not helping me.”

Snatcher couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This couldn’t be possible. No one could be that stupid or that entitled of themselves! But here she was, still talking about how she was the more mature of them!

-“I’m sorry?” retorted the shade, offended by her words. “You, the better person? Are you sure about that?” His tone was becoming louder and louder as his hatred for his ex was coming from him.

Vanessa remained silent, glaring at him. The temperature of the room was dropping while the Queen was breathing slowly, probably in order to control herself. She never changed and surely wouldn’t even in thousands of years.

The shade sneered, eventually laughing loudly, but it wasn’t completely sincere. He didn’t want to laugh because what was funny about all that? Yet, he couldn’t help it, completely ignoring the way his ex was looking at him. After what seemed like hours to him, he managed to stop, disregarding Vanessa’s exasperation simply because he didn’t care anymore.

There was absolutely no way he would be able to convince her. He had planned to mention the weird glitches in reality, the way he had sort of taken back his old form for a brief moment, but what was the point? She wouldn’t hear any of it and, even worse, it would come to “Simeon”’s ears. The immature Queen was stuck in an unreal world, not wanting to realize that she had been in denial all this time. The last thing Snatcher wanted was to ruin his chances to get out of here.

If Vanessa wanted to stay there and die with the dimension, that was her problem, not his. At least, it would take care of his problem of pest in Subcon Forest back to the present.

After making sure of sliding his chair noisily on the ground, the ghost stood up. He had much better things to do than whatever this farce was.

His action seemed to surprise Vanessa, as she straightened up, looking at him menacingly.

-“Where are you going?” she questioned before demanding with a more authoritative tone. “Sit back down this instant!”

Snatcher simply ignored her again, going towards the door. His body would have still liked to eat, but at the time, it wasn’t important to the spirit anymore. However, as he was about to reach the doorknob, he heard several things break behind him. He would have ignored it, if it wasn’t for the little voice telling him to turn around, just in case. He reluctantly obeyed his instincts, not without rolling his eyes in the process.

He wasn’t really surprised to see Vanessa, standing up next to the table, surrounded by cutlery and food on the floor. Apparently, she had been so furious and had thrown everything onto the floor. He gave her an unimpressed look, as he waited for whatever she wanted to tell him, crossing his arms. She probably didn’t react this way if it wasn’t to catch his attention back.

-“Why are you like this?” was came out of her mouth eventually, her voice weaker than before. The question took Snatcher aback, though he did his best not to show it.

-“You mean, reacting as I should in front of my murderer? Good question, let me think!” he retorted sarcastically.

-“Stop it! That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” His ex sat back on her chair, looking elsewhere. Somehow, her lips were trembling, and the spirit guessed that finally, he was able to see genuine sadness on her face. Too bad he didn’t care about her anymore and hadn’t been for a long time.

Silence fell between the two. The Queen rubbed her eyes while Snatcher leaned against the door, wanting nothing more than leave. However, he couldn’t deny that he felt a bit curious; if she really was sad, then maybe he could manipulate her into telling him things he needed to know. Emotions made people act without thinking, and now was the perfect opportunity to try that with her. At least, she wasn’t trying to freeze him to death at the moment, so he had his chance.

-“Why are we here, Vanessa?” He guessed that being direct was his best shot, considering how “Simeon” tended to interrupt their conversations each time he was about to learn something new. He kept going, with a nicer tone, hoping he could exploit her current weakness with it. “You can’t reproach me from being mean when I don’t even know why or how I’m here in the first place.”

Well, he knew the “how”, but he wasn’t going to reveal his means of getting out of this doomed dimension. He wasn’t that stupid.

His ex seemed to hesitate, as if she was debating with herself. She was surely trying to come up with the pros and cons of confessing whatever she was hiding from him. Now was his chance to tip the scales in favour of his situation.

-“Something is wrong with this dimension, and I know you’re aware of it. I have no idea how you managed to… recreate everything from scratch, and, look it’s impressive, but we can’t stay here. If we do, we’re going to die, Vanessa.” He paused and added, “Permanently.”

He did know how this dimension came to be, but he wasn’t supposed to know that she wasn’t the one who created it, neither that “Simeon” was her accomplice. He had to be careful with his choice of words.

-“It… it is real, Alistel,” she murmured, though Snatcher could tell she was unsure of her own words. She grabbed a fork on the ground and showed it to him, as it if was proving anything. “Look, I’m touching it! It’s… it’s here, in my hand, I can feel it!”

The shade tried not to wince when she called him by his old name, faking an expression of compassion instead. He needed her to understand. No matter how much he hated her, how much he wanted her to pay for what she had done to Subcon and all its inhabitants, it was better to have Vanessa on his side against an enemy he knew nothing about.

-“I know you don’t want to believe me, but, please, just once, trust me.”

“It would make a nice change for once…” he thought to himself, as he watched her resolve crumple little by little while she listened to him and to what he was insinuating. Her fists were clenching her dress strongly, her body shaking from the emotion. Tears were coming to her blue eyes. This was it. This was the moment he was waiting for.

-“I know your heart is in the right place,” he said, offering his hand to her right after. “Please help me get us out of here, Vanessa.”

He waited for her to accept his plan, to stand up and take his hand, telling him where was the Time Piece and especially who was the one impersonating Simeon. But she didn’t. All she did was sniff, wiping her tears with the back of her hands. When her eyes fixed upon him once again, they weren’t full of hope or sadness like Snatcher hoped. They were full of rage.

-“You just want to leave me again, don’t you?” she accused with a dark tone. Snatcher couldn’t help but grow pale when he realized that things were turning completely different than what he had expected. This was bad, he had to fix it before it turned worse!

-“No!” he replied, though it was a complete lie; leaving without his so-called soulmate, he absolutely didn’t mind doing so. But of course, saying that would be suicidal.

-“Liar!” screamed Vanessa, while the temperature dropped once again. Ice started to spread around her from her feet, engulfing whatever it met. “You’re lying so I can help you leave me once again!”

Well, she had completely seen right through him. He opened his mouth again, wanting to justify himself, try to defend his plan even if it was already too late, but she cut him short by another yell, louder than the first one:

-“Get out! Get out!” she shouted, putting her head into her hands as sobs could be heard through them. “I don’t want to see you anymore, get out of here!”

Her last sentence broke as she started to cry even more.

Snatcher stayed still a few seconds, staring at her. He didn’t feel guilty, not after everything that had happened. He hated her too much to feel anything positive about her, even if hundreds of years had passed since then. Seeing her crying should make him happy; however, it wasn’t the right time.

Snatcher had a Time Piece to find. If she couldn’t help him, then… she might die all alone and painfully, and he wouldn't even care the slightest. She deserved that. That was what he thought, as he finally grabbed the door handle, opening the door without saying anything.

This was a farewell then.

“Good,” thought Snatcher darkly as he left the room, listening to her cries like a pleasant melody he would remember for a long time, until he couldn’t hear them anymore, too far away.

The way back to his room was silent. He bumped into a few servants on the way to his room, ignoring them when they bowed to him. None of this was real. Why should he bother playing Vanessa’s game when he was so close to being saved?

He got back to his room quite fast, even if he couldn’t help but be paranoïd all the way. After his argument with Vanessa, he had all the reasons to believe something bad was going to happen to him. But nothing did, which was a bit too suspect for Snatcher’s taste. When he opened the door, he tried to be extremely careful, just in case “someone” was hidden in his bedroom. But, once again, nothing unusual.

This was too calm.

The ghost made a few steps inside and closed the door behind him. He sighed. Well, all he had to do now was to wait a few hours and leave his room to start the search for the time artefact. But, before he was even able to sit on the bed, the spirit heard something from behind him:

Click!

Someone had locked the door, trapping him inside the room.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

WELP. I'M GOOD WITH CLIFFHANGERS, AREN'T I ? Don't worry, you won't have to wait too long!

I hope you liked this chapter ! Thank you for your patience and all your support, it means so much to me !

See you on the next chapter and stay safe !

=> Chapter 15

[ourneverendingpossibilities]

I’m Sorry (8/?)

Anime: Kuroko no Basuke Pairing: Aomine Daiki x reader Rating: T (For course language) A/N: Oh... My... God... Guys... I’ve finally done it! After almost two years hiatus with this story... I’ve finally found motivation to complete it! There will be one or two more chapters after this. But I just... I have no words!! I apologize for it being short.. But I’m really hoping this makes up for it! And I hope you guys will continue to be patient with me as I work on commissions and other ideas I have in mind!

xxx

The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of emotions, and you were finally glad to have a bit of a break. Between dealing with Haizaki, helping Kise with Perfect Copy, and trying to understand how Aomine had ANY connection to your father, you were worn out. The idea of going to the hot springs with Touou seemed like a very good idea, but you chose to stay back, needing to come to terms with your current situation. You were still in love with Aomine Daiki. Somehow, despite it seeming like an impossibility, being able to fully admit to having those feelings made things less... stressful. Like you'd been in denial for so long, and you had to accept things would never change. You wanted Aomine to lose, because you wanted to see if he would smile again.. He always enjoyed himself when he played basketball, up until their coaches changed. The mindset of the entire team had taken a hit. Now that everyone has been separated, and their powers have been utilized in other schools, it seems to have eased the tension between the Miracles. Some of them were still strained, mainly with Akashi, but for the most part, everyone got along well. Everyone except Aomine. The conversation you had with Kise a few weeks back resonated through your memory, and you couldn't help but smile softly. xx Kise stares at you, confusion and curiosity mixed as he hesitantly takes the paper from your fingers. He almost forgets his senpais are around, but he can't find the words to ask them to leave. When he opens the letter, he skims the contents, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. "I don't understand ____cchi..." he mutters, placing it on the table in mild disgust. "If you were supposed to come to Kaijou, why did you follow Aominecchi instead?" Rubbing your arm lightly, you let out a sigh, trying to calm your nerves, "Ryouta... I couldn't abandon Daiki... Everyone else around us had... But I swore I'd never do it... I couldn't... In the end, he means more to me than everyone else." He leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he absorbs your words.. To think, he could've had you at Kaijou... To be even closer to you than he is now.. Kise is conflicted. "Is it out of pity?" You almost jump, hearing the whisper, but your resolve hardens immediately, eyes narrowing in anger and anguish. "OF COURSE NOT! YOU, of ALL people, should know that Ryouta! I'd never be friends with you guys for the sake of your titles! I never ONCE gave a shit about 'Generation of Miracles'.." your voice lowers, lips slightly trembling as you direct your gaze to the ground, waiting to be swallowed whole. "If anything, I was jealous." Those words made Kise's head snap up, eyes wide and immediately filled with confusion and hurt. "Jealous?? Why would ____cchi be jealous of us?" You couldn't meet his gaze, feeling ashamed and embarrassed for ever admitting such a dirty secret. "Why WOULDN'T I be jealous of you guys?!" your head lifted then, revealing everything to the boys around you, "You get to play the ONE sport I love with everything I have! The one thing I was exceptional at! But you guys overshadowed me, overshadowed the girls' basketball team.. And we lost the funding for it. Teiko only wanted to invest in the BOYS' team... because you six were better than me... better than our team..." You growl lightly, wiping away the stupid tears falling down your cheeks, further aggravating you.. How can you be so weak? "The closest thing I could do after that was be on the team as the 'manager'... And even though I helped Satsuki with scouting and training regimes, it didn't change the animosity I felt towards you guys... For taking the one thing I had away... Girls were jealous that I was close with you guys... But I didn't always feel that way... Some days, I felt like an outcast.. If I didn't have Satsuki and Tetsu, I would've quit the team sooner..." Kise blinked, stunned and almost breathless at your words... "Y...You almost quit.... being our manager?? But... why? What did Kurokocchi do to keep you around?" You smiled sadly, wanting this moment to be over and done with. "He told me that everyone is useful on the court, regardless of the position... He was the only one... Out of the six of you, to notice the way I felt.. How upset I was for no longer being able to play.. But the funniest thing about that... is Daiki was the one who gave him the advice in the first place..." You feel a chair being pressed against your legs, and you look at Kobori, giving him a soft smile as you sit down, gently rubbing your legs. Standing did make you tired, and this whole night had been a whirlwind of emotions.. Lately, you'd been experiencing it, and you just wanted to sleep for the next week... "Anyway, it seems Daiki has been doing more than just giving advice... Considering he somehow knows my dad.. and I wish I knew how they met.." Kise sighs, moving forward to rest a hand on top of your head, gently caressing your hair. "You know ____cchi... you could always ask him.. I don't think Aominecchi would keep that from you... If he went all the way to your house to drop off that letter in the first place." You shake your head, biting your bottom lip anxiously, "I want to... But I don't want to bother him with anything anymore... I don't want him to be burdened by me..." A light tap on the head startled you, and you whimpered slightly, turning your gaze to the hot-headed captain. "It sounds like you're running away ____..." he frowns, causing your eyes to widen slightly, "You have the right to know... And you should ask Aomine what connection he has with your father. It means a lot to you... And I bet... He's waiting for you to ask.. Why else would he give you that letter?" Kise smiles, watching the interaction between you and his captain. If anyone is able to convince you, it's him. Because he knows you'd never talk back to your senpais. Standing up, he lets out a sigh, catching your attention, "___cchi, go talk to Aominecchi... It's the only way you can fix everything. You deserve to know the truth." All you could do in a room full of boys was nod.. Because the reality is, you need to know. xx

There you sat, in your backyard, on a swing couch your mother had bought while on vacation. The cushions were comfortable, and you were feeling very tired from having to deal with a lot. However, as much as sleep sounds like the best thing to do, you made yourself stay awake, because the visitor you were expecting was to arrive soon. The sound of footsteps echoed across the cement, and you halted your movements, feet digging into the grass as a way to balance yourself. You could feel his warmth before he reached your place, a tall shadow shading you from the sun. You weren't sure what face you were making, but you turned your attention to meet his deep blue eyes. "Thanks for coming... Daiki..." His eyebrows furrowed, a hand buried in his pocket. He was a bit surprised you'd called him, unsure if he had ruined things. But when he heard the tone in your voice, he knew you had questions.. And it was his turn to come clean. "Took you long enough..." he muttered, moving to sit in the spot beside you. At first he kept his eyes on the fence, the frown growing deeper as time passed. When he had enough of the silence, he turns his gaze towards you, almost startled at the soft look in your beautiful hues.. "I'm sorry..." you whisper, a bit sheepish, "I was unsure how you'd respond... Now that you're here... I don't know what to ask..." He sighs softly, leaning back in his spot as the couch lightly sways in the breeze. "You could start from the beginning..." You bite your lip, fingers curled in your lap as you look at him, almost desperate, "H...How did you know my dad?" He turns his full attention to you, debating whether to grab your hand or just lay them in his lap. He lets them lay in his lap instead, gathering the courage to admit to everything. "We met on the day he died." xx "Y... You're.... Aomine-kun...?" The raspy voice caught Aomine's attention, his eyes widening at the scene. There, with a stab wound bigger he'd seen, was a middle-aged man, struggling to walk. Without thinking, he ran to him, stripping off his jacket and wrapping him in it, trying to urge him to sit down. "It... It's not safe for you to be walking around! Please wait here, I'll go grab ___!" "No! Don't!" The scream startled him, freezing him in place as he stared down at the man. Taking in his appearance, he recognized his eyes from a photo you showed him on one of your dates... His blood ran cold... ".... You're _____'s dad..." A weak smile curls on his lips, as he tries to nod, but only coughs up phlegm and a bit of blood... His time was running out, he had to get this to the boy quickly.. "A....Aomine-kun... P...Please... t...take this..." He's stunned to see three letters... One written for him, one addressed to your mother... and the last was addressed to you.. "D..Don't read it until you're alone... J...Just please... t....take good care.... of..... ____...." By the time the ambulance arrived, it was too late.. And despite doing everything he could for him, your father died.. leaving behind three letters. xx "I stayed with him until the doctor told me to go home... At that point, I had no idea what to do... I couldn't find it in myself to tell you... But I remember seeing Haizaki in the distance..." That sickening grin, the way he licked his finger as though he'd gotten revenge... Anger began to boil in his blood, and he wanted nothing more than to find him and beat him dead. "Dai-chan...." Your voice brings him back, and he turns his head towards you, startled at the feel of your fingers on his cheeks, wiping away a few tears that escaped their confines.. He's left stunned, breathless at the look in your eyes... There was no trace of anger, only a deep understanding and sadness... It broke his heart. Without thinking, he pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair as he held you close.. His mind and heart were racing, and everything he wanted to say was jumbled, incoherent.. He was a mess and the only thing soothing him was knowing you were right here... Against his chest... "I'm sorry.... ____... I wanted to tell you sooner... I just... I couldn't figure out how... I felt so ashamed... I couldn't save him.. I couldn't do anything but let Haizaki get away.." Your body is trembling, but not just from your own emotions. It was from this broken man in front of you... Who had been there the day your father died.. Who was able to meet him... before his untimely demise.. All you could do was hold him, adjusting your position so you were in his lap, burying your face in his shoulder. "D....Dai-chan...." you whisper, moving a hand to cup his cheek, wiping the few tears shedding from his beautiful blue hues. "It's okay...." you smile gently. Seeing him broken, raw and full of emotions has you caught up in a hurricane of emotions. It's hard to hold on, but seeing him shedding tears, being open and completely vulnerable with you, it has you falling in love with him all over again. "Listen, we will make him pay..." you mumble, keeping his attention focused completely on you. "It's not your fault... With everything that happened..." you stop, trying to collect your thoughts. "It hurts... But I'm happy you told me... Because I can fully heal and move on.." You find all strength has left your body, and you slump against him, burying your face in his neck. You allow yourself to be vulnerable with him, to be open and sob into his warmth embrace. You can't push him away, and his warmth seems to be the only thing keeping you together. You should be telling yourself this is wrong; that you need to let go of him because you're not with him anymore. But your heart... It tells you to keep him in your grasp, to hold him tightly until your fingers bruise. He is your safe haven, the one place you can be yourself. "_____... I'm so sorry..." he whispers, a hand gently massaging the back of your head. Without thinking, he presses a soft kiss to your temple, eyes closing as he contemplates his next words.. "_____.... I..." A soft snore reaches his ears, and he suddenly stops. Turning his head, he looks down, seeing your peaceful expression, as you sleep in his arms. He feels his eyes soften considerably, unsure how to proceed.. He thinks this is a sign to leave things as they are for now, because he doesn't want to screw up twice.. So he carefully adjusts himself, so he's laying on his side, you tucked between the rest and his arms. He figures this is the time to leave, to let you rest, but he feels a hand tug on his waist, causing him to halt. "D....Don't go... Dai-chan..." His heart melts at the soft plea, and he feels the light breeze pick up. Adjusting his position to shield you, he leans down once more, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger longer than necessary. And just like all those times in middle school, he lets himself drift to sleep, making sure he has you in his arms, never letting go.

[krystalkoya]

Ad Hoc | 01

So I finally did it. My first published fic, hopefully it’s not as cringe as I think it is. If y’all like this let me know. I have a couple ideas for this fic that I won’t completely give up on if at least one person likes this

read on ao3! 

pairing: coworker!hoseok x reader

genre: enemies to lovers (the superior trope!), future angst, future smut (18+), humour

rating: nc17

word count: 3.1k

chapter warnings: none!

———

Summary: Landing your dream job as an advertising exec at Kim Entertainment straight out of college was nothing like you imagined. Mostly due to the fact that your college rival, Jung Hoseok, sits ten feet away from you and never misses an opportunity to make your life a living hell. When a position opens up at the firm to be chief of advertising, you jump at the opportunity, but not without having to go up against Hoseok who is also vying for the position. In a dirty game of deception and betrayal, the last thing you expect to come out of it is love.

Series Masterpost

———

Dear god if you had to sit through another minute of this goddamn staff meeting you were going to kill yourself. That is, if the meeting didn’t bore you to death first.

Ever since the company had come under new management a few months ago, the new manager, Minho, had instituted routine monthly meetings to go over the company’s goals, its relationship with clients, projected sales for the year… you know, all that business mumbo jumbo.

And that was all fine and dandy. In fact, you actually thought the meetings were beneficial… if they were being held once every few months or so, not every damn month of the year. But, like a good employee, you faithfully attended each monthly meeting just to hear that nothing had changed since the last one.

If you were being honest, you had no idea how Minho got so far in his career. He was a nice guy, too nice really, a little awkward, but absolutely no balls below the belt whatsoever. The man couldn’t even tell Barbara, the resident granny (who, frankly, was due to retire ten years ago) that she was taking too long on her breaks. And not the socially acceptable one or two minutes late but more like fifteen minute breaks becoming thirties instead.

Looking past the fact that the man seemed the type to be terrified of his own reflection, you guess you could see why corporate hired him — when it came to marketing, he knew his stuff.

Just as you were beginning to ponder what you would be having for lunch that day, a reuben from the sub shop down the street sounded nice, but then again you had been craving Mexican lately…, you suddenly felt a [not-so-light] kick to your shin.

Jerking in your seat, you looked up to see the smirking man beside you. You were about to retaliate with a scolding and an even harsher kick to the shin but before you even had a chance he was he shushing you with a finger to his plump lips, pointing in the direction of Minho to indicate that you should pay attention.

“… to conclude our meeting today, I have some good news pertaining to the advertising department.“ You perked up a little in your seat, thoroughly intrigued for the first time ever first time that day.

“Corporate wants to change things up a bit in the ad department. That’s why they told me to let you all know that a new position is opening up here to be Chief Advertising Officer. CAO if you will.”

At the silence that ensued in response to his attempt at a ‘joke’, Minho took that as his cue to explain it (which only ever makes things worse).

“Get it… CAO, like CEO and CFO. They’re… they’re acronyms.”

“We get it, it just wasn’t funny.” Calls, you guessed it, Barbara from her seat in the back. The only one bold enough to say what everyone else was thinking because she’s set for life. Minho won’t fire her, a) because of the lack of balls situation mentioned earlier, and b) out of fear of securing a lawsuit for age discrimination on their hands.

At this point, it was just better to let the old bat retire on her own terms — she only had about a year left, two tops.

Minho, poor guy, shakes his head defeatedly, ignoring Barb’s comment in favor of finishing his announcement. Chuckling awkwardly, he begins again, “Right… Ah- as I was saying, a new position is opening up to be Chief of Advertising. Corporate wants things to be a little more streamlined in the ad department. They’re thinking a head of advertising position will achieve that. Anyone can apply so if you think you have the necessary skills, by all means have at it. But unless anyone has any further comments or concerns, this meeting’s adjourned.”

Usually you’re already up and on your feet before Minho can say ‘any further questions’ but today you’re left stewing in your seat. As a member of the advertising team here at Kim Entertainment you couldn’t be happier in your current position. But now that this opportunity had been presented to you, you couldn’t turn it away. More creative freedom and a higher salary? There was no way in hell you weren’t getting this promotion.

But with opportunities always come challenges. And you don’t know how you managed to forget one of the biggest challenges standing in your way ever since you started working here a year ago.

“I actually have a question, if you don’t mind.”

God, even the sound of his voice irritates the mother-loving shit out of you.

“Yes, Hoseok, go ahead.” Minho says, slowing in his collection of the papers on his desk.

Jung. Fucking. Hoseok.

“So what differentiates the Chief of Advertising from a regular person on the ad committee? And salary? What’s that like?”

“Of course, yes the perks of the position! You can expect a higher salary. It’s not set and generally depends on your experience and skill set, but it will be higher nonetheless. But some of the other benefits more freedom to work on your own commissions or projects, and you have final say in what ideas get pushed and what doesn’t.”

Everyone and everything that stood in your way could suck your left tit as far as you were concerned — you were getting this job. And fortunately, you would get to bury Jung’s ass in the process, a win-win situation for you.

“And, the interview process. How does that work? Is it just the standard interview and a ‘Congratulations, you got the job’ or a 'Sorry, better luck next time?’ or are they looking for something more?” He asks, arms folded and leaning back in his chair, his head tilted slightly in inquiry.

Despite not wanting to admit it, the man did ask good questions. You had been wondering this yourself.

“Oh! How could I forget! Yes there’s going to be a standard interview but in addition to that they also want to see an example of your own work. A personal project, if you will.”

A personal project? So in other words, they want to see what you can do when you are given full creative control over a project. This works out great because this has been exactly what you wanted to do for a while now. You couldn’t wait until the members of your team let you take the reigns on a project. Sure it was nice having a team to bounce ideas off of but sometimes, the feeling of being shot down for an idea you felt strongly for was disheartening.

“Come see me in my office so I can give you the full rundown of what corporate expects to see from you for this position.” He says looking at Hoseok before adding, “And that goes for anyone else who plans on applying. But for now, meeting adjourned. Let’s keep up the good work guys. I like what I’m seeing, great improvement from last month.”

Literally nothing had changed from last month, but that is the last thing on your mind right now, as it is too preoccupied with figuring out what you are going to do for your personal project. And also, how you are going to make it better than Hoseok’s as he is clearly also interested in the position.

As everyone begins to file out of the conference room, some chatting excitedly with each other, others uninterested in a job offer that has nothing to do with them, you follow suit. As you make the trek back to your desk, a pep in your step while you run over all the possible ideas you have for your personal project, Park Jimin falls into step with you.

He bumps his shoulder against yours as you walk, alerting you of his presence, rather violently, you might add.

“Big opportunity right? I have no doubt you’re applying for it. Or am I wrong?”

You give him a look. “You bet your cute ass I’m applying. I’d be an idiot to pass up this opportunity. I just have to figure out a way to outdo that asshole Hoseok and I’m set.”

Jimin flashes you a grin saying, “Aww, you think my ass is cute?” He briefly glances back at his derriere, giving himself a pleased smile before he turns back to you. “I’ve been doing this new thing where I incorporate squats into my workouts. They’re killer on leg day but I guess they’re finally paying off. Anyways, what have you got against that guy? Seriously, he’s not a bad dude from what I can tell.”

“Yeah, to you maybe!” you exclaim.

By this time you have reached the break room and Jimin reaches for the coffee pot to pour himself a mug while you watch him, thoroughly annoyed with the direction the conversation has taken. He offers you a cup but you shake your head, leaning against the counter with a sigh.

“Him and I… we have history. Goes back to my college days and I’d rather not relive those thank you very much.”

Jimin turns around to face you, leaning his back against the counter as well as he takes a sip of his coffee. You giggle when he grimaces, presumably because he forgot to add in the appropriate amount of sugar and creamer to the bitter cup of black coffee.

His next statement, however, wipes the grin right off your face.

“Ooh, a romantic tragedy. Tell me more. What, did he dump you for another girl and now you’ve got some sort of vendetta against him? Spicy. Tell me more.”

“What? No! Absolutely not. First of all, I’ve never dated nor will I ever date that asshole. And second of all, why couldn’t I have been the one dumping him?”

Jimin shrugs, muttering into his mug as he takes a sip, “I guess it could’ve gone that way too. But it’s easier to imagine him dumping you because… and don’t take this the wrong way… you’re you.”

Okay ouch. You’re offended to say the least. “And what is that supposed to mean?!?” You explode. You were doing that a lot today. Jimin must be in the mood for mischief.

“I tell her not to take it the wrong way and what does she do, she takes it the wrong way,” he mutters into his coffee mug, almost as if he’s talking more to himself than to you.

“Listen, no offense, but you didn’t seem like the type to be popular throughout college, or high school, or… at all really. You’ve got this quirky, kinda awkward, vibe going on with you. Don’t get me wrong, it’s cute but you don’t strike me as the type to be the ‘life of the party’.” Despite the fact that you’re glaring daggers into the side of his head right now, he elaborates. Unfortunately for you (and fortunately for Jimin), looks can’t kill.

“…Hoseok on the other hand radiates 'I was popular my entire life’ type of energy. I was thinking maybe you two hooked up or even dated for a bit but he dumped you to avoid jeopardizing his social status. Again, no offense to you or anything. If anything I’m offending him, because he was the asshole in this hypothetical situation.“

"You’ve put lots of thought into this haven’t you?” You say incredulously, truly astounded by how elaborate his story is.

Jimin takes a sip of his coffee (now appropriately sweetened) and sighs dramatically. “Sadly, yes. I’m afraid it’s kept me up into the wee hours of the morning for several nights now. So please, do me a favor and tell me what happened. I’m right aren’t I?”

Try as you might to deny it Jimin was right. At least partially. The part about about you and Hoseok dating or hooking up or whatever definitely wasn’t true, but is is true that the two of you ran in different social circles. You were more likely to be caught with your head in a textbook than at a party, where Hoseok seemed to have spent at least 40% of his time in college.

With a sigh you relent, dropping your guarded stance and admitting your defeat.

"Ok, fine, you might be onto something.” Jimin’s eyes widen excitedly and you’re quick to elaborate before he can get anymore ideas.

“Hoseok and I were never together in any way, thank god, but it is true that we were at completely separate ends of the social spectrum.”

Jimin smirks proudly but you pointedly ignore him.

“And… there was a brief moment in time where we were actually friends, or acquaintances, I guess? But that didn’t last long.”

“Friends? The two of you?”

“Very briefly. We stopped being friends when I found out he was a gigantic asshole. But I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s get back to talking about that promotion. I was thinking– ”

“Promotion? You mean the one I’m going to get?”

At the sound of a voice that didn’t come from one of the two of you, you and Jimin snap your head around to see Hoseok standing near the doorway of the breakroom.

Unfortunately for you the universe had not answered your calls for a stress free day void of having to interact with the devil in a suit standing a couple feet away from you. Better luck tomorrow.

“Ew, have you just been standing there like a creep listening to our conversation this entire time?” you scowl out at him.

Hoseok shakes his head, hands in his pants pockets and a sly smirk on his face as approaches. He walks past the both of you, not paying you any mind, as he stops at the coffee machine and pours himself a cup.

“No. Trust me, I have better things to do than eavesdrop on your conversations. I just happened to come in and I heard the two of you talking about the new job offer opening up.” He’s not even looking at you, the pretentious prick, too focused on stirring in the appropriate amount of creamer into his cup.

“Want some advice?”

“I don’t ” you bite back.

He ignores you. “Hey, I’m just looking out for you. I don’t want you to get your feelings hurt when I get the job so I wouldn’t even bother applying if I were you.”

He’s still stirring that stupid cup of coffee and the fact that he’s not even looking at you while he insults you, like you’re not even worth the time of day, is extremely infuriating.

At this point you are seething, but you try your very best to not to go off on him as much as you want to. Working with him on a daily was already difficult but now that you two are vying for the same position? Oh, things are only about to get a hell of a lot worse.

“Thanks for your concern, but if you’re so sure that you’ve got this job already then you won’t mind if I go ahead and apply then. Since you don’t consider me to be any competition then it should be fine, right? Or did I read this all wrong and you’re actually worried I might get the job over you?”

Finally finished meddling with his coffee, he licks the red stirrer clean with his tongue and discards it with a flick into the trash can nearby. Mug in hand he spins around and leans against the counter, flashing a smug grin your way. And you’d be lying if you said that it didn’t affect you at least a smidgen. His smile was stunning, smugness to it and all. So what, he’s attractive. You still hated the man’s guts.

“I tried to warn you so I don’t wanna see any tears when I get it. But I suggest you get used to calling me 'Chief’ from now on. Has a nice ring to it doesn’t it?”

And before you can respond he’s already brushing past you and heading back to his desk, no doubt thoroughly enjoying the fact that he got the last word in while you’re left to gape like a fish out of water.

There’s a moment of silence while Jimin just stares at you seething at Hoseok’s retreating form disappearing into the main room. You almost forgot he was there at all until he finally speaks.

“God, the sexual tension between you two is strong. Can’t you guys just fuck already and end… whatever this is…?”

“Jimin!” you exclaim at him. “What you just witnessed was not sexual tension. It was just passionate mutual hate for each other.”

“Uh huh, sure.”

“You know what, fuck you.”

Jimin’s airy laugh floods your hearing and you wonder not for the first time how someone so mischievous could look so innocent.

“Listen, I just need your support with this, can I trust you to give me that?”

“Right, about that. I was thinking of applying for the position too.”

You give him an incredulous look. He can’t be serious.

“Jimin, you’re in accounting.”

“So? You heard the boss man. He said anyone could apply!”

“Yes, anyone with the right credentials. Do you have a degree in marketing or advertising or any other remotely related field? No you don’t. Come on Jimin, I don’t have time for this right now. I’ve already got enough on my plate dealing with Hoseok, I don’t need to add you to the mix.”

“Relax, I’m just kidding. My department can’t lose me. I’m the best accountant they have. And trust me, you have my full support. I have no doubt you’ll get the job.”

You give Jimin a bright smile and thank him dearly. Despite being a pain in your ass at times, he really was a great coworker and friend at that. He’s one of the few people always reassuring you when you’re nervous about a pitch or an idea you have in mind.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. You hated to admit it but Hoseok was good at his job. If there was anyone who could beat you out of this promotion it was him, not to mention you have no idea who else was considering applying for the position as well. But you were determined. You had to get this job. And you’d bury Hoseok and whoever else decided to go up against you to get it. But first things first… you needed a project idea.

[thebirdwhodoesart]

♤Full name♤

Elizabeth Eloise Hart

♤Age♤

27

♡Birthday♡

October 10th, 1992 (Libra)

♤Gender♤

Female

♤Pronouns♤

She/her

♤Sexual preference♤

Heterosexual, heteroromantic

♤Species♤

Human, mortal

♤Personality♤

Liz is quiet but will chime in her subjective opinion, not very talkative. She would rather speak when spoken to. Naturally cruel, violent, and temperamental. She has problems with her pride and sex drive, because it never stops. Though she's not up for a long term relationship, she'd rather hit and quit it, due to having various trust issues. Hellbent on any kind of revenge, but she can be kind at times. She has too mainly lure victims into a false sense of security, but there are people she actually likes, but a very few amount.

♤Looks♤

Her features are sharpish, resembling Meg's from Heracles slightly, a split eyebrow, short messy black hair, blue eyes, 5'3, and curvyish (with the slightest gut but still on the skinny side, with a 22C Cup), a burn on the side of her neck, a rose tattoo up her left arm, she wears black slightly baggy jeans with a black and white scarf used as a belt, a gray tank top with rubbed in blood stains (because she got mad at it, trying to get them out, saying fuck it), usually under a black oversized sweatshirt, black combat boots, bandages around her hand, her mask resembles the muses of comedy and tragedy, comedy is white at the base, with the accents being black, whist tragedy has a black base and has white accents (half n half), has several scars all over her body from alterations with stronger and bigger victims

♤Addictions♤

-Smoking Cigarettes

-Alcohol

♤Weapon♤

Usually something- anything on hand, loud or quiet, doesn't matter, if she can't find anything she beats em to death

♤Family♤

Vincent Hart - Father

Status: Alive

Occupation: Murderer, partial baker

Audrey Jones - Mother

Status: Alive

Occupation: Freelancing Murderer - retired

Daniel Hart - Younger brother (Liz is two years older then him)

Status: Alive

Occupation: Freelance Murderer and Poison dealer on the black market

Malachi Fitzgerald - Half younger brother

Status: Alive

Occupation: None currently, still going through school

Elena King- Grandmother (mother's side)

Status: Alive

Occupation: Black widow, currently working on getting rid of husband number six

♤Ships♤

-TicciRow (Ticci Toby x Elizabeth)

♤Bio♤

She lived with her parents that weren't very nice to each other, as Audrey and Vincent barely knew each other when Liz was born, (because Vincent couldn't pass up a one night stand with a sleazy bar singer who called herself "Mademoiselle Two face" aka Audrey, at like 18. And Vincent couldn't swallow his pride and run away when Audrey had Liz, so he was intent on marrying her, for the wrong reason though) and they disagreed on alot of things, making Vincent start to gamble and want Audrey to stay away by the time her brother came along, their relationship got slowly worse, so her grandmother (who was stupid rich but was an old crone (that has gone through six husbands[husband 3 was Audrey's father. Husband 1-5 are dead, 6 is in a coma due to food poisoning], and expected her daughter to make it on her own when she was 18, and since then Audrey didn't want anything to do with her) needed to get rid of a maid, and give Audrey a little less stress and Liz and Daniel weren't helping, mostly because Elena (Audrey's mother) wanted to insult her by giving her one of her maids to take care of Liz and Daniel, even though Nursie was out of her mind but only when she talked. Liz was taught alot of shit, like how to clean blood off a surface while teaching her how to cook, but little of that info she has retained,at the age of seven she started getting into brawls on the playground with the other kids in her class, for pure fun, despite other parents calling her a hellion for beating other kids up, even though she got battered herself, Audrey encouraged her daughter to continue to let her fight, her and her brother were on track for a few weeks

Vincent said fuck it after his debt was piling up, so he hiked his skirt up and got out of dodge, he was wanting to take Liz and Daniel with him but getting both of them up at the time he was going, was impossible, seeing Liz started to have bad migraines like her father, and light exasbated it, and Daniel could be standing up and fall asleep, and their mother. When she was 12, two men, pretending to be the repair men, tampered with the gas stove they had, as payback for Vincent not paying his gambling debts, causing a fire, Liz and Daniel got burned but only the crooks of their necks, but Audrey wasn't so lucky, half her face was burnt, seeing as she always had her wavy black hair covering her left eye, and it had caught fire there, after they were released from the hospital all of them poorly treated their burns mainly because they couldn't afford the supplies, so it was just the bandages and pain meds.

When she was fourteen, and now living in Quebec, Canada instead of Anaheim, California, Liz started to talk with a boy, Owen and his friend Jane, Liz dated Owen for a while, but there was no communication between them, so he started annoying Liz with his silence when she's trying to get advice for a situation, but he dumped her because she talked too much, and he wanted someone alot more quiet, but Jane stayed friends with Liz, when she was fifteen, she dated a douchebag that berated her for saying no to anything, especially if it put a dent in his ego, since Liz thought that kind of relationship was normal, as she grew up with a great example of a toxic relationship, Daniel had to intervene, but Daniel gets over powered, Liz broke her ex's nose, a month after she turned sixteen, she met her half brother Malachi, and her friend Jane talked her into going to a rave with her, which she met her last boyfriend, Logan, the son of the owner of the club, and let's say, Liz didn't trust him alone, and that distrust was validated after she found him cheating on her

And how she reacted, she basically grabbed Daniel's baseball bat and bashed both their brains in, and in the middle Audrey walks in, impressed but now she had to help Liz hide the bodies, after they buried the bodies, she let Liz and Daniel live in her mother's vacation cabin, giving Liz her mask, then started to train her when she turned 17, and once she turned legal (18), she caught wind of some fuckery from the man who sent his goons to burn down her childhood home, she goes, seduces him (disguising herself as a red head Russian lady), kills him (getting a little carried away with stabbing him with her swiss army knife), then burns down his home.

♤Other♤

-Allergic to peanuts

-Can't swim

-She was a cheerleader for the short time she was in highschool, because her mother is stubborn and won't take no for an answer

Art Credits-

[megalotrash]

Nursing Sofie

A03 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12187185/chapters/32302932

A short story commission for @girlwiththeblueblood - with their Player character and Inigo the brave looking after her adopted Daughter Sofie- I hope you enjoy it! <3

If you’d like a fic for yourself my commission info is here

Johanna paced around her main hall as she waited for the kettle to boil. Usually she had all the patience in the world; finding the mundane tasks such as this relaxing as she warmed up in her home. But she couldn’t find comfort at all today, not when every moment she spent in the kitchen meant more time away from Sofie. Johanna’s daughter may have only been a dozen feet away upstairs in the bedroom, but every little noise set her nerves on edge. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Sofie’s illness was her fault. If she had been at home to protect her instead of being away, then she wouldn’t currently be worried whether Sofie would make it through the night.

It had been a long week away from home while Johanna tracked down a dragon that had been terrorising Hjaalmarch hold. It had lead her all the way into the snowy mountains, making her journey twice as hard than it needed to be. When Johanna and her trusted companion Inigo had slain the dragon and collected the bounty, she had been itching to get home and use her reward to stock up on supplies and treats for her little family. Johanna knew something was wrong when Sofie didn’t run to greet her as Windstad Manor came to view, and her suspicions had been confirmed as soon as she entered her silent home. Even Inigo, who was always eager to run straight to the main hall in search of warmth, had held back with his ears flat against his head. Something was seriously wrong, and it made Johanna’s stomach drop when she had found her daughter laid up in bad.

Johanna’s housecarl insisted that Sofie had only been playing in the nearby woods, and had probably just caught a cold considering the bad weather they had been having. But it was looking more and more likely that Sofie had actually contracted something serious. With the way her limbs were swollen and painful to move Johanna was worried her daughter had contracted rockjoint or bone break fever. While she always carried a few cure disease potions with her, the mixture was too strong for a child. Johanna had been feeding her watered down spoonfuls as often as she dared which seemed to stop some of the symptoms progressing. But it wasn’t enough to cure her.

A few hours ago Sofie had taken a turn for the worst, breaking out into cold sweats and shivering no matter how many furs surrounded her. Johanna cursed herself for not paying more attention when she was a young and living with her own mothers. She had faded memories of one of them brewing a cure all concoction, but no matter what she tried she just couldn’t get the mixture of herbs to look right. Currently she was boiling soft rags to try and break the fever, but it didn’t feel like enough. Johanna tried to keep a level head, but her hands were shaking as she prepared the rags. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing another member of her family, especially one so young and sweet as her beloved Sofie.

Rags and boiling water in hand Johanna rushed up to the bedroom, stealing a quick glance at Inigo who had been cooking soup next to her on the hearth. If she wasn’t currently rushing to Sofie’s bedside she would have gladly taken comfort in his warm embrace. She and Inigo may not have made anything official since they were still in the early days of their relationship, but considering their close friendship she already thought of him as part of her family as well. Johanna had been nervous about approaching the subject of her new lover with Sofie, but one look at Inigo told her that her concerns were misguided. He looked just as devastated as she was; his ears were still flat against his head, and his tail was flicking nervously as he stirred the pot. Inigo and Sofie had bonded months ago over tall tales about his adventurous, but Johanna could tell he was worried about interfering at a delicate time.

She felt regret over not being able to reassure him, but he knew Sofie was all that mattered to her at the moment. If, no- when , Sofie got better she could thank him properly. They both could. Her worries about Sofie accepting him seemed so trivial now, she was sure her daughter would be thrilled to have him in their family. Johanna tried to force a smile onto her face as she entered the bedroom, panicking when she realised Sofie wasn’t moving. She almost scalded herself with the water as she rushed over only to find that her daughter was finally asleep.

Even though Johanna was still worried this was a good sign, if Sofie could get comfortable enough to sleep then she would be able to fight the infection. She brought one of the warm rags towards Sofie’s pale face to mop her brow.

“Is everything ok in here friends? I got a bit worried when i heard some-” Inigo said as he reached the top of the stairs, slapping a hand over his face comically when Johanna placed a finger over her lips. “Oh she is asleep! This is good! We must be quiet then!”

Johanna watched as her companion moved over to the spare bed quietly before patting the space next to him. She checked Sofie over once more before joining him, letting his strong arms encircle her fully. She didn’t realise she had started crying until she felt Inigo rocking her softly, but once she started it became hard to stop. She wasn’t sure how long it took her to calm down, but the fur on Inigo’s neck where she had buried her head into was matted with the amount of tears she had shed.

“Thank you Inigo” Johanna said sheepishly when she pulled back from the embrace, embarrassment creeping in over her breakdown and making her feel even worse. “I’m sorry, I’m just so worried”

“No Apologies needed my friend! You are a fierce mother who wants to protect her cub!” Inigo said in an exaggerated whisper, brushing the tears from her cheek before his tone turned serious. “I… I know you have much heartache in your past, I too know that the pain of losing a loved one never truly fades. But we are here now and-

“...Mama?”

Both Inigo and Johanna turned to see that Sofie was out of bed and slowly making her way towards them. She still looked exhausted and unbalanced but considering she had barely been able to lift her head earlier that day Johanna could feel her heart surging with hope.

“Sofie! You are awake! And you look so much better!”Inigo said, springing to his feet so he could guide Sofie towards where Johanna was sat. “Come join us, your mother has been very worried.”

“Inigo your fur tickles!” Sofie giggled when Inigo pulled her into his lap, her voice croaky but stronger than it had been in days. She let Inigo fuss over her for a few minutes before turning to Johanna, her face full of sadness upon seeing her mother’s tears. “I’m sorry mama, I should have been more careful.”

Johanna sighed and smiled softly, relife washing over her as she moved Sofie into her lap instead. She knew a lesson needed to be learned about avoiding dangers, but that could come later. Right now all she wanted to do was make sure her daughter was ok. “It’s ok Sofie,I’m just glad you’re feeling better-” She cut herself off as a strong burning smell hit her hard. “Inigo, di you leave the stove on?”

“Oh no!” Inigo sniffed the air before jumping to his feet and running back down the stairs,almost toppling Johanna over in the process. “Excuse me friends, I fear that supper is currently going up in flames!”

Sofie’s laughed again then, warming Johanna’s heart as she drew her close. Both of them shook their heads at the clatter of pans and creative curses that echoed through their home. Johanna wasn’t too worried, she had been victim to Inigo’s cooking enough in the past to have a few things set aside just in case. It may have been mostly sweet rolls and pies, but tonight seemed a good a reason as any to enjoy some sweet treats.

[peachyteabuck]

hungry for me, sequel to“survive the summer”

summary: a commission of a second installment of survive the summer, for @myhoneybeeheart

pairing: thor odinson x reader

words: 4,009

trigger warnings: praise kink, dubcon, mentions of arranged marriage, taking of virginity, degradation, oral (f recieving), shame associated with religious upbringing, light edging

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Somewhere – somewhere you know exists but also doubt is real – somewhere between right in front of you and a million miles away, you hear Thor calling out to you. You have to make a sizable effort to parse his words from the roaring of blood in your ears and haze of pleasure clouding your thoughts. You can hear him, barely, and can sense him - as if you were stuck in the bottom of an iced-over lake, if you were buried six feet under, if you were lost in a cave. Sometimes when you bathe you dunk yourself under the freezing water to quiet out all the noise, making all your siblings’ voices and animals’ screams sound garbled and, blessedly, muted.

Now, despite you being on dry land and nowhere near a body of water large enough to drown yourself in, it sounds the same – the beacon from a lighthouse, the beckoning home, the call to attention. It all sounds the same to you.

“Baby,” Thor coos above you. His voice is thick and savory like warmed molasses and pours into you just as smooth. Somehow you can feel it on you – flowing between your breasts and onto your stomach and pooling in your abdomen. It’s warm and creamy and gooey and makes you feel sunlit and beautiful and you could only stay in this feeling forever…“Come back, baby, come back to me. Come back so I can see that pretty face of yours.”

You don’t, can’t, say anything because now his giant cock is filling you and all you want to do is cry from the mind-numbing satisfaction and your whole body is on fire and also over ice and is it humid? You wonder if it’s humid because your whole body is covered in sweat and you feel like you’re suffocating and you’re gasping for air because the air is too tense to breathe. It’s when he slaps you lightly, grabs your chin and makes you look at him that you finally are able to think somewhat-rationally, logically, concisely…well, rationally, logically, and concisely enough to piece together whatever the man is saying along with the appropriate response.

“You good, love?” he asks. Somehow, you find enough energy and muscle control to nod. It’s faint and feeble as a last breath, but Thor sees, comprehends it nonetheless. He kisses at your temple before speaking again, nosing at your hairline afterward. The gesture is comforting, reassuring; especially given what he says next. “Good, ‘cause I’m just getting started.”

It’s enough to make you gasp out, grab at him as if that would tether you to some vague definition of reality. You whine as he pulls back from you, growling at you to stay put, to remain in your highly vulnerable position. Maybe out of fear, maybe out of anticipation, maybe out of a mixture of both – you accede.

Thor falls to his knees on the hardwood floor, hitting the worn circles laid there by years of begging for forgiveness with a heavy thud. It distracts you, knocks you off guard enough that the man can grab you by the ankles and drag you closer to him without so much as a protest. Before you could register what was happening, Thor’s gotten you folded in half – legs bent and pressed to your chest with one forearm pressed into the notches of your knees to keep you there.

You’re confused, eyebrows furrowed as you attempt to find your bearings on a situation so foreign to you Thor might as well be speaking a different language. “What are y-“

You’re soon interrupted by your whole body melting as his flat tongue presses to the crest of your center. You relax easily, body becoming lax quick as a snap. “Oh! Oh, Oh my God, I’m-“

The art of language, of coherent language, seems to wash away as you collapse fully onto the bed. If you had control over your muscles, if your brain would regain its rightful possession over your skin and bones maybe you’d pull at Thor’s hair, scratch his back, grip the sheets. Nothing of the sort is under your current ability, and you find yourself covering your face with flat, pliant hands. What you’re covering yourself from is not important – maybe you’re terrified your eyes will open and you’ll have to face the hand-painted portrait of your Father. Maybe worse, you’d have to face the man between your legs, the almighty whose stubble scratches at the stretch marks between your legs and whose mouth drinks at the most vulnerable part of you.

One of his thick fingers presses into you with ease, obscene slick sounds filling your bedroom.

“Oh God,” you moan just above a whisper. You’re sure you look possessed now – eyes rolled to the back of your head and mouth banging open and body moving on its own accord. “God, don’t stop!”

You can feel Thor smile into the skin of your sopping cunt, his tongue tracing your lips before slipping another finger into and pressing just so – each twitch of his fingers making nearly making you black out from how overwhelming good it feels.

It’s not long before your skin is hot and tight and you’re about to burst, and you can feel your entire body wrapping around a tight coil laid atop a hot frying pan and you just…you just need…you just-

You nearly kill Thor when he pulls away, his fingers receding away from that perfect spot inside of you. It hurts, it physically hurts and if you weren’t pissed as an ox you’d beg for him to continue.

With hair wild and cheeks red you sit up and grab Thor’s face with both your hands, your palms becoming wet with your slick.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!?” you hiss. You feel like a sopping wet cat who’s been dunked into a river by a hellbent child. With his shit-eating grin, the resemblance is uncanny. God, you want to hit him to hard the SMACK! is heard by the next town over.

“Just gettin’ you ready, love,” he says – syrupy drawl both beautiful and antagonizing. Whatever way he means it, you press your thighs together to trap his hand there. Thor makes no move to remove it, just smiling and glowing and looking at you like you hung the stars.

“Ready for what,” you say through grit teeth. You search his eyes (and the rest of his face, for that matter) for answers, for explanation. All you see is fire in his eyes and his bottom lip stuck between his teeth and him looking you up and down like a man planning on where to shoot a deer stuck in a bear trap and before you know it, Thor is on top of you and his cock is stuffing you full and you’re digging your nails into his back.

When your sisters and cousins would whisper and giggle about seasonal farmhands who bathed naked far up the river, who blushed when you complimented them and leaned against the rickety fences when they spoke, you thought that would be the kind of guy you’d lose such an important part of you to. You thought you’d wake up one day to find yourself promised to some boy who was skinny and sun-burnt and did as she told him and worked in the field.

This feels the exact opposite of the man above you, the man inside you. Large and sun-kissed and charismatic – he reminds you of a wild stallion, muscly and free and vicious and unstoppable and untamed and a challenge. You admire him the same way, are enchanted by him and his undomesticated, ruthless ways which are foreign and fierce to you and you’re simply breathless.

Thor stretches your legs up to your chest and soon you’re wailing, trying to grab at the worn quilt you’ve had since you were a child for a lifeline, a reminder you have control over some of your body, something.

“Oh,” you cry. You find yourself at a loss for words, the art of speech lost in favor of grunting and moaning and barely-intelligible “yes”s and “please”s and “don’t stop”s. Your legs are wrapped tightly around Thor’s waist, keeping him close; even if your legs were spread, though, it’s not as if Thor would want to pull away. It’s not as if the only thing tying him to you is the increasingly-weak hold on him, as if the only anchor is your nails leaving red, angry crescent-shaped indentations all over his back, shoulders, ass, sides. Just as your hands map each inch of his skin, his mouth does the same for yours – he pants, hot and open-mouthed, into equally-feverish uncharted territory. He tastes you, tastes the sweet-salty sweat that run over scars reminiscent of years of farm work.

Each time his teeth, tongue, lips so much as brush the gnarled skin the memories come flooding back, reminders of a life now considered “past.” The scenes from a life you no long recognize coat the pleasure, the present; they play behind your eyes as you feel yourself falling thousands of feet below.

His chin nudges the long one above your breasts you’ve had since you were a child and you were proving to your father you could be an archer – turns out the arrow was much sharper than you could have imagined.

He brushes your hair to the side and exposes a small, curled thing behind your ear – earned from a fight with a hawk that had broken its wing. Your father shot it, cooked it, and you knew that was the poor animal’s fate. Nonetheless, you stepped too close and scared the thing to pieces.

He bites at the one on your shoulder – the one you got when you were nicked by a sharpened stick on a trail ride. You were young and dumb as the stick was long and pointed. Ma says the only thing that kept you alive for the duration of the ride back was pure spite and adrenaline, a similar concoction to what flows through your veins now.

If you were a different woman, a woman with a strong will and even stronger arms, you’d push him away and repent for a chance at the old life you had planned for yourself. You’d throw him out of your house and fall to your knees and pray until your family found you there – lips and pads of your knees bleeding. You’d force him back onto the horse he rode in on and fall into hysterics until he left you by your lonesome to deal with this (whatever this may be) by yourself. You’d push him off and remind him you’re not what he wants – that you’re more than a cheap lay. (Of course, you’d let him in eventually – if he pushed and prodded at you hard enough. You’d let him mount you like he is now…just maybe after a ring and a dress and him knowing that you’re going to be with him until the end of time.)

Unfortunately, you are not that woman. You are weak, lost to the pleasure of him slamming in and out of you so hard you’re sure he’s leaving bruises on your inner thighs, ones that will last for days; lost to the feeling of his rough, wet thumb pressing at the crest of your center and making you wail. You’re absolutely drowning in it, and you have no intention of fighting to find land.

“Jesus fuck,” he hisses as you clench around him (an act you will play coy about when he asks you later, but do not comment on now). “This pussy is mine until the end of days, you get that? Do you understand me? I’m never giving you up.”

You groan out, unable to form something silly as speech. Like before, he grabs your face with the unoccupied big, calloused hand and forces your hooded eyes to meet his dilated pupils. Unlike before, tears stain your face. You’ve wept this hard before – when your favorite heifer died, when you realized your sister were so much prettier than you, when you got pecked in the side by a temperamental, murderous chicken. You’ve never, though, ever screeched and caterwauled and literally wept from pleasure.

(Your lips feel dryer by the second. You have a sneaking suspicious as to why.)

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” Thor snarls. His words are punctuated with thrusts, each one deeper and harder than the last. Surely you won’t walk away from this unharmed. No human was built to withstand such forces, to withstand this man. You feel like a poorly-built prairie house during tornado season - threatening to be reduced to bits any second. “Tell me who owns this beautiful pussy of yours.”

“Ah!” you scream so loud you’re sure the angels can hear you.  “Oh, God Thor, this pussy is yours.”

You can feel his wicked, satisfied smile against your shoulder, his teeth scraping at the skin there. “Say it again,” he tells you, so quiet you barely hear. Like some test or a prayer or a demand. “I want to hear it again.”

(In truth, he wants to hear you say it forever – but once more, for now, will do.)

The spool of thick thread weaves itself tighter and tights inside of you, and when you go to grab at the bedsheets once more you can hear the familiar sound of cotton sheets, ripping. “My pussy is yours, Thor!”

It’s then that the reel collapses in on itself – like the universe in the beginning. Is there a set of planets springing to life inside of you? Is the white-hot you see as you gasp for air a second set of heavens being born? You understand the Book so much better now, now understand why He had to rest; you feel as if you could sleep for a million years when you finally spiral down to Earth.

Thor, obviously, does not feel the same way. He does not pull from you, does not leave you lying motionless, heaving, desperate for cool air in your lungs and on your skin. Rather, he laughs – deep and pitted in his chest.

The bastard.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says between kisses laid upon your jaw. They’re hot, heavy, hard – sometimes you can feel his teeth scrape there. You wonder if he means to mark you so – determined to make an example of you and have you choose the dangerous fate of either parading around or shutting yourself in; or does he does this with no thought at all, barges into isolated women’s homes and shows them the greatest gratification known to man or God. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

You bear your teeth when he pulls back and meets your eyes again. It takes all your minimal willpower not to moan again, given that he hasn’t stopped fucking in and out of you. “Has anyone ever told you they wanted to punch you in the fucking face?”

He laughs again, same as before. “You’ve got a dirty mouth for such a clean woman,” he smirks as he pulls from you and flips you over with ease (your heart flutters – literally flutters, when your chest hits the sheets), knees bracketing you in. “Or, can I call you that no longer?”

Before you can snap back with a retort, he’s got you pulled to your knees by your hair – the follicles bunched in his large fist. You gasp loudly – the searing, sharp pain traveling up the backs of your legs, your spine, your scalp. It hurts, but it also feels so good.

Thor ignores you.

You remain there, tucked into Thor as he ravages you. One arm keeps you upright and tight against his muscular chest, slung across your stomach and tucked into your side so he can feel each bated breath – the other makes quick, small circles over the most sensitive part of you.

“Scream for me,” he whispers into your ear. “Let the whole world hear how good I make you feel.”

You follow his bellowed command, choked whimpers now shouts and cries and shrieks. In any other moment in any other time you’d be embarrassed, like before when you’d cover your mouth to stifle the sounds so no one could hear. Now, though, with no shawl or nighttime or cloak or hand to conceal you from the man you can’t look in the eyes.  

The hand around your stomach moves to the wall in front of you for balance, and you can feel his hot breath as his jaw hangs open.

You’re too far gone, now, to notice him grabbing at your hair again and pressing your cheek into the sheets. You scream each him his hips meet yours, his moans nearly as loud as yours.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “God, you’re so wet. Oh shit!”

He pulls out, blessedly, finishing himself with his hand while the other presses into your lower back. It keeps you there, floating in and out of consciousness but staying near-lifeless on the bed. The shirt he was wearing before – you recognize it from the column of buttons – cleans you off, the thick cotton soothing against your skin.

It’s not long before Thor joins you on the bed, collapsing from exhaustion just as you have. It’s hours before you wake up again, the pitch blackness outside meaning there’s nothing to distract yourself from the reality of the state of your life.

If your world hadn’t been shattered before, you are currently watching it go down in flames. You’ve never seen a barn being burned to the ground, but if you were stuck inside, it’d probably feel like this – you’d probably also be clutching the quilt that’s been haphazardly thrown over you but not Thor, grasping at the sun-bleached fabric as it will save you from destruction.

“Fuck,” you whisper to the ceiling and no one in particular. You still avoid looking at that damned portrait, keeping its aged frame in your periphery. You treat the man currently invading your precious personal space the same way.

Thor laughs next to you, deep in his chest. If you didn’t want to hit him then… “Should I be offended?”

You sigh, still avoiding his gaze. You can feel it burning into you like the sun on a bare back in the middle of July – you fear, if he looks at you too long, that you’ll be burned with his mark for the rest of time. You pull the quilt closer to you, hugging it to your body. “Not everything is about you.”

“I’d agree. Maybe not everything, but this,” Thor taps a few times between your eyebrows where your forehead has wrinkled. “Definitely is.”

He’s confident, so frustratingly confident and radiant and if your life wasn’t falling apart you would fuck him again – without hesitation. If you weren’t reconstructing a path you had mapped the day you understood what “future” meant for you, you’d force him down on the bed and do what you thought your wedding night would look like. It’s overwhelming, to say the least, to realize that you have been dethroned of the future you’d thought, you’d assumed you’d have.

You’re not a geographer, a cartographer, a topographer; you’re just a woman. A very horny woman, who is currently undergoing a crisis.

Thor moves closer to you, wrapped one of his massive arms around your bare waist and shifts so that his massive body weighs you onto the bed and rests his chin on your shoulder. “Love, what are you so worried about? Someone like you shouldn’t have worries like that running through the pretty little head of yours.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. Where do you even begin with him? “What am I worried about? I don’t know, probably the fact that I have to marry you now,” you sigh, eyes screwed shut in hopes you’ll open to find yourself in another bed, in another home, in another life. “That’s pretty fucking terrifying.”

Thor laughs breathily – unfazed. “One, you’re very rude. Has anyone ever told you that? It’s no wonder your father treats you in such a way. It’s a mystery no one else treats you that way. Maybe I should treat you a lesson, huh? Should I treat you to be nicer to the people who treat you nice as I?” he trails off for a minute or two, eyeing you up and down. When you make no move towards him, he continues. “Two, why do you have to marry me?”

You ignore his insolence, attempting to stick to the matter at hand. You fear if you veer off topic for even a moment, he’ll use that opening to pin back onto the bed and then this will be delayed even worse than it currently is and then this conversation will have to happen with even more of a threat of your family coming home before you can handle this yourself and…What were you talking about again? Right. Roping this man into marriage. No big deal. “You just took my purity, of course I have to marry you.”

It’s Thor’s turn to scoff. “That’s not how the world works, baby.”

“It’s how my world works, baby,” You bite back. If you were a snake, you’re sure the last word would’ve been coupled with the spraying of poison all over your companion’s skin. Knowing Thor, though, he’d walk away healthier than ever despite two precise puncture wounds.

There’s a long pause before he speaks again, the smile that plays on his lips coloring his words as well. “Oh, really? Why can’t I just walk out of here and pretend none of this ever happened? Why can’t I move onto the next woman, and the next woman, and the next woman. You think I can’t just find a thousand other yous to fill my bed, huh? Why do you think you’re so special?”

You’re sitting up now, covering yourself as Thor lays there bare. He reminds you of a barn cat in the sun, eyes closed and muscles relaxed and tail flicking lazily; if you touched him, you bet his skin would be warmed – if you scratched behind his ears or under his chin, you bet he’d purr. Unlike your barn cat, though, you refuse to leave him be as he enjoys his leisure.  “Why do you think I’d just let you leave? Why do you think you can find another woman, let alone a thousand women even close to me? Sure, leave if you want to, but don’t think you won’t be crawling back to me the second you try and find me in someone who ain’t me. Nuh-uh, you’ll find yourself here, in the dirt, at my feet.”

There’s a long, thick silence that settles over the both of you as Thor sits up, too. His face is playful, but still look in your eyes for any ounce of insincerity. He finds none. “You’re a little spitfire, you know that? Feral little thing, you are.”

You leave the bed, wrapping yourself in a robe you find rumbled under the bed. You don’t know if it’s to protect yourself from the immodesty of walking around naked as the day you were born, or if you’re hoping covering up to prove to Thor you’re not just some hussy. As if whatever in Hell just went down doesn’t disprove whatever notions of modesty you’re hoping to project. Either way, it busies your hands and keeps your eyes from him. “Of course.” You don’t speak again until you’re at the doorway, back facing him with head turned to the side just so. Who’s the cat now? “Do you?”

You walk away after that, leaving to find food or water or maybe a gun. Thor neither knows nor cares. Either way, he allows his body to fall back onto the bed with a thud and listens to your footsteps padding on the floor. Once you’re out of earshot, he sighs deep and happy.  “I sure do, babygirl. I sure do.”

[mysteryshelf]

BLOG TOUR - Burn One Down

    Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

Burn One Down

by Jeffrey A. Cooper

on Tour June 11 – July 13, 2018

Synopsis:

Retiring thief Jack Apple is offered a low-­risk, six-­figure payout to heist a medical marijuana dispensary from the feisty and impetuous Diane Thomas after Diane steals the robbery plans from her shady ex-­husband Alvin, hoping to beat him to the score.

Diane promises to stay out of Jack’s way but she can’t help interfering, forcing them to take hostages inside the dispensary when the robbery is interrupted by law enforcement, inciting a media circus that deteriorates into a full-­on urban riot.

To escape, Jack and Diane must negotiate the hostages, their agendas, an army of Sheriff’s deputies, the tenacious local news media, crooked deals, corrupt politicians, rioters, Diane’s shady ex-­husband Alvin, and their growing attraction to each other.

This little ditty about Jack and Diane is a fast-paced read that finds a few new wrinkles in a familiar genre. ~ Kirkus Review

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Thriller, Crime, Heist Published by: Indie Publication Date: June 15, 2018 Number of Pages: 271 ISBN: 978-­0­‐692­‐06952-3 Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads

  Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

We are all thieves and criminals.

Jack Apple had too much pride to let people look down him because he’d been in prison. Most people were hypocrites. Their own lawbreaking might not extend past trivial offenses like unpaid parking tickets or racing past the posted speed limit, but if right was right and wrong was wrong then Jack Apple was someone who believed that everyone breaks the law at one time or another. People justified their behavior based on their own personal sense of morality just like he did. It wasn’t his fault that he aimed higher than they did. But that part of his life was over. Thievery and criminality were all behind him now. Jack Apple was a changed man.

At least he would be after tonight.

***

Jack swung himself over the top of the twelve-foot stone wall surrounding Leo Dorsey’s home and laid flat across the top for a good look at the property. Leo Dorsey was the owner of Ledo Luxury Automobiles, a limousine and hired car service that fronted for a long list of illegal activities including drug trafficking, gun running, extortion, prostitution and probably about six or seven other things. As a rule, Jack didn’t rob people in the trade out of professional courtesy, but Leo had stolen money from a friend of his, so Jack would let that rule slide on this one. If he really was ditching the trade for good, this was something he needed to take care of first. He planned this job before prison and knew there was a decent chance Leo would have the $80,000 he still needed to open his new business. In the trade, they called that a win-win.

The business Jack wanted to open was a gas station, positioned on the lower right-hand corner of a busy “Y” street traffic pattern that fed into two distinct thoroughfares, and was a popular route for locals to access the freeway. In addition to the pumps, a small retail store sold cigarettes, lottery tickets, energy drinks and lousy coffee. A service area hadn’t been operational since the days when they used real steel for bumpers, but it was a space ripe for expansion. The property had just been listed, and Jack knew it wouldn’t be on the market long. It had everything. What was the old adage?

Location, location, location?

The word came this morning that Jack needed to move on the property. Other parties were sniffing around, ready to make an offer, and there would be no time to raise money.

While Jack had money stashed away from his recent ATM fiasco, there was still a lot of heat on that job, and that money would need to stay buried for a while. He needed a quick score no one could trace, no one would report, and that he could do alone. Hitting Leo Dorsey was perfect. It had to be.

A series of motion detectors captured Jack’s movement and flooded the area with bright white light. Jack jumped down off the wall and hid behind tall landscaped shrubbery, waiting for a response. Instead, an automated voice spoke from a speaker sitting on top of the stone wall, giving Jack a terse warning in both English and Spanish.

“You are trespassing on private property. Security cameras are recording your movements. There is an armed response to all trespassers. Leave this property immediately.”

Jack moved toward Leo’s house and saw a large man in an open window staring into the yard. It looked like Leo, but Jack remembered a slighter man, guessing that this version topped out between three hundred fifty and four hundred pounds. Leo had become very successful since Jack had seen him last, but it did nothing for his disposition. Leo was still a miserable shit.

“Idiots! There’s something wrong with that security system!” Leo shouted at two haggard employees who were clearly showing early signs of PTSD. “Why do the lights go on for no reason? There it goes again! What don’t you simpletons understand? Get it fixed!” The employees looked at each other, certain that Leo was talking about the other one.

“Boss, I…,” one hapless employee pleaded.

“Get away from me,” Leo interrupted. “I’ve had enough stupid for one day. I’m going to bed now. Try not to burn the house down before I wake up. And make sure those dogs go out again, too. I don’t want them shitting all over my floors again.”

“Dogs,” Jack whispered to himself, grimacing. “Why is it always dogs?”

Jack slipped through the garden and climbed up to the veranda outside Leo’s bedroom with a backpack full of safecracking tools while he waited for Leo to finish browbeating his employees and go to sleep. Leo’s nightstand confirmed his notorious longtime habits of pills and a three-finger glass of Scotch was still current, telling Jack that sleep probably wasn’t far away.

Jack stretched out his shoulder. His thirty-five-year-old body was sending him reminders that it wasn’t about to put up with the kind of abuse he’d heaped on it all these years for much longer. While he tried to keep in shape in prison, his long, willowy frame strong from years of street running and urban gymnastics, Jack couldn’t do anything about getting older or the damage that twenty-three hours a day of lockdown did to a body. His guilty conscience chimed in, reminding Jack of everything he had risked: his health, his family, his freedom, his youth. All for money. Things. Shit. When would it be enough? Would it ever be enough?

Doubt. Crippling, stifling doubt. This was why he was getting out. He’d already been arrested and sent to prison once, so he obviously wasn’t the master thief he once thought he was. Could he even make it on his own? Jack always worked with partners and recent history would seem to indicate that he couldn’t work without them. He’d nearly been bested by a 70-year-old hermit and his English bulldog two weeks ago.

It was reasonable to ask that maybe his time in the trade had passed. He heard Leo through an open window, talking in drunk guy loudspeak.

“You think I dunno what you think I dunno but I know what you think I dunno ya know?” Leo enunciated every syllable as an almost empty glass of Scotch dangled from his fingertips, then dropped to the floor without breaking. He stumbled to a large double-door safe adjacent to his changing area, his head foggy from drink and drug. Leo focused on the keypad, entering the combination numbers at a slow, deliberate pace, then he pulled open the door with his right hand. Jack watched Leo through a monocular as he wrote the safe combination in pen on his pant leg, thankful that the tools in his backpack would no longer be necessary. It was nice of Leo to save him all that work. Maybe he’d send him a fruit basket later.

“I’ll be right outside if ya need me, Boss,” Leo’s other employee said, assuring him as he shut the bedroom door behind him. Leo said nothing. He wasn’t assured at all.

“Lock th’ door!” Leo barked with a pronounced slur. He took off his Patek Philippe watch and put it in the safe along with the bankroll from his bathrobe pocket. Leo inspected it all with a listless shake of his head then closed the large double doors, pulling on the handle again to make sure the safe was locked. He turned, his beefy feet squeaking along the marble tile as he stumbled back to his bed and fell face down on the mattress, fast asleep before his head even hit the pillow. His snores were deep and guttural. It was no mistake Leo slept alone.

Jack waited through several minutes of uninterrupted snoring next to a window underneath a security camera aimed at the French doors leading to Leo’s bedroom. He picked the lock as he waited, sliding the window open with little effort and easing himself inside. He looked around, wary of alarms or motion detectors. Once he was confident he could move without disruption, Jack stepped forward and immediately set off a motion detector that turned the overhead lights on and lit the space with lighting dimmed for the evening hours. Jack moved back to the window, ready to bail out. He listened. Nothing. No sound. No movement. No one was coming. It was quiet except for Leo, who was fifteen feet away and snoring like a champ.

“Okay, no more surprises,” Jack whispered.

He moved into the large room with caution, gently walking past the bed straining under Leo’s sleeping body and toward the safe, where he zeroed in on the combination keypad and the numbers he’d scribbled in pen on his pant leg. Forty-two. Eight. Thirty-one. Five. Jack pulled the handle to open the safe door, but the door remained locked.

Maybe I entered the numbers wrong?

No. He wrote the numbers down exactly as Leo entered them. Jack tried the series again, re-entering the numbers one at a time and pulling on the handle, but the safe still would not open. This time the repudiation was accompanied by a message on a small LCD screen: BIOMETRIC ACCESS DENIED. Your BioMetric Identification has been declined for the second time. For your protection, the safe will be locked if additional biometric identification is refused.

Jack looked at the handle. At the top was a thumb pad with a painted-on thumbprint he hadn’t noticed during his previous attempts. The numbers he’d entered were correct. The safe didn’t open because it needed a thumbprint, specifically Leo’s thumbprint, to open the door. Jack wondered what the odds were of chopping Leo’s thumb off without waking him up. He sat, considering his options. Technology sure was making it tough for a fella to earn a living.

***

At close to four hundred pounds, getting Leo to the safe over fifty feet away from the bed was a challenge. Jack rolled Leo over on the bed and was startled to discover Leo’s eyes were wide open despite Leo being in a deep, sound sleep. Jack waved his hand in front of Leo’s face. Leo didn’t blink, and the snoring got even louder once there was no mattress to contain it.

Jack mapped out his strategy. An office chair on wheels, probably for Leo’s shell-shocked employees, would suffice for moving Leo across the marble floor. That part was easy. The challenge would be getting Leo into the office chair. It was like moving a Smart Car by hand.

Jack pushed Leo up off the bed and reached his hands around his barrel chest, clenching his hands together the best he could across Leo’s massive sternum. Jack bent his knees, took a deep breath, then pulled Leo to the edge of the bed. Leo greeted the move with a loud snort, then went back to a steady snore, his drugged eyes still open as wide as the sky.

“Pull him up, right into the chair,” Jack coached himself. He used the same strategy as before, which this time pulled Leo off the bed too fast. His momentum landed Leo right on top of Jack, who howled. Leo, for his part, wasn’t disturbed by the fall at all.

“You know, you’ve really let yourself go, Leo!” Jack wailed before pushing Leo off of him. Jack stood up, grabbed Leo’s arms and leaned back, groaning, using the remainder of his strength to hoist Leo into the office chair, which creaked under the strain. Jack backed away, hoping the chair would hold. It would be a long, slow drag to the safe otherwise.

Jack positioned himself behind the chair but struggled across the marble floor. The chair moved slow but steady, gaining momentum once Jack picked Leo’s legs up and pulled him instead of pushing. After a heroic effort from Jack and especially the chair, Leo was positioned in front of the safe. Jack caught his breath, hoping that he didn’t give himself a hernia.

The lock on the outer bedroom door clicked, and the door opened. Leo’s employees, having heard Jack’s howling, came to investigate. Jack swiveled the office chair toward the door, pushed Leo’s head forward and ducked behind Leo’s mammoth frame. The employees looked around until they saw Leo in the chair, his eyes still wide open, staring at them.

“You okay, Boss? I heard something. Everything all right?”

Leo, who was still sound asleep, said nothing. His snoring sounded like a growl, especially to these two. “Just making sure you’re okay, Boss,” the nervous employee said in his awkward rush to get out of the room.

Jack swung the office chair back around and stood up. He entered the series of numbers on the combination pad, then lifted Leo’s stubby hand and placed it on the handle, so Leo’s thumb pressed down on the biometric sensor. This time the lock on the safe clicked and the doors opened. Inside the safe were three $10,000 stacks of hundred dollar bills and the large roll of money from Leo’s bathrobe, which Jack estimated at around $3,000. He could hock the watch, too. It wasn’t a bad haul, even though it was far less than Jack was expecting.

Isn’t it always less than you’re expecting?

Jack took what there was and left Leo on the overworked office chair in front of the open safe. He went back to the window he entered through and got out as easy as he came in, even taking time to re-lock the window behind him. The motion detector lights clicked on and off as Jack climbed down from the second story veranda. That’s when Leo’s dogs, two female German Shepherds outside to do their evening business, saw Jack and started barking in a frenzy.

“Nope,” Jack said once he saw them at the bottom, waiting for him to come down. “No dogs.” He climbed back up to the veranda, content to find another way. The only people in the house were Leo’s employees who, from the sound of it, weren’t nearly as smart as the dogs. Jack slipped back into Leo’s bedroom, where Leo was still snoring heartily in the office chair that would be lucky to last the night. At the bedroom door, Jack heard voices in the hallway.

“Keep those dogs quiet before they wake him up!” The two employees were in a panic, apparently unaware of how deep and sound Leo slept after his bedtime snack of pills and Scotch. Their panic gave Jack an opportunity to get to a stairwell at the end of the hallway that he hoped would lead him outside. Jack listened first then moved quietly, soft-stepping his way down the stairs, peeking his head over the railing as he went. He saw the two employees at the stairwell door window on the first floor, so Jack slipped down another level to avoid them.

The stairwell emptied Jack into nondescript hallways of white concrete and white tile floors. The stairwell door locked behind him, so Jack had a choice of the single steel door ahead of him or a hallway that led off to the right. As Jack approached the hallway, the two German Shepherds sauntered around another corner from a hallway fifty feet away.

There was a moment of silent recognition. They all stood still, sizing each other up. The dogs looked at Jack, then to each other, then back to Jack. Everyone jumped at the same time. The dogs took off after Jack, who sprang into action, running down the hallway toward the door.

“Why is it always dogs?” Jack screamed.

Jack raced through the door and pushed it closed behind him. He didn’t suppose the dogs were smart enough to follow, but they figured it out, jumping up together to push open the door’s exit bar and continue their pursuit down the long hallway. The dogs, whose nails clicked like icy rain on paws that were slipping and sliding across the waxed hallway, were gaining ground. There were several doors along the hallway that Jack tried to open, but each one was locked. When Jack finally found an unlocked door, he got inside and pulled the door shut behind him, half a second before the snapping jaws of the German Shepherds took a sizeable bite out of him.

“Okay. Big dogs. Very big dogs,” Jack wheezed.

His hands felt around in the dark until Jack found the light switch inside the door frame, revealing the janitor closet that was now his safe refuge. “What did I ever do to a dog?” Jack panted, catching his breath. He opened the door slightly and saw a door leading to the outside thirty feet further down the hallway. “All right. I’ve been in worse situations,” Jack said. His voice activated the dogs, who barked as he shut the door. “I’ve never been food…”

The dogs paced back and forth outside the closet door, waiting for Jack to come out. They heard a sound; a scraping, grinding noise coming from deep inside the janitor’s closet. The dogs cocked their heads to the side, confused. The doorknob moved, and their ears perked up. The pin on the door unlatched, and the dogs sat crouched, ready to strike. When the door opened the dogs rushed in, then stopped all at once. From inside the deep janitor closet came the loud, abrasive growl of a stand-up vacuum cleaner that Jack parried out of the closet after them, and now was using to chase the German Shepherds back down the hallway.

“Ha-HA!” Jack jeered, quick on their heels. The dogs reached the exit door and jumped up against the bar to let themselves outside, but Jack wasn’t letting them off that easy. He went out after them, confident and mocking. “Mess with me, and you know what happens?”

The cord for the vacuum cleaner pulled taut and yanked out of the wall. The pitiful motor on the vacuum cleaner died down with a slow, agonizing, mournful wail. The two German Shepherds stopped to listen, then turned their heads around slow. Jack could swear they were licking their lips.

“Idiot,” Jack said. He jumped for the closing exit door, and the dogs were on top of him. One had Jack’s pant leg while the other held the bottom of Jack’s shirt. The shirt ripped when the dog tried to pull back, sending one German Shepherd onto her back, while the other dog tried getting a better grip on Jack’s pant leg. Loose for the split second he needed, Jack took advantage, getting inside and pulling the door closed, with the vacuum cord preventing the door from closing tight.

“Hey! Stop right there!” Leo’s two employees came through the first exit door and saw Jack pulling the exit door closed on the dogs.

Jack ran away. The employees were quick on his heels until they passed the exit door. The tenacious German Shepherds forced open the door at the exact moment the employees ran past, and the dogs sprang into action, jumping into the hallway and biting the first thing they saw.

“No! Him! Get him!” The first employee said as he was being mauled by the first dog.

“That one, girl! That one! Ow!” The second employee shook his free arm, pointing down the hallway. His other arm was firmly planted in the second German Shepherd’s jaw.

Jack’s only option at this end of the hallway was the window straight ahead of him. He pulled opened the window and looked out, craning his neck in both directions, but this was no time to get particular. Jack hoisted himself up and pushed through the window until momentum took over and he dropped ten feet to the ground. The soil was dry and loose, and Jack hit hard, flat on his back, before sliding down the sloped hill head-first and backward. The drop knocked the wind out of him, but Jack shook off the fall, spit dirt from his mouth, then scaled the twelve foot stone wall and jumped down on the other side. His pursuers knew Jack could still hear them.

“We know what you look like, pal! You’re on camera, dumbass! We’re gonna find you, you sonofabitch! You messed up bad, man, you messed up real bad!”

Jack ran for his life down the hill surrounding Leo’s house but couldn’t tell if the sounds he heard, of rustling trees, branches snapping, or running through fallen leaves was the sound of someone following him or the echo of the noise he was making all on his own. Jack turned his head to see the lead he had on his pursuers, but the night was dark, and it was difficult to see. What wasn’t difficult to see was the tree branch that caught Jack above the sternum when he turned back around, the one that clotheslined him flat to the ground. He slid down a steep, sloping hill, twisting and turning his body to avoid the rocks and tree stumps in his path before launching himself off an even larger, brush-covered hill.

Jack landed at the bottom of the hill next to a roadway, right at the feet of Diane Thomas, who stood next to her car like she’d been waiting there for him all along. Diane was dressed in black jeans and a black leather coat with a torn red t-shirt underneath. Her hair was long, with an easy, natural curl that fell over her flawless soft brown skin. Her necklaces and bracelets were tasteful; piled on but not overdone. Black boots were highlighted with metallic studs that covered the backs to the heels. She looked like trouble. Jack liked trouble.

“Something tells me you’re Jack Apple.” Diane stood in front of an idling muscle car, the headlights creating a silhouette that captivated Jack’s attention through his hazy thinking.

Jack asked, “Do I know you?”

“Not yet,” Diane said with a smile. “But you will.”

***

Excerpt from Burn One Down by Jeffrey A Cooper. Copyright © 2018 by Jeffrey A Cooper. Reproduced with permission from Jeffrey A Cooper. All rights reserved.

  Author Bio:

Jeffrey A. Cooper lives in Los Angeles, CA. His previous novel, “How to Steal a Truck Full of Nickels” was published in 2015. Jeffrey has optioned several feature film scripts and co-­created two shows executive produced by Emmy-­award winning comedian Louie Anderson.

Jeffrey lives with his wife, daughter, two rescue dogs, a rescue cat and a fish who all get along famously.

Catch Up With Mr. Cooper On: Website, Goodreads, Twitter, & Facebook!

  Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!

  Giveaway:

This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Jeffrey A. Cooper. There will be 1 winner of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card. The giveaway begins on June 11, 2018 and runs through July 16, 2018. Open to U.S. addresses only. Void where prohibited.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

  Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours

BLOG TOUR – Burn One Down was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf with Shannon Muir

[rebeccahpedersen]

Is The Grass Greener Down Under?

TorontoRealtyBlog

After seeing a multitude of freehold homes with “offer dates” set for next week end up selling via bully offer this past weekend, a few of my clients have expressed frustration with our system of selling properties, or lack thereof.

Once again, I was asked about the concept a true auction format here in Toronto.

I’ve written about this many times before, but as I’m sure the posts are buried somewhere in the TRB archives, let’s take a look at what happened in Australia this past weekend on something they call “Super Saturday.”

I’ve never been to Australia, and while there are literally thousands of places about which a person might quip, “I’d love to go there,” Australia is one that is near the top of my list.

Venice?  Meh.

Rome?  Enh.

Paris?  Maybe.  But is their tower really better than our tower?

I’ve been a few places of interest.

I climbed to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa.  I’ve been to base camp at Mount Everest in Nepal/Tibet.

But when push comes to shove, I’d honestly rather rest at our family’s modest vacation home in Idaho than see the sites in Germany, Argentina, or Greece.

Perhaps that makes me boring.  A little lazy even.

But for some reason, if I were to plan a true “trip,” as opposed to my prefered Idahoian “vacation,” I think Australia would be an awesome place to explore.

Call me crazy, but I feel a connection to Australia, as I do with the United Kingdom, because they’re part of the Commonwealth.  I know that’s bizarre, and that the Commonwealth isn’t really a “thing” anymore, or at least not of any importance.  But I feel as though the Brits and the Aussies are like us in many ways, and perhaps it all stems from the same origin.

I also had a huge crush on Poppy Montgomery back when “Without A Trace” was a hit show.  Maybe that factors into my soft spot for Australia…

There are over 200 countries in the world, and when I look outside of our borders to see how other people live, breathe, and work, I often find myself looking at the United Kingdom and Australia first, and strangely, that’s before I look at our neighbours to the south.  We’re just in really different places right now, although that’s a topic for another day.

So when I look at international real estate, steering clear of the click-bait in the Monaco’s of the world, of course, I look at the UK and Australia for comparisons.

If you haven’t heard about how real estate is sold in England, you’d better catch up – fast!

In 2015, I wrote an article on TRB called: “Gazumped!”

Perhaps not the most search-engine-friendly title, but the article went on to explain what exactly “gazumping” is, and how it wreaks havoc in the UK’s real estate market.

Read the article if you have time, but perhaps a quick example is warranted.

If I sell a house tonight to buyers for $1,450,000, with a May 31st closing date, then they would provide a deposit cheque – say $75,000, and that cheque would be held in trust as “consideration” for the transaction, up until the closing date, and the balance would be paid to the seller on that date.  The deal is “firm,” and thus neither buyer or seller can change his or her mind, and/or get out of the transaction, short of some sort of fraudulent misrepresentation or act of God.

Now let’s say on May 29th, a would-be buyer for the home says, “Damn, I can’t believe I missed that house!  I wasn’t in the market back in March when the house first sold!”

What if that buyer could offer $1,451,000, and somehow steal the property from the buyer who had contracted to purchase it two months earlier?

GAZUMPED!

True story, no exaggeration.

And that is how the British real estate market works.

The entire market is a set of dominoes.  One person gets gazumped, and it sets off a chain reaction of buyers and sellers, trying to get in or out of other deals.

Oh, and it bears mentioning that in England, they only have multiple representation!

That’s right.  Here in Ontario, we’ve heard rumblings about potentially doing away with multiple representation and/or dual agency.  But in the UK market, you MUST buy your home through the listing brokerage via multiple representation.

I suppose any system, in any country, is going to have its pros and cons, right?

As I said at the onset, many people in Toronto are frustrated with the current “system,” if you could call it that.

The bully offers taking down properties on Saturday night at 11pm are not ideal for buyers.

And what do we make of houses listed for $999,900, sitting on the market for 14 days, where the seller won’t actually entertain anything under $1,200,000?  Isn’t that false advertising?

In times like this, buyers look outside our system to see how other people are doing it, and as the saying goes, the grass is often greener on the other side.

The UK model doesn’t work, so let’s not even go there.

But the argument often goes toward the Australian “model,” whereby houses are sold via auction.

Auctions aren’t unique to Australia, by the way.  HERE is a 2013 blog post I wrote about an auction for a house in Victor, Idaho, but the auction comes with more catches than Kevin Pillar…

But when the words “real estate” and “auction” are strung together, people get warm and fuzzy like the koala bears that Australians keep as pets.

First and foremost, have a look at this website:

https://www.realestate.com.au/auction-results/nsw

We here in Toronto are waiting for TREB to allow us to publish sold data, and in Australia, you have a site like this one which publishes the results of all the auctions in the country.

That link goes to the results for Sydney & New South Wales, but you can click on the other areas below.

“Super Saturday” in Australia refers to a date when a slew of properties are up for auction, and presumably, sell.

Posted on Sunday morning are the “clearance rates” for all the properties available at auction, like the following:

Now what does this terminology mean?

“Sold prior to auction” obviously refers to properties that were listed for sale, whereby the seller was provided with an offer, or offers, and decided to forego the auction.

“Sold at auction” needs no explanation, but keep in mind that these auctions come with a reserve price, so the bidding must meet or exceed that price for the property to sell.

“Sold after auction” refers to properties that either didn’t get bids, or did, but were “passed in,” and a deal was worked out.

“Withdrawn” refers to properties taken off the market by the seller.

“Passed in” is where things get interesting.  This is where a property receives bids, but the high bid at the end of the auction fails to meet the seller’s reserve price.  The property is then “passed in” to negotiations between the seller and the high bidder, overseen by an agent.

The “Clearance Rate” above is the sum of all the properties sold, withdrawn, or passed in.  Only properties remaining on the market for sale are “not cleared.”

The acceptable Clearance Rate varies by area, and of course, current market conditions.

By way of comparison, Australian Capital Territory (ACT) had  a 74% clearance rate last weekend, but Western Australia had only a 29% clearance rate.

Another two very important statistics would be:

1) Percentage of Properties Sold at Auction 2) Percentage of Properties Passed In

The entire goal of an auction is to sell properties at that auction.

Sure, properties sold both before and after the auction are important as well, and perhaps you could add those to the “sold at auction” for a total sales number.  But if the idea behind the auction is to sell properties with a gavel, then I like the “sold at auction” number.

Secondly, the percentage of properties “passed in” is tremendously important.  This is a good measure of whether buyers are willing to meet sellers’ expectations.

A further useful statistic would be the percentage of passed-in properties that end up sold, but I’m guessing that data isn’t available.  This would also help provide insight into the market, specifically whether or not sellers, and their unmet expectations, become more reasonable.

So let’s look at the above stats for Sydney and New South Wales.

Their “Clearance Rate” is 74%, but is that really important to us, or is that just the auction house making up a number?  Considering that they’re “clearning” properties that are withdrawn, I don’t think it’s something to brag about, so I’d rather come up with my own analysis.

233 of the 1,602 properties sold prior to auction, so that leaves 1,369 that went to auction.

529 of 1,369 properties were sold at auction.  That’s 38.6%.

291 of 1,369 properties were passed in.  That’s 21.3%.

So roughly 60% of properties are getting significant action.

But what do you make of the fact that 21.3% properties – one in five, results in a final bid price that’s below the seller’s reserve price?

Again, we don’t really know how to evaluate that number, so let’s see how Sydney & NSW compares to Victoria:

The clearance rate is 2% higher, so we’re working within the same band.

199 of the 2,202 properties sold prior to auction, so that leaves 2,003 that went to auction.

977 of 2,003 properties were sold at auction.  That’s 48.8%.

550 of 2,003 properties were passed in.  That’s 27.5%.

Roughly 76% of properties in Victoria are getting significant action, and across the board, the numbers are higher.

And when it comes to those properties withdrawn – only 1.5% of the 2,202 came off the market, compared to 8.3% in Sydney & New South Wales.

I figure you’d have to analyze data for every area in the country to draw conclusions on what are percentages of sales at auction, properties withdrawn, and properties passed-in are “acceptable.”

Now as for the website itself – http://www.realestate.com.au, you can scroll down and see every property and its corresponding status, sorted by suburb.

And you even know the result for each property.  Which sold at auction, which was withdrawn, which sold before or after the auction, and which was passed-in.  So as a buyer, you know which properties are tied up, which are gone for good, and which might come back into play.

As for the auction itself, well, this is where things get VERY interesting.

Auctions are conducted in person, in front of the house, and the streets throughout the country look like this on Saturday:

We could spend a whole week’s worth of blog posts looking at how to bid, what happens before and after the auction, qualifications, etc.

And logistics is another topic altogether.

But let’s consider that auctions are not exactly government-mandated in Australia, but rather they’re borne out of desire.  The market participants are accustomed to it, and take it as given, just as the British accept “gazumping” as an every-day part of their market, and as we here in Toronto accept bully offers.

I’m sure if time was infinite, we could all sit down and figure out how to take the best parts of all three “systems,” and perhaps a few others, and put together a structure that would work best for all here in Toronto.

But you know what?

Even then, there would be those opposed.

Call it pessimistic, but you can’t call it untrue: the grass is ALWAYS greener on the other side…

The post Is The Grass Greener Down Under? appeared first on Toronto Real Estate Property Sales & Investments | Toronto Realty Blog by David Fleming.

Originated from https://ift.tt/2GiHoFA