#If I were to get a paper cut the story more than my blood would stain the paper

[fragmentedblade]

I can't believe they made Blade ask with a broken voice why is it only abominations that come back over and over again. Blade, who can't die, who comes back to life again and again

[m0chisenpai]

maitress

˚｡⋆ the vampire armand x black!fem!reader

in which armand may be the maitre, but every king needs a queen.

The troupe bustled and moved in organized chaos. Electricity filled the air it tickled her veins, tonight was special. Claudia couldn't explain it, the blood sabbath felt intoxicating. The acting was on par with what was held at the royal opera. Was someone of importance watching?

She did not know and as she made her trek up the wooden steps from the Wet Room, the room went still.

“Beautiful work in the previous night my children, my heart might have leapt for a moment.” The velveteen voice wrapped around a Claudia’s mind. She closed her eyes, she could feel the owners voice as though she were next to her. And it seemed her voice was made known to all, because the room went still.

It was as though her presence were in the center of the room. Claudia could see her, but not, her face unknown to her. Her eyes cut to Louis, but they are glossed over, looking and searching for this source of comfort.

She could feel her arm hold her into her side, like a mother. Her hand settled on the back of her neck, finger playing with a curl and letting it bounce free. “And I have no doubt our young new puce is hard at work as well, we need more bright young minds here. Dear Claudia.”

"I look forward to seeing each of you all for tonight's hunt, I've a special treat for our American friends."

Then it was gone. Santiago let out a low groan placing his hand onto his chest, “her voice does wonders. I could listen to it for the rest of my days.”

Armand clapped his hands together snapping them out the trance. “You heard the maitress! Let us not disappoint and puce I hope her words lit an inspiration in you as well.” Claudia bowed her head, leaving through the wings and down the steps.

Claudia buffed and shined the casket of the acting troupe, her ears trained onto the post-show critiquing taking place above. She huffed sitting back on her knees. She was so close, just a little more enduring and she would join the theatre. And with a little persuasion her companion would join.

But Louis was 'fine' with sitting behind the scenes.

Claudia allowed her hands to wander the vanity, covered in treasures. The bottles of perfume glistened in the lights, and a bouquet of deep red roses sat nestled with note inside. scattered sheets of plays more covered in red than actual written words filled the space. A photo of Armand tucked in the mirror beside another note, the ink clearly fresh. She went to open it, to see just who was-

“Puce!” She jumped back dropping the letter back onto vanity. Sam now stood behind her, a scowl on his face like many nights.

“That is for maitress” the apprentice playwright breathed, lovingly looking up to the portrait as thought it were God himself up there. Though Sam was a brilliant playwright, the man was a horrible gossip. If you knew the right words, knew how to get him started then all you’d need is to sit back and let him spill his guts.

“How long has she been here?”

“She was one of the first to be chosen by maitre. No one knows how, but they say her first role was a testament to her story” Sam dropped his voice to a hush looking up. Santiago was wrapping up. So he lured the young puce in.

“Some say, she is the maitre’s one and only fledgling.” Claudia’s eyes widen. And before a slew of questions could come out, he swept the stack of papers in his arms smacking them on the cluttered wooden table.

“No more gossip for you puce! Make sure her area is well kept and don't touch her writing, she bit my finger off last time.” Claudia quickly went to work putting the make up and perfumes in the right places of the vanity.

She made her way to deposit the costumes to the be cleaned when her eyes catch a figure, lying across Armand's bed.

Her eyes concealed by a tinted round pair of fold rimmed glasses, and hands moving with her speech. She wore a pair of high waisted slacks with a dark red blouse tucked in. Her hair was thick and pulled to sit an simple updo with a patterned scarf tied.

Back and forth she paced the small room with a script in hand, taking the frames off to toss onto the cluttered desk along with the script.

"Santiago really needs to stop screwing Estelle, you can tell he is. He gets so boring on stage" she grumbled, holding her hand out to receive a cigarette from Armand and standing still for him to light it.

"The little American beauty is adorable" She called out, by now Armand has begun to smoke from his own cigarette, moving to stop her in her steps and pull her atop his lap on the bed. "I wish I could have seen their arrival."

"Yes she has that bite you had in your early years here." Her maroon lips turn upward as she cups his jaw.

"But your words cut deeper," his voice whispers now holding her hand to press into his cheek. Gentle kisses upon her wrist make her eyes flutter shut until he bites. As he feeds, her eyes look outward. Locking with Claudia's wide ones

Her blood is sweeter than anything he has tasted. Armand would drink from her alone for the rest of his existence if he could. He moves her off to lie among the pillows.

Her throat bared to him. His body covers her, his face face now buried in her neck where he bites her high enough where no shirt may cover.

"I suggest you finish your chores now, puce."

Claudia quickly steps away, her heart pounds against her chest as she quickly makes her way into the costume room. She would never forget those cold green eyes, staring into her own.

Back in the bedroom, she slips Armand onto his back. Straddling His waist. There is no protest in his eyes. Only a burning desire, had she demanded his heart in this moment he’d give to her at any moment. She gazes down at him, with a tilt to her head.

"You know I prefer to be on top, my beautiful Arun."

"Yes, maitress."

[mcu-coworkers]

Posessive?

Summary: Miguel will stop at nothing to have you at his side. And you know that but who says you can't make him struggle just a little.

word count:3.5k+

A/n: Thank you guys for loving Pt.1 to this story so much I hope this second part meets your expectations! Im thinking of making a pt.3 where the spider society meets the reader let me know what you guys think!xx

Parts: I II^ III

(Gif credits to the creator ofc!^)

Walking into your lawyers office made Miguel's blood boil.

He had already ripped up the divorce papers but he wanted to send a message before he returned them to their sender considering you ignored his thousands of calls.

“Mr.O’hara it's nice to finally meet you although clients usually communicate lawyer to law-” he was quickly cut off by the loud sound of the shredded paper being tossed onto his desk.

“ I   thought this would be quicker for the both of us,​​ Tell your client that her HUSBAND said no. And that  I‘ll be seeing her very soon. Thanks.” Miguel said, having that last bit dripping with sarcasm.

“Should  I   be concerned for my clients' well-being Mr.O’hara?” your lawyer said standing up.

Turning to face him once more Miguel snickered, “On the contrary Mr.?” he said looking for a name tag.

“Murdock. It's on the building Nelson and Murdock.” he said, smiling back at him.

“Big man, Congratulations. My wife is safe with me, just let her know I'll be seeing her soon, have a nice day Murdock.” With a nod from your lawyer he took it as his time to leave but not without whispering some insults in spanish under his breath.

Who did he think he was questioning your safety around Miguel? You were the safest at his side and his side only.

And no one was taking that from him, not even you.

Quickly after he left your Lawyer wasted no time in contacting you.

Two rings passed before you picked up.

To tell the truth your heart was pounding. It felt so soon for him to have already turned in the papers.

“Hello?” you didn't mean to sound as quiet and defeated as you did but who were you trying to fool this had been and was going to be a very tough moment in your life.

“Mrs.O’Hara how are you?” he answered calmly.

Confused by the surname you stopped walking in the middle of the busy airport.

“I'm fine, did you receive the papers?” you asked eager to find out exactly what happened.

“Yes,  I   did but they're not signed or intact for that matter. It seems like he gave them to a cat to have as a toy."He said holding up the paper realizing what he thought were rips were actually done by claws, strange.

“Ay Miguel.” You said, you knew he never took any news well but you never thought he’d pull something like this.

“He also left a message for you.” he said, setting the paper aside.

“And that was?” you said curious as to what he could possibly have to say.

“Tell your client that her husband said no, and that he will be seeing you very soon, he put a big emphasis on the word husband.” he said pausing.

Waiting for a response from you he added on, “Ms. O’Hara if i'm being honest here this doesn't sound like a man who wanted a divorce.” he said reconsidering the course of the situation.

“At this point I'm not really sure what he wants anymore,  I   don't think  I   ever actually knew to begin with.” you said, beginning to question your judgment.

“Well if you’d like to continue with the one sided divorce process we can do that otherwise  I   think you should speak to Mr.O’Hara and sort things out.” He said.

Now you had a lot to think about, A shiver went up your spine as you realized exactly what was happening.

“Y/n? Is everything okay? Do you need help?” Your lawyer asked on the other side. He always knew a little more than he was led to believe which meant he had to be cautious with how much he involved himself.

“Oh yeah, yes  I   am fine just considering my options, can  I get back to you on that?” You asked quickly beginning to exit the airport.

“Yes, of course whatever you need, give me a call.” he said, he could hear your breath picking up and your heart beat gaining speed.

“Thank you, Mr. Murdock.” and with that you hung up the phone and found your driver.

If there was one thing Miguel didn't like it was not having you by his side and to make matters worse not knowing where you were.

You didn't doubt for a second Miguel had already found you; it was just a matter of time before he got to you.

Angry would be the understatement of the year.

Taking a deep breath you tried to relax remembering why you were in this situation in the first place.

It was his fault you left, and if he wanted to bring you back then he’d have to travel across the world and do it face to face.

After all, you did book a flight to Barcelona thinking it would be far enough to not ever be able to go back to him no matter how strong the urge.

Your phone rang again, thinking it was your lawyer, you answered.

“Was there something you forgot to mention earlier?” you asked, trying to sound as calm as possible.

“Hiring a man as your lawyer, you always know where to hit me so it hurts mi amor.” chills ran down your spine at the sound of that raspy voice.

“Miguel, what do you want?” you said trying to put up a front.

“You. Back in our house, at my side.” he said with a demanding tone.

The audacity of this man, you'd been distraught and in tears practically the entire journey here but now? All you felt was anger.

“No.” was all you said, the front was gone, these were your genuine emotions now.

“No? Como que no? You're mine, don't you forget that.” he said, beginning to raise his voice.

“  I   didn't forget that, you did Miguel so it's either you start remembering or  I   start forgetting too. Ya no voy a estar de gata a tus pies. I'm worth more than that.” you said trying to hold back the shakiness in your voice.

It was helpless because he already heard it.

“Mi amor,  I   never thought that of you please, come home and let's talk. I'm begging you don't do this to us.  I   need you.” He said hoping he could sway you in his direction.

“This is the longest you've spoken to me in over a month Miguel, you realize that right? And all for what, because  I  disobeyed you?” you asked, hoping he'd deny it but all you got was silence.

Chuckling you smiled, at least that part of him never changed.

“Baby, plea-” he tried.

“No, Sign the papers or I'm moving in a different direction Miguel.  I   let my love for you stand in the way for too long and you don't even have the decency to tell me you don't love me anymore. I'm done.” you said as he began to speak over you trying to stop you.

No one had ever tested Miguel's patience this much.

You not letting him get a sentence out was only bringing him closer to the edge.

“Y/n  I   swear if you make me-” dead tone. You hung up.

“HIJO DE PUTA!” he said as he punched the back of the passenger seat in front of him.

“Everything alright sir?” his driver asked mostly only concerned for his own safety.

No one liked seeing Miguel upset ten times out of nine everyone else ended up in whatever mood he was in.

“Yes, Just get me to the jet please.” he said, rubbing his temples gently.

Miguel fell in love with your sense of leadership when he had first met you, god was he paying for it now.

He tried to calm himself before boarding the plane. He needed to think of what he could say to get you back at his side.

He knew he needed to change, it's his best bet at making you remember just how much he loves you.

Just as the plane was taking off his gizmo showed a hologram of Jess.

“So, did you get your girl back?” She asked with a slight smirk on her face.

Miguel froze, he kept his business out of the spider society just in case anyone ever turned on them.

Keeping you safe was his number one priority.

“Lyla spilled Miguel, she's worried about you and says she's never seen you this bad before.” she said with a slight tone of concern. She knew better than to show Miguel she was worried, he would just push her away and tell her he was fine.

“Everything will be fine, I'll be gone two days tops think you can handle that?” he asked with a small smile on his face.

He knew Jess could do more than handle it; he just needed a distraction from the chaos he’d brought to his marriage.

“Yeah well when you bring her back, and you will,  I  ‘d like to meet the person who tolerates your broodiness, hell  i  ‘ll probably ask for some tips while i'm at it.” she said, making him chuckle.

No one could do what you did for him.

“Keep me updated on the canon events and keep Hobie out of my office.” he said remembering the last time he snuck in.

“You got it boss, don't forget we're all rooting for you.” she said before hanging up.

We? Who's we? He was gonna have a long talk with Lyla about confidentiality when he got back.

------

It has now been just about two days since you last spoke to Miguel and since then you’ve received one flower arrangement every hour with a message from Miguel and your bill at every place you visited covered by, you guessed it, Miguel.

And still you had to be graced by the presence of the man himself.

Barcelona was your chance to really find out if the grass was greener on the other side and that meant no giving in to Miguel's romantic gestures.

It was hard when every single flower warmed your heart just a little more every time.

It reminded you of when he’d cut flowers from random gardens on his way to your house.

They were never this fancy or even wrapped in paper for that matter, but you loved them more than anything else because he gave them to you out of love.

He gave these to you seeking forgiveness, something he wouldn't be doing if you hadn't been pushed over the edge.

Sighing, you set them aside with the rest of the arrangements and decided to go for a coffee.

Finding a little shop you sat on the patio after ordering your Latte with a croissant to accompany it.

Basking in the sun your mind couldn't help but wonder where he was, if he was already watching you from a distance waiting to catch you off guard.

You weren't too far off.

He was watching you, from a safe distance just to make sure you were safe, and that no other man was coming near you but mostly to make sure you were safe.

He thought that if he gave you space it’d make you miss him.

The flowers and paying for you were just in case you did miss him. Or at least that's what he made them out to be.

Miguel was trying his best to not let his possessive ways take over him and just carry you on the plane and take you home but he oh so wanted this to be over already.

But he too decided to turn a new leaf in Barcelona, one that would promise to never let you forget just how much he loved you, no matter how shitty of a day he had at work.

Miguel was brought out of his thoughts when he saw you leaving the cafe not because you were leaving but because some man was following you.

His body tensed as the man tapped on your shoulder and handed you something.

Before he knew it he was walking towards you and pulling you into him by the waist.

“¿Ya terminaste amor?( you finished here love?)” he said, smiling down at you before turning to look at the idiot who touched you.

Who did he think he was touching you when you belonged to Miguel?

Smiling a thank you to the stranger you met mere minutes ago you begin walking without answering Miguel's question.

“Who the hell was that guy?” he said following you down the street.

“ I   have no idea Miguel, what  I   do know is that you've been watching me for the past two days.” you said trying to hide your smirk.

Miguel stopped, you had outsmarted him.

“Only because you won't speak to me.” he said trying to hide the smile on his face.

He was a proud husband but now was not the time.

“Sucks doesn't it? Being ignored by your spouse when you just wanted to give them all your love.” you said opening the door to your new home.

“Y/n mi amor  I   get it, I'm an asshole and  I deserve whatever it is you throw my way but please come home and you can throw it at me there.” he said trying to get close to you but all it did was make you take a step back.

“Baby please, just come here.” he said as he took another step towards you.

He was quick but you were quicker getting out of the way.

“No Miguel, you treated me like some toy that you used when you were bored. And when you got tired of me you tossed me to the side and pretended that  I   wasn't there. Do you know how it feels to be treated like an item? A disposable item?” you asked your voice barely above a whisper but that didn't stop you.

“For the last ten years of our relationship there wasn't one day that you didn't tell me you loved me. Even when we were fighting. Tell me Miguel, when was the last time you told me you loved me? As a matter of fact, When was the last time we even slept in the same bed? You can't tell me can you?” you asked, waiting for a response from him but all you got was silence.

Your words finally began to actually sink in to Miguel and for once he didn't know what to do.

Balancing the literal multiverse on his shoulders distracted him so much he hadn't realized the damage he was doing to your marriage.

But you’d had more than enough time to realize what it did to you.

Shaking your head you looked away as tears brimmed your eyes.

You wanted so badly to be strong for yourself but seeing the end to what you thought was your forever was making it really difficult.

“Fuck.” was all Miguel could muster up at the moment, he needed to find a way to fix this.

Letting out a shaky breath, “Y/n,  I   know that  I  ‘ve changed but there's just been so much pressure on me to fix things and they really need me right now, this is the only way  I   can keep everyone safe, keep you safe.” he said hoping you’d understand.

Nodding you looked out the window and admired the view.

“ I   understand, the multiverse is important to you. But  I   can't sit around waiting for the day you decide to consider me too. And  I   know that sounds selfish but  I   can't help it. I'm jealous of Miguel. Jealous of the people who see you more than  I   do. Jealous of the office you spend time in. Jealous of the Lyla.” you actually had to laugh after that.

“ I   sound crazy, Jealous of a damn AI all because it gets your attention more than me.” you said tears finally falling.

“Well guess what Miguel,  I   won't do it anymore,  I   hate this feeling.  I   understand protecting the multiverse is important so go, go be a hero it's who you are and it's amazing.  I   could never stand in the way of that no matter how much it’d hurt me.” you said leaning back on the kitchen counter.

You’d hoped that’d be enough to get him to go.

In a second Miguel had his arms around you and his head buried in your shoulder.

Wrapping your arms around his neck you realized he was crying.

“Miguel?” you asked gently, slightly confused by the reaction.

“I'm so sorry baby please,  I   need you. Without you I'm just the shell of the man   I   should be.   I   can't live a life without you, it's pointless. Just please come home and we can fix this together.  I  ‘ll do whatever you want.  I  ‘ll get on my knees and beg if that's what it takes.” he said as he began to get down on his knees.

“Miguel no-” you whispered as you tried pulling him back up.

“Then what baby you tell me and  I  ‘ll do it please tell me how to fix this. ¡Estoy loco por ti y lo sabes!( I'm crazy for you and you know it!)” he yelled, he was mere seconds away from a panic attack his breathes were shortening quickly and you noticed it.

“Miguel? Baby slow down, you need to breathe.” you said lowering yourself to meet his face.

“ I   can’t-  I   can-” he said as he tried regaining his breath.

He hadn't had one of these since he became spiderman so an inhaler was not an option. So you did the next best thing, you kissed him.

Deeply, passionate to make sure he slowed down his breathing completely.

Slowly it began to work so you pulled away to allow him to catch his breath.

Analyzing his face you’d only hoped it worked, “Better?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Not yet.” he said as he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back in for another kiss this time much deeper.

Miguel began kissing you like a man who’d been starved as he pulled you closer wrapping your legs around his waist in the process.

And just like that you were lost in him all over again.

Whatever speech you gave yourself about the grass being greener was gone in the wind.

Quickly Miguel began undressing you while you pulled his clothes off in return.

“No sabes cuanto te e necesitado mi amor. (you don't know how much i've needed you my love.)” he said as left a trail of kisses down your neck.

“Callate y hazme el amor Miguel.(shut up and make love to me.”you said breathlessly as he flipped you over on the kitchen floor placing his tip at your entrance.

Slipping into you slowly he clenched his jaw at the feeling of your tightness around him. Oh how he missed this feeling.

Gasping you tried to adjust to his size again , no matter how many times you’d had sex in the past it's like this man got bigger and bigger every time.

Hearing your soft moans encouraged Miguel to keep going until he was fully buried in you, “dios mio.” was all he could manage to say as he rested his head in the crook of your neck.

“Miguel-” you moaned, signaling him to move.

“ I   know baby  I   know.” he said as he pulled himself out completely before thrusting back in and finding his pace making you arch your back in the process.

Slowly he began building up his speed until all he could hear was the beautiful sound of your voice moaning his name endlessly.

This was his heaven.

Watching you as your face contorted in full euphoria at the pleasure he was giving you.

Taking your hand in his he gave it a squeeze that you returned as you used your other hand to pull him in for a breathless kiss.

“Miguel ya” you said, getting closer to your climax.

“Wait for me mami i'm almost there.” he said as he sped up making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

This man would be the end of you.

By this point you were a moaning mess holding on to the last strands of sanity you had left waiting for Miguel.

Once you felt Miguel twitch inside of you it was clear he was close, you pulled him close and began kissing your way up to his ear.

“Miguel baby, I need you hazme tuya mi amor.” you moaned, and with that you felt his fangs dig into your shoulder as he filled you with his seed allowing you to cum with him.

You could've passed out from the immense amount of pleasure  you were feeling, or the reaction to his spider venom,  but missing a moment of this was not an option.

After Miguel recovered he realized what he’d done, “Shit, I'm sorry  I   didn’t think-” he said, beginning to slightly panic.

He’d always been able to control himself in bed.

Smiling, you pulled him in for another kiss, “It’s okay,  I   liked it.” you said earning yourself a look of surprise from him.

Laying his head back down on your chest you sighed in content.

“Eres la luz de mi vida, el sol para mi luna. (you are the light of my life, the sun to my moon.)” he said smiling.

Laughing you massaged the back of his neck as you ran your hands through his hair.

“ The light of your life would like to get off this hard floor.” you said as you wiggled to ease the soreness of your back.

Miguel wasted no time in picking you up and taking you to the bedroom.

“ This looks like a much more suitable place to spend the week.” he said, laying you down gently.

“Week? Isn't there a canon event that needs your rescuing?” you asked, to tell the truth your heart was overjoyed at the thought of him staying here with you.

“You, you're my cannon event and it's gonna take all of me to rescue you.” he said as he kissed your forehead.

“My hero.” you said as you laid your head on his chest admiring his relaxed features.

“Te amo mi cielo.” he whispered.

“Y yo a ti cariño.” you said, closing your eyes as you fell asleep alongside the love of your life.

The road to forever looked a lot brighter now

tagslist: @cooch1ecruncher​    @hoseokslefteyebrow​  @marcswife21 @whatdudtheysay​  @foxglove-spidey​  @smyfmj​  @mushy-mushroom04​   @flooftoof  @aepinkoutsold @scoliobean @elliaze

[zvdvdlvr]

Could you please write an imagine based on the episode where Greg House gives a lecture about the three cases and he's one of them (where we first see Stacy).

Reader is one of the students there, gives the correct answers, therefore grabs his attention and he offers a job and they end up dating

Thanks in advance!

chasing you ✩ gregory house

“What color is your pee?”

You watched House interrogate one of the few students that had been giving input on his three stories.

“Yellow,” she replied with a sharp tone.

“And what color is your blood?”

“Red.”

House nodded. “Yes. And what colors did I use to make this tea color?”

The female student stammers as she replies with “red, yellow, and brown.”

The man clicks his tongue. “And brown. How do we get the brown color?”

“Waste-“

“Thank means the kidneys are shutting down,” House cut in. “Why?”

“Could be damage done by the self injection. He has no history of trauma.

“Treatment?”

House’s rapidfire questions had rattled the woman, but she stiller answered. “Heat and rest-“

“Other possible causes?”

“Infection.”

House nodded. “Start him on antibiotics. What else?”

Silence filled the room. House looked around, expecting an answer. “Come on! What is it?”

“I-I don’t know,” the student admits. She looks away.

House sighs and walks down the steps. The paper with the tea color crumpled in his hand.

“You know, it’s hard to think with you in our faces,” starts the annoying student right up front.

“Yeah?” House scoffs. “You think it’s gonna be any easier with a real patient really dying?”

The guy looked down. Once again, silence reigned over the room as House prepared himself to speak. Until… you opened your mouth.

“The unknown factor would be muscle death.”

House looks up. Near the back of the auditorium by the window on the far left. A student House originally thought was uninterested. Sure, House had seen you around the hospital- practically every wide-eyed intern or student had met the witty man but he had never spoken to you.

Which was odd considering he took a little joy in making the interns and students squirm- especially the pretty ones. House was surprised he’d never even caught your name.

When House’s mouth opened and closed twice, you resumed carefully. “The dying muscle leaks myoglobin which is toxic to the kidneys. There’s your brown, Doctor.”

“Brilliant,” House murmured. He eyed you carefully as he went on. “MRI the leg. See what’s killing it.”

The Heath Ledger dupe spoke up again. “Why is the girl getting the MRI?”

“Because the neck skan revealed nothing and her doctor’s way more obsessive than she thinks she is.”

Heath tilted his head. “But you said the guy needed the MRI.”

“Because the mysteriously smart girl over there said muscle death. Not one of you came up with that. Not one of this guy’s doctors came up with it either,” he replied harshly. “They gave him bed rest and antibiotics- just like you guys would’ve.”

“Does he get better?” The female student from before asked.

House clicks his tongue. “No.”

“How long-“

“Three days.” He looks around the room, stalling when he made eye contact with you. “It is in the nature of medicine that you’re going to screw up. You are going to kill someone. If you can’t handle that reality, pick a new profession. Or finish medical school and teach.”

The female student from before spoke up. “It took three days for them to figure out about the muscle death?”

House shook his head. After heaving a sigh he answers “No, it took three days for the patient to suggest muscle death.”

“What caused the muscle pain?” You asked. “Was it- was it a clot?”

House nodded. “Don’t steal my thunder, young padawan. But… yes. A clotted aneurysm lead to an infarction in the patient’s leg.”

You nodded as House examined you intently as he went on. “After the surgery to remove the clot, the patient went in to wide complex tachycardia… The patient was technically dead for over a minute.”

“Do you think he was dead? Do you think those experiences were real?”

Every head in the room turned to the back. There stood James Wilson, leaning on the door. He looked knowingly at House, like he knew something everyone didn’t.

“Define real,” House shot back. “They were re experiences… What they meant- personally, I choose to believe that the white light people sometimes see, visions this patient saw… They’re all just chemical reactions that happen when the brain shuts down.”

“You ‘choose’ to believe that?” You ask curiously.

House’s eyes dart back over to you. “There’s no conclusive science. My choice has no practical relevance to my life,” he replies. As he starts to pace slowly around the front of the room, he proceeds. “I choose the outcome I find more comforting.”

“You find it comforting to believe that this is it?” Wilson asks accusingly.

House blinks. “I find it more comforting to believe that this isn’t simply a test.”

Everyone sat, listening closely to House’s every word. No other sounds could be heard despite House’s cane movement. He explained how, once the patient was put into a medically induced coma, his trusted proxy had made the decision to remove the dead muscle from his leg.

“Because of the extent of the muscle removed, the utility of the patient’s leg was severely compromised,” he told everyone slowly. “Because of the time delay in making the diagnosis, the patient continues to suffer chronic pain.” He tilted his head up to look at the crowd in front of him and then dropped his head to look at his hands.

“She had no right to do that,” piped up a different female student.

Heath Ledger look-alike scoffed. “She had the proxy.”

The woman argued back, “She knew he didn’t want the surgery!”

“Well, she saved his life,” Heath Ledger responded.

“We don’t know that,” the guy in the front row cut in. “Maybe he would’ve been fine.”

“Still, it’s the patient’s call!”

Heath Ledger shrugged. “Patient’s an idiot.”

“They usually are,” House agreed. “Do you have a buzzer? What time does this class end?”

This time, a mew voice answered House’s question. “20 minutes ago.”

For a moment, House looked at Cuddy with an unreadable expression. Then he clicked his tongue and stood up. “I’m not doing this again,” he informed Cuddy. “And this guy is not the world’s greatest dad- not even ranked. Who the hell let’s their kids play with lead based paint? That’s why he’s always sick. Find him some plastic cups and the class is all his again,” he told Cuddy, placing the yellow hand-painted mug in her hands. He started to walk out, but paused and hobbled back to point his cane directly at you. “Except you. Come with me.”

With haste, you gathered you books and writing utensils and shoved them into your bag. As you followed the limping man out of the classroom, you felt everyone’s eyes on you.

“I have a job for you if you want it,” House tell you finally, stopping in front of a door. “It’s tough, people lie to you every day, and we don’t even have decent coffee.”

You look from him to the door that reads ‘Gregory House M.D. - Head of Diagnostic Medicine’. “I have literally spoken to you three times. How do you know I won’t accept the job, wait until you trust me, and then steal all your money and leave?”

House paused. “Good question. Will you accept the job, wait until I trust you, and then steal all my money and leave?”

“Probably not,” you reply.

“Great!” House exclaims. “You’re hired.”

Over the course of the next few month, you had clicked immediately with Chase. You spoke passionately about different types of literature with Cameron, and joked with Foreman about anything and everything.

Your relationship with House was complicated to say the least. During your first official case, House insisted he followed you everywhere. You more than understood his hesitance to let you do tests completely on your own. But when he limped around, tracking you like a damn dog… you wondered why he still hadn’t trusted you enough.

To your fortune, Wilson had cornered you in the cafeteria as you were getting lunch. “We need to talk,” he had said before plopping down next to you.

You paused, looking up from your cafeteria spaghetti. “About what?”

“House.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

Wilson looked at you with an expectant expression. “Because I want to know what you said. Duh.”

“I think I’m missing something,” you told him. “What was I supposed to say to him? What was he supposed to say to me?”

Wilson dropped his silverware. “Are you serious? He didn’t- You don’t- What?”

“I’m lost here, Wilson,” you tell him.

Wilson looks around suspiciously before licking his lips. “So… you know how the medical gala is coming up?”

Nodding, you shove a forkful of noodles in your mouth. “Chase won’t shut up about seeing ‘all the hot babes in tight dresses’ or something,” you inform Wilson.

After guffawing over your imitation of Chase’s accent, he gets serious. “It’s in a week. Are you sure he hasn’t talked to you?”

You throw your hands up and sigh. “Just spit it out already, Wilson. I feel like a high schooler trying to get my friends tell me who they have a cute little crush on. Tell me or I’m gonna pop a blood vessel!”

Wilson looks away. “I can’t. I’m scared of House.”

With that, he picks up his tray and goes to leave.

“Bye bye, Willie!” You call.

James turns and glares at you before walking out of the room. You chuckle and attempt to finish your meal before your beeper will inevitably go off.

You just start chowing down on the garlic bread (read: bread with butter and garlic) when you hear the dreaded beeping. You bite off a large chunk of the bread and dump your tray before reading the ‘MY OFFICE- EMERGENCY’ that was from House.

When you finally pushed open the door, you saw House facing the window outside.

“Is our patient with the living?” You ask, taking a step towards House.

House doesn’t turn around. “I need you to go to the winter gala thing with me.”

You stiffen up. Throughout your whole body, your muscles tighten as your freeze midstep. Your face drains of blood and your heart feels like it just dropped into your stomach and was dissolved by the acid. Bile had just started rising up your esophagus when House turns.

“Don’t look so excited,” he insists sarcastically. “But seriously. Why are you looking at me like I have a tumor growing out of my eyeball?”

“No,” you mutter raspily. “Take Cameron.”

House’s eyebrows furrow as you turn on your heel and start to leave.

“Why won’t you go with me?”

You gnaw deeply at your lip as you turn. To your surprise, House was standing- watching you leave without his cane in his hand. “Go with Cameron,” you say again. “I don’t- I’m- No. Just no.”

“Y/n, why-“

You practically run out the door before Greg can even say your name. He stands by his desk, staring intently at the ground where you just stood. “Hm,” he hums. He sighs and thinks about what to say to you next.

The next three days consist of House trying and failing to speak to you. To his own surprise, you have completely stopped talking about personal matters with him and have withdrawn any of your own opinions except for facts having to do with the patient.

House had just finished off another bottle of pills when Foreman barged into the room. “What did you say?”

House blinks. “Uhh… to who? Where? When?”

“To y/n, House. What did you say to y/n?”

“I told her that I needed her to go to the winter gala with me,” House answered truthfully. “Why? Has she said anything to you?”

Foreman flops down in the chair facing House. “Do you like her?”

“Well, I hired her, didn’t I?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it, House,” Foreman snaps. “Answer me. Do you like her?”

A moment of silence fills the air. House thinks back to the first time he interacted with you- how confidently you completely the puzzle that certified doctor’s couldn’t figure out. How you had matched House’s wit on your very first day. How you- despite being babysat- had completed every test and blood swab and every challenge House had put in your way. How your face often spoke before you did, how House unconsciously searched for you in a crowd, how House looked for your input after almost anything is said, how House wants your company.

“No,” he answers. “Yes. Maybe. Why?”

Foreman looks at House like he’s stupid. “Because she likes you! How have you not figured that out?!”

“Uh, maybe because of the fact that she seemed to want to projectile vomit all over me and then sprinted out of the room? Sorry, I was too focused on the horror in her eyes to consider the fact that y/n really wants that enemies to lovers trope in real life,” House rambled.

“She thinks you’re gonna make a fool out of her, House, and I think you are too,” Foreman answers. He stares at House, searching for information he won’t get. “But… you’re less abrasive when she’s around.”

“You’re acting like she’s your precious little baby sister about to be wed to an evil ogre in the woods,” Greg mutters.

Nodding, Foreman quirked his eyebrows. “I feel like I am.”

House looks at Foreman for a long moment. “Why did you come here to tell me this?”

Eric heaves out a sigh heavy enough to know down an elephant. “Because she wants you to mean it. Y/n wants you to want her. To show her that you want her.”

“I see.”

Foreman nodded. “Don’t tell her I conversed with the enemy.”

Greg scoffed. “As if she’d voluntarily talk to me.”

Eric’s face turned sympathetic. “Just talk to her. Show her this isn’t some whim to- I don’t know, win a bet against Cuddy. Show her you feel the same.”

It was the day of the gala when House found you testing a patient’s blood. You whispered lyrics to a song Greg didn’t know as he stealthily approached you.

“Y/n.”

Your breath caught in your throat in a weird choking noise as you leapt back. “Christ, House!”

“Sorry,” House said with a very unapologetic tone. “I want to talk to you.”

“About what?” You ask plainly, looking through the low power lens of the microscope.

House leans on the table as you adjust the stage. “About… the dance. Tonight.”

You adjust the fine adjustment knob slowly, clicking your tongue unconciously. “What do you have to tell me?”

Greg looks around the lab awkwardly. He silently tried to encourage himself, mentally recalling the nights before, thinking about what to say to you. “I want to formally ask you to go to the gala with me.”

You stand at full height, facing him directly. House held his breath. He was so close to you, he thought he felt your breath on his face. “I don’t want to go. With you, Cameron, Chase, or Foreman. I don’t want to go.”

“Why?” House asked immediately.

You shake your head. “I’m-These things never go well for me House. Besides, you could just go with Cameron. I know she’s dying to go with you.”

House watches you watch him. “I don’t want to go to Cameron. I want to go with you,” he admits lowly.

“And why do you want to go with me?”

House pauses to see your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips- so fast that he almost didn’t notice. “Because I don’t like her the way I like you.’’

You swallow. “How do you like me, House?”

“Like this,” he tells you before dropping his cane and grabbing your waist. Hearing no complaints from you, Greg pulls you close to him and brings his face close to yours. At this point, House swears his vision is blurred by how fast his heart his pumping. House’s hold on your waist is possessive, protective. He hesitates, hoping you won’t reject him now.

You- thankfully- understand the words House is trying to tell you through his eyes. You carefully let your hand cup the nape of House’s neck and pull his lips down to yours. A breathless moan escapes your lips as Greg pulls you flush against him.

House’s head- for once- is silent. And his leg doesn’t seem to hurt quite so bad with your hands on his body: feeling him like he’s only dreamt about before.

And then- when you do pull back- House keeps his grip on your waist as he looks you in the eyes. “I want to go to the gala with you. If you don’t have a dress, then we can just go home.”

Your flushed lips pull into a dazed smile. “How much cleavage do you want to see?”

House groans and lets his head fall back as his eyes close. “As long as I can take it off tonight and any other day I don’t care.”

“Is that- Are you- Are you hinting at commitment? Who are you and what have you done with Gregory House?”

House guffaws sarcastically. “Careful, there. I could get you fired.”

You just laugh. “Yeah, and have the others bicker like siblings and let patients almost die thrice before diagnosing them? I don’t think so.”

“You know, you have a pretty big ego for someone who hasn’t worked here for a full year, yet,” House chides.

Scoffing, you attempt to return to the blood you were looking at before House interrupted you. “First of all, you would know about egos. Second of all, I’m good. Cuddy has spoken to me… about other positions,” you tell him vaguely.

House is taken so off guard, his arms go limp. “What?”

“Nothing I accepted,” you answer, turning back to the microscope.

House just hums. “Good.”

You murmur a quiet ‘good’ in reply. “I know how to cure this guy,” you breathe quietly. With a growing smile, you take the slide off the stage and turn off the microscope before discarding the bio-waste.

House struggled to keep up with how fast you were walking, but your kiss had definitely left him chasing you- literally and figuratively.

[unicyclehippo]

ok so i submitted a story for a competition & didn't get far but i was pretty happy with it so imma post it here for y'all. pls enjoy!

YEAR OF THE WOLF

Blood and shampoo wash pink down the shower drain. My body aches, back hot with pain. I gotta stretch more, I think, before remembering what time of month it is.

I’m not stupid, I want that to be known up top.

Tired? Yes. A bit forgetful now and then? Certainly. Overly reliant on blind optimism? Of course. Who can afford for things to go wrong these days? But stupid? No. Not about this, anyway. I’ve known for almost a decade that I’m a werewolf. I just thought if I ignored it long enough it would stop, or at least stay low on the list of important things I had to deal with—somewhere between turning thirty and the world burning down around our ears.

Still, it manages to take me by surprise each month. I see the blood, feel the shift-pull-crack of bones and vitals, the wet throb of viscera and organs, as my body reshapes itself. The wolf and I share a space not big enough for two; something must give way.

I lose time daydreaming about it. Transforming. My only plan for the day is work, maybe video games later, cooking dinner. I could call in sick. I could clear away the bathmat and towels and fall to my hands and knees and change into something bloody and terrible and wonderful, I could lay myself down on the soft carpet in the sunrays, decadent, I could leap from my balcony, powerful, and lope away into the bush off the track to explore the silver-blue of the leaves and the cathedral termite mounds, I could—

The shower pipes groan, rattle, and spit freezing water down onto me.

I don’t transform.

I towel off. The mirror shows me a human with the same soft features as ever. Shampoo suds clinging to my shoulders. Hair cut short and plastered down on chalk-white skin paler than usual. The doctor warned me low iron was a side-effect of transformation but I look myself over for another cause. Lift my arms, twist to check my back. There’s a pimple or two where my binder digs in but no injuries. I promise the doctor in my head I’ll bring it up at our next appointment.

My doctor is a careful woman, dedicated and precise. She sits primly and dresses well—her blouse is fashionable, flowery, her trousers professional and practical. She keeps notes in a leatherbound book and her thoughts securely behind her eyes. She asked me to keep track of any changes Inoticed. I pull out a crumpled receipt where I’d scrawled some notes.

tired

hungry

headaches

more dreams than usual

tired—oh I already wrote that down. still true

irritated way more by stuff?

jaw hurts?

‘Alright,’ she says, writing it down on her page about me.

I sit hunched opposite her, then fix my posture, then let my shoulders droop again, conscious of being too broad, too big. In the time it takes for her to commit a few brief notes to paper, I’m struggling not to get distracted by the lights and their electric buzz—the popping stop and start as the filaments crackle in the bulbs. My eyes wander over neat stacks of paperwork, a penholder with all the pens pointed in the same direction.

‘We’re going to order a blood test. You’re right, the fatigue and headaches could be an indicator of iron deficiency.’

‘Okay.’

‘Do you know if there’s a history?’

‘Of…iron deficiency?’

She smiles. ‘Of lycanthropy.’

The question makes my head spin. There’s been some excitement about there being some genetic predisposition to lycanthropy (unconfirmed), which half my friends were leery of, seeing the research as another way for hunters to exterminate us, and half took to romantic spirals, daydreaming about their ancestors being just like them. But the doc is asking about, like, my parents and grandparents, and it makes me laugh.

‘No. No way.’ I think harder. Is it possible? My maternal grandparents, definitely not. But my dad’s parents…I don’t know that well. ‘I could ask, maybe.’

After the three haphazard sessions we’ve had stretching across eleven months, which chiefly feature my repeated and sustained reluctance to talk, she indicates her doubt with a quiet raised brow.

It’s fair. I don’t tend to do things I don’t want to do, even if they’re important. Sometimes, especially if they’re important.

At the end of our fifteen-minute session, she walks me to the door and beneath the stench of eucalyptus-scented cleaner that makes my nose itch and head ache, I catch a whiff of her cologne. Wood pine and wild.

I think about it all day.

Has she helped me because she’s like me? The thought races ahead of me, tempting; I sprint after it. I wonder what she wears at home. Does she google boxers for bed because they seem so comfortable? Does she veer at the last moment to Boyfriend shorts! Now in satin – for HER! Or does she kick the world off at the front door next to her shoes and just…exist. Is she like me? Just a person who does things? Or is she a woman who does things? Or a person who does woman things or a woman who does womanly things or a woman who does things knowing they’re not womanly and caring or not caring? Does she splinter the cage that would contain her and let the hungry animal of her body carry her to meat and sleep and hunting and to the warmth of her partner at rest?

Is she like me?

As a kid, I wanted to take karate. My brother wanted to sing. Somehow, I ended up in the music class. It was in a demountable that creaked, off-key, with every step and stunk of the creek next door. The singing teacher had a red round face and told me not to sing too loud—I was practicing to be part of the choir, I should be part of the group. That group was made up entirely of nervous and near-silent girls who shivered with the desire above all else not to stand out. (I learned that part well.)

On the other side of school, my brother stood in karate class with a teacher who ignored him and older boys who picked on him—he was short back then, with baby fat still on his cheeks, and had a close relationship with boredom and distraction that came from being smarter than most.

Once we figured out the joke being played on us, our places switched, we made a pact to teach each other what we learned. It didn’t last. Within three lessons, I spent more time on the walk to the classroom than in class; I dawdled in the fields and by the creek, tracking beetles and digging for dinosaur bones in the mud. When I did arrive, it was twenty-five minutes late with dirt under my nails and finally the teacher told me not to show up. My brother took a faster approach and called the teacher a moron. Mum had to pick him up early from class and neither of us learned very much.

My gran lives hours away and I never got the impression she liked me much. I think about sitting in her drawing room, the sticky-sugar smell from bottles of fancy port on the shelf, and her sitting opposite, eyes hawklike, mouth pursed and tongue sharp. I don’t visit her. I think about asking my dad instead and, while he does like me, he doesn’t like werewolves and I’m not ready to risk exile.

I get my blood drawn. The doctor prescribes iron pills and congratulates me on my teeth coming in.

My mother doesn’t like my sharp teeth or short hair or the way I sit. I want to tell her I didn’t do anything to my teeth; that if anyone is to blame for the handsome jut of my canines, the neat, careful way they can tear flesh from bone, it’s her. She made me. But saying stuff like that only opens up the room for more questions.

‘Do you like it? Looking like that?’

It will hurt her if I say yes. When you are a daughter, wanting to change means you don’t want to become your mother, which means you don’t love her.

I can’t say no.

The wolf stirs. It wants me to say yes. It loves fiercely and loves me most of all. But it isn’t the one who has to live here—work, be a daughter, a sister. It won’t be the one who has to listen to my mother tell me to be sure before I tell anyone else because there’s no going back and people will hate me for it, just for being, and that she can’t support me doing that to myself, that it’s against the god she’s never thought twice about, and has someone talked me into it?

I’m not ready for that.

‘It’s just teeth,’ I say.

She shakes her head but doesn’t ask any more questions. I think she’s scared I’ll tell her the truth.

am i a coward?

My friend Luna takes a long while to answer.

While I wait, I wash the dishes I’ve been “soaking” for three days; the kitchen smells of dish soap when I’m done and the world is a little cleaner. Outside, my balcony is drenched in sunlight. I make my coffee and sit out there, turning my nose to the wind. Somewhere close by, someone is cooking chicken loaded up with paprika. It’s more accurate to say they’re burning chicken. Next door, my neighbour digs through the rich dirt of their garden and plants rosemary and lavender.

My phone lights up.

No, she says. Then, Why do you ask?

the whole werewolf thing. i won’t transform, wont tell my family.

This reply is much faster. Definitely not.

i feel like one

First of all, you transform when it’s right & as much or little as you want & that changes from person to person. Second, being safe is not cowardly.

yeah

Do you want to tell them?

The coffee is gorgeously strong. After a few gulps, I feel like someone has brushed the cobwebs out of my head.

it’s like. there’s this version of me in their heads that isn’t real yknow. like im not a person im a cloud in person shape & sometimes they get a glimpse of my hand or whatever. & its safe inside the cloud its harder to hit me but . they cant see me

Mm

sorry i know this is teenager shit

In the distance, a fire alarm starts to blare.

No it’s good. I get it, obviously. And you know my parents were awful when I told them but we go running every month now. The question isn’t “am I a coward”. The question is, are you prepared to confront that version of yourself in their heads? Are you ready for it to change?

i wish i knew. how it would change i mean. bc i feel like if i knew for Sure that they would take it badly then that’s one thing & i could deal w that. & if i knew theyd be fine w it i could deal with That but. i don’t know. & its freaking me out. but it’s also like…ok i don’t live w them, i’ve got a job, idont rely on them for anything. what real bad consequences could there be?

Dots pop up at the bottom of the screen. They disappear after a minute, then reappear, as Luna takes her time to answer. Finally, she says,

By announcing the real version of yourself, you open yourself up to vulnerability. Things that didn’t bother you before will feel uncomfortable or hurt because it touches you. And when you change the way that you exist in the eyes of people who are supposed to love you unconditionally, you invite the possibility that they will reveal the love was in fact conditional & not for you, that you somehow failed to live up to the person they imagined you to be

mate i’m already scraping the bottom lol

You’re wonderful, Luna says, because she can tell when a joke isn’t really a joke. Her worst trait. If they can’t see that, it doesn’t mean it’s not true.

yeah

You don’t have to tell everyone. You could pick whoever would take it best & get someone on your side. When I take too long to answer, Luna sends a string of photos—her dogs, her family in matching hiking shirts, the view of the nearly full moonon her side of the world. I’m on your side, she says. Always. Let me know how it goes.

The full moon burns, beckons. We are both gloriously awake this time. I have never been more awake. The sky is a black lake and when it rains we taste space and stars and smog. The stairs are slick with the rain. On all fours we are sure, quick, eager! The grass is waiting for us! Splendid! Everything is incandescent in silver, including me. The grass—dew-wet, green scent full in our nose—invites us to roll in it, sticks its seedlings to our fur, tagalongs on our adventure. We run! Smell everything! ticklegrass wetmoss possum pee BUG rough brick mud SPIKY plant big tree lavender dog smell road gutter old leaves bird feathers vinegar shARP on my tongue bag crinkles between our teeth

The days’ heat still smoulders on the surface of the road. We are standing in the centre of it, massive, when a car crests the hill. It stops, engine rumbling and blue-glare lights illuminating us. It waits for us to cross the road before driving on. The driver stares from their seat. In one easy jump, we clear the fence and disappear.

Three more streets and the road ends. The world is huge, bigger than I could have imagined. There’s dirt here! dirt mud rocks beetles scuffling under the leaves koala musk leads to claw marks at the base of trees.

The wolf likes it when I’m awake. It wants to show me the world. Look, its questing nose says, look what you miss out on when you sleep.

It takes us to a termite mound and we listen to them sing.

We stay out all night, trekking through the pocket of national park. I am the biggest thing in the forest. Nothing frightens me. We find a creek filled with every fascination the world has to offer. Ten thousand wet stones, bottle caps, an ill-tempered fish.

When the sun rises, I am sore and covered in blood. I call my brother to pick me up. I stand by the edge of the park to wait for him; at the bottom of the hill, the highway stretches out like a grey branch, cars buzzing along it like bugs. A firefly splits off from it, flying towards me.

The yellow of the headlights cuts through the trees. Inside the car, my brother jumps when he sees me and the light reflecting off my eyes. The wolf is still awake and we move fast and strong to the passenger side door.

He knows.

I can tell. Smell it on him, see it in his uneasy posture. He knows and still I can’t say it. It feels like I’ve swallowed a bird whole, alive. It trembles, stuck in my throat. When I think about talking it pecks at my tongue and if I open my mouth, if I try to explain, he will see my bloody tongue and the bird and he’ll see me all wrong, all the ugly brutish parts of me I’d like to keep hidden, if I can.

The wolf is still awake. It isn’t scared; it is massive and powerful, it can bite through anything, it can run forever without getting tired. We can. And if there is ever a time to talk to my brother, to let him know who I am, it is now.

I do not want him to think I am a bloody-mouthed girl.

I want him to know I am not a coward. I am myself, a werewolf, alive and finally happy for it.

The wolf yawns. I catch a glimpse of my teeth in the mirror, sharp.

‘Hey.’ Of all the ways to break a very tense silence, it’s not the worst. ‘Thank you. For picking me up.’

He risks a look at me, away from the road. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’

A muscle tics in his cheek as he chews on silence. He’s upset that I won’t say more. So am I. I want to. The bird is in the way. I have always had to trick myself into talking; it is never easy, not in doctor’s office, not in my parents’ home, not in the forest, or my brother’s car.

We slow. Ahead, the traffic lights paint the dashboard red. The car shivers around us, idling. I can feel it shake through my bare feet, dirty and scratched up from the rocks, pressed to the rubber floor mats.

The first word comes out like a pulled tooth.

‘I—need to say.’ He glances my way. I think, briefly, about jumping out the window but the light turns green so I can’t. I have to talk instead. ‘I’m a werewolf.’

He drives. I realise he must have been waiting to talk, really talk, because this is the first time I’ve been in his car without music playing.

‘I think the proper term is lycanthrope,’ he says, finally.

‘Dude.’

‘Sorry. Just, medically speaking...’ He shakes his head. Drums his fingers against the wheel. ‘How long?’

‘I dunno.’ I do. A decade of knowing and doing nothing about it. Almost a year of thinking very hard about it and doing slightly more.

He knows me better than my doctor; both his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, entirely unconvinced.

‘I’m still me,’ I tell him, because that’s what everyone says in books and movies. I guess it’s what you’re supposed to say. What I want to say is that I’m more me than ever. What I want him to say is thank you, and I’m his favourite person, and that he understands how hard it was for me to share but he’s proud of me. But I would have to ask for that and the bird in my throat won’t budge.

‘Okay. Wow. So… Are you going to move? Change your name? Are you going to get claws? A tail?’

‘Okay, never ask me that again.’ He laughs. ‘And no. I don’t think so. I kind of like that it’s not super obvious. It’s no-ones business but mine.’

‘And mine now.’ I think he’s smiling, a little. ‘Why did you tell me? If you don’t want anyone to know?’

I wish I was still a wolf. If I were a wolf, I would howl and people would understand. The tenor, the tremble, the shivering cadence. There would be no need for picking the right words, no eye contact, no consequences for an ill-timed joke, no shame for feeling everything so big and weird, like there’s a forest in my chest and a songbird choir blocking up my throat. My hands itch as the claws retract under my skin and I fight to keep from scratching, fidgeting. I turn to stare out the window.

To his reflection in the glass, I say, ‘I want you to like me.’

‘Of course I like you—’

‘I’m louder like this,’ I whisper. He looks unconvinced, which is fair. I’m still hiding. ‘Messy. Bigger and stubborn and hairier and angrier. It’s not the wolf. I’m like that too. I wanna be like that. Real. I’m so—I’m so tired. All the time. I don’t want to pretend anymore. I want to be me and I want you to like me as me.’

My back aches as everything in me crunches back into place. The wolf is asleep and it has left me alone with my words and my brother.

‘I really love you,’ he tells me as he pulls up outside my house. He puts his hand warm on mine. He doesn’t flinch at the blood. He hugs me close. Plucks a leaf from my hair.

My brother offers to come with me to tell our parents. It probably would have been smart but I’m still wary. If it goes bad…I don’t want him to see that.

‘How did it happen?’ my mother asks when I’m done, like it’s something you can catch.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of lying.

Do you remember my uni friend? Verne? Well he’s part of a pack and if he brings in three new werewolves over three months, and they each bring in three new werewolves, he gets a bonus. Why? Are you interested in this exciting new life opportunity?

I can’t joke about it yet. Worst outcome, she thinks I’m serious about it being a some kind of cult. Less worse but still bad outcome, she thinks I’m being unserious about the whole thing. Nevermind that I have thought about it every day for ten years, this inevitable confrontation, this moment where I have to explain myself, defend my existence, back up my claims with proof and research like it’s my thesis. I tell her,

‘It just made sense.’

She likes that less than she would have if I’d joked about it, gets all stiff and pinched.

‘It doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t understand where this is coming from—you’re human. You’re not –‘ She shakes her head. ‘Maybe if you left the house more often. These things you’re imagining about yourself, if you were around more people…you’re not like that. You’re lovely,’ she insists. ‘You’re not that.’

It should hurt to hear. It probably does, in a way I’ll feel five years down the line, and I’ll wish that I had bit back, told her that just because she thinks there’s something wrong with me doesn’t make it true.

My dad hasn’t said anything.

When I look at him, he’s staring down at his plate. He eats everything on it, even the tomatoes he usually tries to hide under the broccoli stems. Then he stands, puts it in the dishwasher, and walks away.

‘It’ll pass,’ my mother tells me. ‘You’ll come to your senses. This won’t last—don’t do anything permanent. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.’

Don’t give in.

Don’t transform.

Don’t smile wide enough to show your teeth.

Don’t tell anyone else.

I realise I’ve been trying my hardest not to do anything, like being nothing would be preferable to being me. When did I get the idea that to starve would be better than anyone seeing me hungry?

‘I don’t want to hide anymore.’

‘But it’s no-one’s business,’ she insists. ‘I don’t understand why anyone needs to know, I mean, I don’t go around telling people I’m human.’

The words sound different coming from her mouth but they’re the same.

It’s no-ones business but mine. That’s what I told my brother and I thought I meant it but now I think I was still scared. Biting off bits of myself before anyone pulled out the silverware and cut it from me.

There’s a bird in my throat and the little bastard is choking me. It’s not fair. I don’t want to die without saying what I mean for once.

I bite down on it, blood between my teeth.

‘It’s not the same thing,’ I snap. There’s a gorgeous growl to my words I’ve never heard before. No one told me that would happen. I love it. I love the sound of my voice. ‘No one tries to kill you because you’re human.’

‘Exactly!’

When I stand up fast, chair scraping against the floor, she freezes. Caught between telling me to pick up the chair first and not knowing how to talk to a monster in her daughter’s skin.

It hadn’t occurred to me that telling the truth wouldn’t change just me.

Staring back at my mother, I find I don’t much like the woman I see. If that’s what awaited me, I’m glad to have changed. The world is huge and beautiful and painful and I am kinder, stronger, hardier for it.

I pick up my bag from the floor.

‘I’m the same person, it’s just now you know I’m a werewolf. When we went out for lunch last week? Werewolf. When I got you groceries when you were sick? Werewolf. Every birthday, holiday, every vacation we’ve had since I was nineteen? Werewolf.’

She looks sick. Puts a hand on the counter to steady herself.

When I get home, I’m going to curl up in my closet for a week. The bird is going to come back any second now with backup. Eagles, this time. ‘I’ve had a really long time to think about this and you haven’t so I’m - I’ll give you time. But you should know that I’m happy and healthy and safe. All the things you said you wanted for me.’

As I leave her house, maybe for the last time, I hope she’ll call. I don’t know if she will.

I have been sleeping better and dreaming more. In my dreams, I am always the same. I have a wolf head, with sharp teeth and keen eyes. I sing with a powerful voice that has unsettled for centuries. I cannot see my pack but I can hear them out there, howling. My body is the same; the only difference are the claw marks across my flat chest, red and raw and careful. I am not dead, only transformed.

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter one

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 2,9k

❱ summary: the chaotic mess of playing monopoly drunk with your best friends

❱ warnings: alcohol

❱ an: the first chapter.. excited for you to read this! This has been heavily edited from my ao3 post soo have fun <3

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER ONE: MONOPOLY

"Oh, would you look at that; you landed on my street. Again."

"What? No fucking way."

"Legolas"

"Gimli"

"Blondie, if I don't see my money in ten seconds I'm cutting your hair while you have your beauty sleep."

"No, you wouldn't dare!"

Across from Legolas, Gimli just flashed him a toothy grin, so wide and full of mischief, before leaning over the multitude of cards in front of him with a challenging tip of his head.

"Try me."

"Fine." Legolas drummed his fingers on the table, breaking the staring contest and waving it off like it had never bothered him. "Don't drag it out any further, Gimli, tell me what I owe you, and let me go my way."

For a moment Gimli pretended he had to look for them, but everyone at the table had noticed how his fingers had twitched for the green card as soon as Legolas had rolled the dice.

"You ended up on Oxford Street, which normally would've only cost you $26, but since I have not one, not two, but three houses, you now owe me a wonderful 900!"

And as in previous rounds, Legolas now quite unemotionally pulled two orange paper bills from his carefully sorted, rather tall, stack and received an already slightly worn 100 in exchange, which he accepted with a bitter grumble.

This exchange had happened so many times this evening that you now only rolled your eyes with a smile at the banter, sipping on your bottle of beer to avoid being drawn into the discussion in the first place.

The rivalry between Legolas and Gimli, playful in its purest form and with not an ounce of real bad blood, had become a permanent part of your life after you befriended the two of them.

Although it had slightly thrown you off at first how they went from harmless conversation to competition in seconds, you couldn't imagine your life without it.

In such a fast-paced modern world as this, you sometimes found it hard to hold on to friendships and avoid losing your grip in the swift whirl of time; in the case of many friendships that were strong at the time, you couldn't even remember if there had been a real goodbye, or if they had simply... disappeared - left behind or run ahead, who knew?

With Legolas and Gimli, however, it was different.

You met both of them on the first day of college, had run into both of them, literally, when you tried to get to your first class on time.

A class with a professor you'd only heard bad things about Visitor's Day. The hushed whispers of scared students, their eyes telling you more than what they actually dared to say on campus.

You were close to being punctual, wouldn't it have been for Legolas and Gimli. The duo stood in front of the closed lecture door, simply staring through the tiny window and looking like they would rather perish than actually open it.

Their looks of fear mirrored yours and it was clear that all three of you had heard the stories of students getting their heads ripped of by Professor Sauron. That man had strong feelings about tardiness– and it was only your first day.

You of course rushed to apologize, babbling that you hadn't seen Gimli, and no, it wasn't because of his size but rather due to your lack of attention, and please could they stay on your side when you go into the hell of public humiliation?

By some wonder the Professor had his back turned to the auditorium to fill the blackboard with the required reading list, as you snuck along the stairs and miraculously dropped into the last three empty seats without getting caught.

And when you had breathed a sigh of relief, the brunette who sat on your right passed you the attendance list he had kept with him a little while longer, as if he had suspected that someone else would be late.

That's how you met Aragorn. The ruggedly handsome brunette added to your trio and was conveniently organized enough to lend you and Gimli a pen for the first week.

From day one, you formed an inseparable unit, whether on campus, in the numerous bars you frequented, or in the parks where you often spent your free time - rarely were any of you seen without the others and you would never hear the others utter one single bad word about the other.

You practically did everything together, from classes, many of which you shared – often to the annoyance of professors and fellow students due to the vibrant and occasionally noisy atmosphere you created– to lunches lounging under the campus's shady trees, with Aragorn reading poems from his literature class, and you occupied with braiding Gimli's long-grown beard while Legolas dozed in the longing stares of bypassers, gossiping and flirting.

On weekdays before exams, you either barricaded yourselves in your tiny dorm room, for it was the closest to the library, quizzing each other up and down the subjects, writing flashcards, most of which you wrote, to give to Legolas and Gimli afterward, and after exams, you forced your way into bar after bar, leaving your marks in benches and stools, squeezing into cramped photo booths in brightly lit clubs.

The first trimester passed swiftly, much like the initial semesters of the second, which you were presently struggling to handle.

It was the college life that everyone probably dreamed of, that every movie romanticized, and even you sometimes couldn't believe how perfect everything was.

Certainly, not every exam resulted in a perfect score and not every day was adorned with rose-colored glasses of happiness perched on your nose.

Yet, be it a poorly performed test, a date lacking sparks, or a random low point, your boys stood steadfastly by your side, offering unwavering support.

Today was no different.

The day had started with you waking to the sun and not your alarm clock and getting your ass handed by Professor Sauron.

It continued with some pretty demotivating feedback on an essay you'd worked many late nights by your Herbology Professor Baggins.

He did offer you a pat on the back that probably meant to cheer you up but felt condescending considering the amount of red ink staining the essay you'd crumbled in sweaty hands.

Adding that to Professor Sauron's embarrassment of you in front of the entire class sank your already low spirits to the basement.

Not even Aragorn's consoling hand, which remained steadfastly by your side throughout the day, guiding you from one class to the next, mumbling soft words and trying to cheer you up with soft kisses to your forehead, could lift you out of this emotional abyss.

How you survived that day was a mystery but after eight hours of you pouring out bad energy like radioactive waves, Legolas must've had enough of your moping and the grim expressions you fired at anyone who shouldered you in the hallway.

With a determined, "We're going to my place," the blonde had put his pep talk plan consisting of a trip to the liquor section of the supermarket and an order from the delivery guy into action.

It was this very plan that had gotten you into your current situation.

Slightly drunk at the kitchen table of the House of Oropherion.

A Monopoly board in front of your nose, around it several empty beer bottles. Pizza boxes scattered on the countertops and bags of all sorts of sweet stuff that Legolas had sweepingly pushed from the shelves into the shopping cart, blowing pink bubble gum bubbles.

The guy seriously had a snack-problem and a spending habit that surely made for a good intervention.

Within a few hours, you had turned the otherwise pristine and tidy kitchen into a battlefield that looked a lot like the one in your dorm.

Whereas the one in the dorm was used by twenty young women and many of their partners, and this one just by four.

Just as in the dorm, loud laughter echoed through the entire house, accompanied by your shared playlist.

Legolas had set it playing on the expensive stereo while preparing his snack bowl.

It was a chaotic mix, Legolas pop music, Gimlis folk metal and Aragorns indie rock while you sprinkled in a few classical songs or added whatever else was missing.

Quietly, you hummed along to the hottest chart song of this summer.

Your spirits had risen by now, thanks to your best friends, even if it did look like they were about to go for each other's throats over a denied exchange of a road.

"My Lady," Aragorn interrupted the rising argument between Legolas and Gimli and held out his hand with the dice to you, "Please stop this madness and continue the round so we can finish this eventually.. hopefully today"

Grinning, you accepted the dice, "I will do my best, my lord," while Gimli muttered into his beard, "Not my fault Barbie isn't giving me what's rightfully mine."

As expected, the idiots fell silent as soon as you gave the dice a quick shake in your closed hands and then tossed them across the table with a clatter.

Of course, in the face of eventual earnings, everyone immediately calculated where you would end up and who might rip off what little money was left in front of you.

Two threes.

And everyone groaned in annoyance.

Only you grinned as you dragged your silver dog figure across the Park Lane and Mayfair field decorated with a few of Legolas hotels, right over GO and landed on your own field.

Another round where you survived on the 200 notes from pulling over GO, anxious not to land on one of the hotel fields from the others.

Because, unlike the others, greedy little hoarders who acquired your properties, swindling you with meager donations, you possessed only the two modest brown streets, yielding little profit.

With each move of yours, the others hoped you would finally end up on one of their plots and finally be eliminated, but as if fate would have it, you seemed to be avoiding it just fine.

"And she lives another round," Aragorn raised his beer bottle in your direction and winked "Any bets on how many more you'll survive?"

You snorted as you shook the dice in your hand again. "You're not getting rid of me that fast."

The dice clattered across the board, two ones and loud rumbling from the boys, you moved to the community chest square laughing.

Reaching across the board, you grabbed the top card of the cards and dramatically pulled it up to your chest.

To your left, Legolas drummed his fingers impatiently on the table, and even though Aragorn has so far stayed away from the competition between Legolas and Gimli, he too now nodded his chin questioningly at the card.

At an almost agonizingly slow pace, you turned it over, keeping eye contact with your boys for a while, though, before looking down, skimming the printed text, and laughing out loud.

"What does it say?" Legolas inquired, trying to lean toward you, dark eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Geez, tell me it's a bad card."

"You can decide that for yourself, Gimli," chuckling, you held out your card in such a way that the three of them almost bumped heads, so fast were they bending to the center.

"You've got to be kidding me," Aragorn slumped back in his chair with a moan, and Gimli slammed his hands flat on his thighs, cursing a string of words that in their pure filthy form would make anyone else blush.

You were only spurred on by them, and laughter burst out of you, loud and full of glee.

"I'd like a hundred from each of you right now, it's my birthday after all," you smirked, holding out your hand.

Aragorn was the first to put a bill on it, and even Gimli, though he stressed that he would get it back before you ran out of laughter, handed over something from his well-guarded account.

"Laaas, what am I waiting for? A birthday song?" you asked.

Legolas raised a perfect eyebrow and slid you a bill looking so bored that you almost bought it, "You can wait a long time for a song."

"For the chance to hear your voice dedicate a song to me, I'd wait a thousand years," you sang, winking with a sugary smile on your lips.

"Or I'd just watch the recordings from last night's karaoke, I'd even get a love song from you as a gift," dramatically you grabbed your chest with both hands and threw your head back

"And wouldn't that be oh so romantic?"

"Please," he scoffed, "If I'd really tried you'd be on your knees in seconds. Babe, I have charm."

For a moment you manage to pulled yourself together, looking into Legolas' eyes, holding his challenging gaze from which you didn't know to interpret if he truly believed his statements himself.

Then you heard Gimli's dirty laugh.

The redhead hands hit the table so hard that several of the hotels flew in all directions, and with them your composure.

With a rather unfeminine snort, you threw yourself backward in your chair, your head craned back and your arms folded in front of your stomach; there was no saving you from the laughter that bubbled out of you like hot water on a stove.

"Your charm?" you gasped, trying to blink away the tears in your eyes.

Unsuccessfully, because when you saw Legolas stand up indignantly and toss his blond hair over his shoulder, the tears flew unstoppably down your cheeks.

Sure, you were aware of what a charming man Legolas could be; you were teasing, not blind.

It took nothing to perceive him for what he was, and that was a flawless beauty. That angelic face, long blond-gold hair flowing over his shoulder, and eyes ever so gentle, marked him a natural beauty and unfortunately, you couldn't deny that what came out of his mouth most of the time made most men and women's hearts swell.

You were friends with him, though, and the idea of being even remotely touched by his charm made you laugh beyond control.

And you heard all the bullshit the guy yapped about when there was no one around he wanted to impress.

"What?" Legolas asked, and in his voice, a challenge that, voiced by the beer, didn't bode well, "I don't want to sound too arrogant" –snickering from the three of you– "go fuck yourselves, I'm charming! I'm sure, oh I bet, that you would fall for it!"

And before you would have objected much, he took a big swig from his bottle and slid down from his chair.

Right in front of you.

Onto his knees.

It was the look of firm conviction in his eyes, the way he reached for your hand and gently held it like it was made of cracked glass against his chest, that made your laughter turn into a silly giggle.

Legolas, even though he was swaying a bit and his words were no longer flowing too loosely from his tongue, was a sight you wouldn't any time soon. "My darling friend, whose attention I do not deserve–"

"Now that's what I call true words," grunted Gimli, who had also leaned back in the meantime and received a punishing look from Legolas before the blond turned back to you.

"–whose attention I don't deserve and that yet has me blossoming, like the first flowers reaching out to the sun, for you are the light in my life. Everything that connects us tugs at my heart, it cries out for more and I'm afraid I can no longer remain silent about my feelings"

Ironically, at that very moment, he paused, seemed lost in thought and stroked the back of your hand with his thumb.

Not that it helped him really.

But you waited patiently nonetheless, letting Legolas continue to play the role of the poet.

He looked back at you from the far distance in which his gaze had become playfully entangled, and you saw the twitch of his lips, the sign of a cheeky grin he tried to keep down.

It didn't matter what words made him fight the grin, though, Legolas didn't get to say them.

Thanks to the music, which had faded into the background but still sounded through the sound system, as well as your group's silly fooling around and never-ending laughter, you hadn't heard the front door unlock, or the footsteps in the hallway.

It wasn't until an amused-sounding "Oh, am I interrupting?" rang out in a very familiar voice behind you that you became aware of the new presence in the room.

Immediately, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, the deep voice rolling over your entire body like sweet honey.

You heard Aragorn laugh, a murmured, "You've lost your girl, Las," and the blonde in front of you groaned as he struggled to his feet.

"Great, wow, I was literally so close to getting her around. Thank you so much, Ada," Legolas scoffed.

You followed his gaze, eyes falling onto the man casually leaning against the kitchen counter.

And your heart jumped inside your chest.

taglist: @mushroomemeralds @mssuguru @solartoge

[rrking]

Some General BG HCs

Me and my wifey often discuss Astarion things in real life, and there are a few that I thought I would share.

Spoiler warning⚠

Astarion

Random knowledge bank. Meeting your parents for the first time and your dad wants to talk about history? Ask Astarion, if he doesn't just know, he remembers.

Enjoys going to the library. Does not enjoy the rabble who also enjoy the library. You have to explain to him over and over about library cards and infrared scanners so he doesn't just nope out and steal the book. Also gets annoyed when books from his time are revised.

Don't want to touch the raw meat packaging? No worries, Astarion will lick it up for you. Imagine him leant against the kitchen counter sucking up the blood from that piece of paper at the bottom of the mince. (A wifey thought)

On the subject of blood, if you cut your finger in the house he will be licking that up for you with a leering grin. Dragging it out so he can watch how you roll your eyes at him.

Comes in late, as usual, but this time after taking out every fucking goose or pigeon in the local area. The council are unhappy. Astarion is ecstatic. Word of a bird plague is sweeping through the borough. You are not happy with Astarion. Astarion doesn't care about the council until they put your council tax up.

Glares out of the window at kids playing but won't admit they're kind of cute. Especially glarey when kids come to the door trick or treating. Bonus points if they're dressed as vampires... Maybe he'll compliment them. "Darlings, look at your adorable little capes! Does your mother know you lot are prancing around dressed like monsters?" Will absolutely deny any niceties when you look at him knowingly, a smirk appearing on your lips as you notice the bucket of sweets he's holding, still excited after giving the children far more than they needed. or asked for.

Moans and groans when you watch vampire films. "Darling, turn that nonsense off, would you? Were you curious about vampires, you have one right here."

Groans even more when you watch law and order style programs, particularly court ones. Bad memories. "And why did he not get the death sentence?!"

Serial social media meme stealer.

Always creeps up behind you when you are looking in the mirror, ready to scare you. Or shag you, you be the judge.

Gale

Want chippy but don't want to get up or wait for an order? Blink. Gale will blink there and back. What's faster than Uber Eats? Going via the Astral Plane.

100000% will make you a brew if you ask :) He turns up with your favourite mug and your drink exactly the way you like it.

The type of man to run you a hot bath ready when you get in from work or if you've had a hard day just because.

Definitely discovers Nivea for Men.

Remembers things like birthdays and anniversaries.

Sees shiny things and wonders if they're infused with the weave. Gazing through the jewellery shop window.

Suffers through Harry Potter at Christmas wondering where all the elegant wizards are.

Started a thing where you leave post it notes for one another with sweet nothings on. Today as you're walking past the calendar pinned to the kitchen wall, you spot a new post it note. This one is pink and bares Gale's graceful handwriting. It reads: "My most special one, everyday I wake up next to you I feel luckier than the last. Have a great day x" Such devoted notes leave you feeling warm inside.

Halsin

Prefers to buy 'living herbs' than ground jar ones because NATURE.

Is that person who goes past an adult shop and says loudly "let's go inside!"

Definitely gets stuck in garden chairs and the like due to being so massive. Don't get this man in a smart car.

Stands up at barbecues if the chair is too small. It probably is.

Literally has to be told to avoid the bear story to others because they will not understand but tells it anyway if he gets too drunk.

Actually finds it quite difficult to adapt to modern society almost more than Lae'zel.

If you live in the countryside, Halsin definitely finds it a little easier, but if you live in the city he is constantly asking questions. The thing that catches his eye today is a statue above the bank door - a lion with a key in his mouth. "Does that petrified displacer beast not wish to return to the wilderness?" "Halsin, that is a statue of a lion with a key in it's mouth." "...Oh. Why does it guard a key?" You look at him curiously, unsure of how to answer such an innocent question. "It's just HSBC's thing... I don't actually know."

Struggles to find clothes that actually fit.

Will share you a meme you tagged him in and never truly understand the new technology.

Totally enjoys long walks and feeding ducks. Eats all of the bread.

Tries to speak to the animals at the zoo. (Wifey)

Incosolably weeps at nature programs. Very confused when you try to explain that nature has to take it's course for them to film.

First thought upon seeing CGI animals dancing and talking : "IT'S A DRUID!"

Votes Green Party.

Lae'zel

Lae'zel struggles the most to integrate into modern society.

She takes up some form of fighting WWE and does not understand why the fighters don't actually hurt each other.

She complains about this after making absolute bank of course. "Ch'k! These istik talk about fighting for glory - Yet they simply roughhouse for pitiful coin." "Yeah, but look at how famous you are, Lae'zel..." Rollin', rollin', all my bitches rollin'.

Hates ood in Doctor Who for obvious reasons. "Tsk'va, ghaik!"

Wifey came up with 'Bae'zel'.

Karlach

Believes stupid spam emails you have to send onto others. (Wifey thought of this)

Shares that post of the missing dog on the other side of the world who was found 3 years ago.

Discovers TikTok, only shares animal videos and smashes TikTok dances.

Discovers aircon. 🥺

Discovers hot wing challenges... Excels at said hot wing challenges. and collects all the t shirts for winning food challenges.

Shadowheart

Posts things on Facebook like 'Shar/Selune keeps me in check. Like, share and comment 'Praise be to Shar/Selune' if she keeps you in check." Definitely gets flamed by the others.

Ends up with cute hobbies like paper quilling and crafts. Makes things for you. "You've really improved your crochet, Shadowheart! What is this one called?" Gives him a simple name like Bob or Clyde and puts him with the rest, cramming the mantle with them.

[artemisgrayy]

hi hello here is a totally anonymous prompt from a totally anonymous fan!!

consider: Vox & the Most Dangerous Game (short story or series/movie!)

take from that what you will and have funnnnn~ <3

Vox & the Most Dangerous Game

✨ Masterlist ✨

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: NSFW, Vox & Reader, Porn with plot, NonCon, Reader has Fem Anatomy, hypnosis, manipulation, biting until blood is drawn, claws drawing blood, penetration, breeding if you squint hard enough

“Fuck.” Another paper cut slices your thumb like butter from furiously flicking through the paperwork. Velvette will have your head if you get blood on her reports again. You set them down, sticking your thumb in your mouth to slow the bleeding. The metallic taste dances across your palate as you rifle through the basket on your desk for a band-aid. When you find one, you fumble a bit, struggling to apply it with your left hand.

Five perfectly manicured fingers slam the surface in front of you, launching your heart into a tailspin. You look up to see Velvette, the Social Media Overlord, glaring down at you.

“Where the fuck are my reports?” she demands, snapping her fingers, “I need social listening, what’s trending, engagement analytics and I needed them yesterday.” 

“Ah,” you bow your head, hastily flicking through the stack looking for the reports. You pry each one from the pile and hold them out to her, “Here they are.”

She snaps them out of your hand, the paper crinkling violently. Your mind races as you watch her ruby eyes narrow and scan the sheets. You’re nearly confident they were perfectly crafted, but a sliver of doubt shrouds your thoughts. You hear her mumble under her breath, each flip of the page more irate than the last.

“What the fuck is this?” Velvette spits out slapping one of the pages on your desk, causing you to flinch. You open your mouth to reply, nervously pulling on the hem of your skirt, but you’re cut off, “Engagement is way down. Are you sure you did these right? Did you fuck’em up, again?!” 

You swallow down the lump in your throat and point towards your screen, showcasing the information that you pulled the data from. You knew she would ask about this.

“Well Ms. Velvette,” your voice is shaky despite your attempt to mask it, “I triple-checked the data but every result comes back to this. I can try to run it again?”

The overlord moves closer to squint at your screen, the rich navy and magenta curls of her pigtails brushing against the desk. She scoffs, standing upright, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Don’ fuckin’ bother. Un-fuckin’-believable,” she clips, massaging the spot where her fingers rest, “Go see Vox. He updated the software to change the algorithm. Get the old one back. If the cretins of hell aren’t glued to their phones, then what’s the fuckin’ point.”

You’re frozen in place, slightly taken back by Velvette asking you to see Vox — generally, she handles communication with him.

“Well?” She waves her hand emphatically, motioning at the elevator, “Get on with it then.”

“Yes, Ms. Velvette,” you nod, launching from your chair, and half-jogging toward the elevator. You nearly roll an ankle on your way and you quietly cuss about Velvette’s dress code. You jam the elevator button with such pent-up ferocity that the paper cut stings beneath the band-aid.

The elevator dings, signaling its arrival and you slip inside before the doors fully open, tapping the button to the penthouse suite. Your hands cross comfortably in front of you. 

As the elevator climbs, you become hyper-aware of the sweat pooling in your palms. You've seen Vox’s face daily since starting with Velvette - he runs the whole VVV empire — but never in person. His malicious smile, with teeth like sharpened glass, can be found on the walls, doors, and even on the elevator screen.

“Vox. Trust us.” Vox’s euphonious voice echoes through the speaker of the metal box. A chuckle escapes your chest at the prospect of trusting any of them. You know full well what these overlords are like, and wouldn't trust them to as far as you could throw them.

Your heart is nearly in your throat when you reach the top floor, the arrival bell reverberating through your spine as the doors open. Your feet feel cemented to the floor as you trudge through the cold, dimly lit hallway, but the ethereal blue glow from Vox’s office pulls you forward.

The circular, metal doors whoosh open as you approach and you're in awe of the massive, spherical room it reveals. Your heels clack against the floor, the sound echoing off the curved walls as you traverse the lit-up walkway that cuts through the center. 

As you approach the middle of the room, you're greeted by a curved wall of screens, radiating light with such intensity that you squint. Each TV, in a range of different sizes, broadcasts something different. Movies, news, porn, social media — nearly every video format you can think of had a dedicated screen. 

Your eyes trail downward, landing on the back of a slightly reclined chair at the center of it all. The mint-coloured tip of Vox’s boots can be seen next to each other, his legs crossed at the heel on top of the control panel below the TVs. 

“Ms. Velvette sent me up to ask about changing the algorithm. Engagement has been down and uh,” your heart is in overdrive, thrumming through your chest like a jackhammer as you intentionally walk through each word to avoid stammering, “she asked me to come to see you about changing it back.” 

“Uh huh,” mumbles the demon. You catch a glimpse of his hand furiously typing away on his phone as you speak, barely acknowledging your existence. 

Is he fucking kidding?

You’re sickened by the fact that you spend most of your days putting up with Velvette’s bullshit, only to be ignored by another smug asshole in this place. Rage bubbles in your chest, you take a deep breath and look around the office, hopeful for some semblance of common ground. Your eyes land on a massive dartboard with pictures strewn across it, and you realize you recognize one of them. 

“Oh, I used to listen to his broadcasts all the time. That’s Alastor, right?” you barely notice the flicker of the screens when the Radio Demon’s name leaves your mouth, “I love his voice.”

A snap pulls your gaze back towards the chair, which is now in an upright position. Vox’s feet are planted on the floor and his claws slice into the armrests of his chair. His head tilts towards you, his blood-red eyes pointed furiously in your direction. The glow of his turquoise sharpened teeth contrasts with the drips of crimson saliva bleeding from his mouth. 

You realize you must have hit a nerve with Alastor's name.

“What did you say?” Vox’s voice booms through the speakers of the office, vibrating through every bone in your body. 

You're annoyed by his reaction more than you are scared. The paper cut burns under the bandaid, reminding you of the constant shit you put up with in this fucking place — now you can't enjoy other mediums?

“I'm sorry, can I not like things that aren't Vox-related?” Your eyebrows furrow and your head tilts, “Who gives a shit if I listened to the fucking radio however many years ago.”

“You're playing a dangerous game.” Vox spits venomously, his voice distorted in a way you've never heard before. The chair spins and he launches himself to a standing position. His body stiffens, the shoulders of his navy and turquoise striped blazer nearly coming to his ears. 

Vox’s footsteps echo through the giant room as he walks towards you with a nefarious intent. The hungry look in his eye twists your stomach into knots. Primal fear overtakes the rage you felt moments ago, clouding your senses. You take a step back.

“Fuck this, I quit.” you sputter out. On the last syllable, Vox’s left eye swirls into a cacophony of blue and red circles. You're entranced, as if you're caught in the deathly whirlpool of his gaze, unable to escape. A faint buzz fires through your limbs, locking you in place.

“Do ya now?” Vox cackles, coming toe to toe with you. The overlord’s aquamarine index claw curls under your chin, digging into your skin as he forces you to meet his gaze. 

Vox's grin fires warning flares through your mind as his eyes take you in, swallowing you whole. Electricity zaps around the screen of his face. A baleful laugh erupts through his chest as he turns on his heel to walk back towards his chair.

“Follow me.” He demands. You don't have the opportunity to decline. Your body moves on it's own, following in the footsteps of the demented demon in front of you. He casually sits in his chair, legs apart.

“Sit.” Vox’s clawed finger points at his lap. You fight against your body with every move it makes but to no avail — you're now straddling the demon, powerless. His shit-eating grin devours you.  

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” you force out behind gritted teeth, “let me go you fucking asshole”

“oh ho ho,“ he gleams, cocking an eyebrow, “this one is spicy. I like it when they're spicy.”

You feel his claws dig into your scalp as he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your face towards his. His teeth part, revealing his long, cyan tongue inching towards your neck. The tip of it grazes against your throat, and you grimace at the wetness of his saliva coating your skin.

You want to squirm but you can't.

“Go ahead and squirm.” He urges as if reading your mind. He leans back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, “Show me how scared you are.”

Your body involuntarily wriggles, bringing your full attention to Vox’s hard, thick length pressing against the thin fabric of your underwear. You curse Velvette’s dress code once again. 

You're disgusted by the amusement in his expression, his hot breath blowing across your face as he reacts to your struggle. Fear crawls up the back of your neck, terrified of where this is headed.

“Please let me go.” you whimper, still squirming on top of him.

“I'll let you go when you really know who's in charge here. Radio is dead. Video is the future. And this,” Vox points towards his crotch, “is your future. Get on your knees.”

Your body carries you against your will to the floor in front of the demon. Goosebumps crawl up your shins as they make contact with the ground below you.

A vile laugh bursts from the demon, “I'm so fuckin hard right now. Taste me, bitch.” 

Reluctance floods your body, but you're unable to fight the movement of your hands as you unbutton and unzip him. The overlord's cyan cock springs free and you nearly choke on your tongue at the length and girth of it. You barely have time to process before your entrapped body forces you forward, his erection throbbing below your tongue as it runs across it.

Your lips wrap around the tip and Vox snarls in pleasure. The demon reaches out with both hands, clutching fistfuls of your hair. Strands rip free from your scalp as they wrap around his claws. He pulls your mouth down on him, forcefully closing the gap between the tip of his cock and the back of your throat.

“Mmm, good girl,” moans the demon, bucking his hips while he holds you there, cutting off any ability to pull air into your lungs. Your jaw aches. Your vision blurs. For a moment, you question if this is how you die.

Vox finally releases you and you launch backward, collapsing on the floor with a sickening thud. Your lungs heave, desperately trying to pull in oxygen as you stutter and gasp.

“You're not done yet,” he cackles, “now it's time for the real show. It's time you remember who owns you. Fuck me, now.”

Your stomach sinks at the prospect but you unwillingly climb to your feet. Distress fires through your brain like fireworks, and you plant your feet with such force that you wonder if they'll break through the ground below you. 

It's no use.

You're pulled towards the demon, your body hanging on his every demand. 

“Please no,” you plead, knowing full well the damage Vox’s monstrous cock will do to you, but that only sets his blood-coloured eyes ablaze. Your reluctance fuels him.

You straddle the overlord again, but this time you're pulling the fabric of your underwear to the side. Your body lowers itself towards Vox’s length, throbbing in anticipation of your pussy wrapping around him. His face glows a radiant blue when the bulbous head finds your slit. His maniacal expression sends waves of trepidation cascading through your chest.

“Sit.”

You do as you're told, slowly lowering yourself. He's not even halfway in when a sharp inhale dances across your tongue, your insides already stretching past the point of comfort. 

“Please, it won't fit.” you beg, your breaths becoming more urgent with each inch that slides through your folds.

Vox looks up at you, a vile grin splayed across his face. He wraps his claws around your waist, the tips of his nails breaking through the skin of your back, and forces himself all the way inside of you. You scream as you feel him bottom out.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe.

Using the grip of your waist as leverage, Vox thrusts violently, hammering into you with such ferocity that your hands fire out, clutching the breast of his jacket for support. 

Your lips part and a moan escapes. You're unsure if it's genuine or part of the entrapment he has you in, but the cock of Vox's eyebrow answers that for you. He slides one hand to the middle of your back, pulling you into him, and you find yourself rocking your hips in tandem with his.

“Who do you belong to?” barks the overlord.

“I belong to Vox.” you moan.

“And who's better than that trash radio demon?”

“You are, Vox.” 

A distorted growl rumbles from Vox’s chest in reaction to your words. He bares his teeth, clamping down on your shoulder. You scream as warm streams of crimson roll down your tricep, splashing onto the arm rests of the chair.

You're unable to deny the fire building in your throbbing clit as the overlord’s thrusts increase in speed, signaling that he's close to his peak. You meet his rhythm, chasing your own climax as your moans and his snarls echo around you, the heat of your breath fogging up the glowing screens. 

He wraps both arms around you and growls, pulling you downward as he explodes inside of you. Your toes curl as shockwaves of pleasure fire through every nerve ending. Your orgasm pulses through your fingers and toes as you revel in how the demon fills you. His seed gushes out of you, dripping down the inside of your thigh.

“Get out.” Demands Vox, causing you to involuntarily stand and adjust your skirt. Euphoria continues to plague your thoughts and you're too lost in the haze to be bothered by any of his bullshit anymore.

You limp towards the exit, clutching the seeping wound on your shoulder when he calls after you, “Tell Velvette I'll update the algorithm.”

“Yes, Vox.” You mutter under your breath.

“And I'll see you next week.” his cackles echo through your skull as the metal doors slide closed behind you.

--

Hello super anonymous reader 👀 I hope you enjoyed your time with Vox, along with everyone else who dove into this one. "Fun" was definitely an understatement.

I wasn't expecting to enjoy writing Vox this much?? Do *I* wanna frick Vox??

Idk, I'm gonna go take a cold shower

✨ Masterlist ✨

[spliffymae]

WRITTEN OFF.

synopsis: it’s just you and your ex husband speaking…at three in the morning…with tensions at a crazy high…you’re totally fine.

⚠️, swearing, mentions of cheating, smut, oral (m receiving), toji is a dickhead, reader experiencing body issues during pregnancy, angst with a mix of sadness.

pt.1 if y’all haven’t read it already :)

kio’s notes - guys i am so proud of this part. omfg idk what it is but i ate this shit up. also wanted to just say thank you all so much for interacting with my posts and loving my stories 🫶🏽🥹 honestly makes me so happy to know y’all love it!

now playing:

⊱ ──────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.}──────── ⊰

“so my name can’t be said in your house, toji? what, am i voldemort now?”

“might as well be.” he mumbled, looking anywhere but at you. he couldn’t, not when you wore one of his old college sweaters he had forgotten at your house when you two started dating, four years ago. you ended up keeping it as a part of your wardrobe.

unfortunately, you hadn’t a clue that you were wearing something of his.

you folded your arms, leaning on your right leg. you were going to start with your attitude, you knew that for certain, and you didn’t care. “really? that’s how we’re acting? grow the hell up, toji. i’m not the one who ruined our marriage.”

“no just the one who ended it, right?”

you scoffed, “well i wonder why!” you said sarcastically. if he could play the ass then so could you. hell, you’d do it better.

toji rolled his eyes as a response. “i’m not doing whatever this is with you, (y/n). just tell me what megumi took and let me go take care of him.” he pinched the bridge of his nose with his empty hand. he was stressed, the evidence all over his face.

unbeknownst to you, he had been having the hardest time as a single father, trying to manage the complexities between todays adolescent life and the development of a baby. now add on his hefty paperwork from his missions and he was positive he could be sent to an early grave from stressing so hard. there wasn’t enough time in the day.

“i don’t know what the drug is, he—.” toji cut you off,

“the hell you mean you don’t know?” he spoke as if you should’ve known, almost judging you for not. the tone had your brow raised, now looking at him with narrow eyes. it was your way of telepathy, non-verbally telling him to ‘watch it’, because he was on paper thin ice.

“like i was saying—he got in the car and didn’t say. i didn’t even think to ask at that moment because i was just concerned with bringing him home first. it was a priority but at—.”

he cut you off again, this time with a scoff.

“just not top priority, right?”

you blinked.

you blinked again.

there was a silence between the two of you. a thick silence holding all the tension you two had created from being in the others presence.

toji had regretted the words just as they came out. he knew he messed up. he knew megumi had been your top priority when he didn’t have to be. when you were nothing more than toji’s friend who would just babysit the young boy whenever his father went out on missions.

megumi had been your first child, whether it be by blood or not. you loved him like he was, raised him, and became the parent he never knew he needed.

toji would always say it was your smile that drew him in, or say to his colleagues at work dinners it was your beauty, but truthfully—honestly, it was the way you loved his son like he was your own.

“i’m gonna give you a chance to take that back,” you spoke softly, voice slightly cracking. “because i know right now you’re just saying shit to hurt me. i love megumi, and if you wanna swing low, i promise you, toji, i will swing to hell.” you pointed. your eyes had become glossy with tears and you hated it.

megumi was a soft spot for you, always has been. whenever you and toji would get in spats in regard to him you were always on the defense for megumi. you were his advocate when there was no one else. but you were also reminded by toji (only when boiling points had been reached) that your advocacy did not need to be respected because you were not megumi’s real mom.

toji looked at his daughter, who had fallen asleep against his chest, soft and shallow breaths leaving her lips. she was your twin and he knew it was his karma. karma for his infidelity, his lying ways. he knew he shouldn’t have said anything, but he couldn’t help it.

“say it, toji. tell me i’m not his mom—do it!” you stepped closer. your eyes quickly darted to your daughter to see if your sudden volume increase had startled her awake. thankfully it didn’t.

“tell me he’s not my son, go ahead. tell me i went to every sports game, recital, and parent-teacher interview by myself because he wasn’t my son. say it, i want to hear you say, ‘(y/n), you’re not megumi’s mom. he’s not your son.”

there were tears in your eyes now, droplets falling after you’d blink. “let me remind you while you were out getting your dick wet in another bitch, i was home, pregnant and alone, with megumi who had a high ass fever. i took care of him when his own father put pussy over him. so don’t come to me about my priorities, ight?”

at the mention of his cheating, toji’s lips pressed into a thin line. he had definitely struck a nerve with his previous comment.

“i told you she meant nothing to me. i wasn’t in my right mind and—”

“and were just mad at your pregnant wife, so you decided to cheat on her. that would show me, huh toji?”

how many times was he going to have to apologize for what he did?

for doing the one thing he swore to not do?

he opened his mouth to speak. what he was going to say was what he didn’t quite know just yet. he wasn’t sure if he wanted to defend himself or just fight back. what was even the point of fighting back? everything you were saying was true.

rin had fussed from under him, her little whines being a reminder to her parents she was still present.

“i—” toji began but you cut him off by raising your hand up,

“shut up and feed my child. i’m going to go check on my son.” you didn’t wait for response from him as you turned to head upstairs, stomping away to let out some anger.

you left toji to realize he was in fact about to feed rin before arguing with you. and he cursed himself for forgetting what he originally came downstairs to do.

“shit.” he muttered as he went to the couch. he took her out the carrier and sat down with her. thankfully her bottle hadn’t spoiled and was still warm. damn you for being aware of your daughters needs.

“sorry, rinny. got distracted.” he kissed her forehead as he put the bottle to her lips. there was that feeling he felt in the kitchen again, that guilt. he hated it.

it was like someone took a fire to the inside of his stomach. it was hot, burning even. he was uncomfortable whenever it came because it was a feeling he couldn’t suppress.

he felt ever since that night, and it only ever grew as the days progressed.

toji had come home later than he told you, he had to stop to bring home food for you and megumi, as well as shower to rid himself of the smell of sex.

he didn’t mean to do it, honestly. he was just mad and needy. you hadn’t been giving him the attention he wanted from you. you wouldn’t let him touch you or even kiss you anywhere that wasn’t on your face. he needed the intimacy, and you only wanted privacy.

you claimed it was because you felt gross. you tried to explain to your husband how the pregnancy was affecting your mental state, mostly how you viewed your body. you already had body issues prior to being pregnant, but now, at your six month mark, you felt like you didn’t know who was staring back at you in the mirror.

but toji couldn’t understand. he kept trying to tell you how pretty you were to him, how beautiful you were all big with his baby, but you would never really take in his words. you just shrugged them and his reassuring kisses off with a fake smile and a quiet “thanks.”

you were supposed to go with him to this big work dinner. you had promised him you’d go and be his pretty little wife months ago. smile big in front of potential clients, mention your husband’s various accolades, basically put toji on a pedestal so they would choose him.

but when the night came, you weren’t feeling up for the event. toji of course wasn’t pleased as he had been telling you about this dinner for months. he tried to convince you to come but like previous disputes you two have had, it ended in yelling and arguments.

you yelled at him for his apathy; not understanding just how tired you were from carrying his baby, working during the pregnancy, and being the present parent for megumi in terms of school while toji went on his missions.

he yelled at you for not giving him the attention he deserves as your husband. for not being there for him when he needed you. honestly he knew it was dumb to have this argument. he should’ve just kissed you and agreed to let you stay home. but his stupid pride got in the way.

so he ended up going alone, dressed in his fancy suit and shoes, silver audemars piguet watch on his wrist and cuff links to match. he walked into the banquet hall and decided he would do it all himself—like he always did.

that’s when he stumbled into her, shoko ieri. she had complimented him on the way he flipped one of the biggest and most stubborn drug lords in the city to hire him for a hit job. she offered to buy him a celebratory drink, whiskey—since she was drinking it too.

it happened fast, at least to toji. the way they went from a playful banter by the bar to sitting next to each other at one of the tables. she had been a guest of his colleague, satorou gojo. she was a doctor for men in his line of work.

“so if i get injured on the job…” toji remembers starting, leaning back in the chair and putting his arm around the back of shoko’s. he had a smirk on his face as he manspread in his seat.

“then just stop by mine and i’ll make it all better.” she patted his cheek, eyes twinkling in mischief.

she ordered another round of whiskey for the two of them. the more he drank, the more you and megumi slipped from his mind. the more he ignored the gnawing sound in the back of his head. the one that kept telling him to stop.

another round of whiskey lowers the volume of his conscience. he can hear shoko better as she tells him about an impromptu surgery she performed on toji’s other colleague—and the godfather to your daughter, suguru geto. she touches toji’s bicep every now and again, as the story reaches turning points and it’s climax. the noise in his head comes back once she finishes the story, reminding him that you are waiting for him at home.

“but i don’t want to talk about me. i want to hear about the one and only toji fushiguro,” she leans in to him and his heart swells.

another round of whiskey. the noise has been minimized to a hum toji now hears every now and again as he tells her about an operation gone wrong in nagasaki. the conversation takes a flirtatious turn when shoko’s hand flies to his knee in a somber stroke, mumbling about how tired toji must’ve been after. his ego bursts.

another round of whiskey and toji does not recall there ever being a noise in his head. it’s quiet now, with only the sound of the jazz band and shoko having his attention. her hand remains on his knee, cherry red nails scraping against his thigh as it inches higher. toji makes a comment about switching to water for the night but shoko reminds him that just like the night they are both young.

another round of whiskey. toji’s hand is squeezing shoko’s thigh, his fingers grazing higher to places he yearns to explore. her lips now the colour plum, stained from the red wine she was nursing in between shots.

“there’s a hotel above us, y’know.” her eyes were piercing into his own. lips in a smirk and cheeks red from being flustered.

“so why are we still sitting here?” toji asked, lifting a brow. shoko smiled and unlocked her phone, passed it to him with the contact page open.

“add yourself. then wait for ten minutes.” she had a confidence about her that toji found captivating. so he did as she said, tapping his thumbs against her screen and filling out the information. when he gave her back the phone, she smiled and stood up, sauntering away.

his dick was hard. he was leaning back in the chair, wiping a hand down his face to calm himself down.

in the moments he spent to himself, the noise he had long forgotten slowly made its way back to max volume. he signaled to the waitress for another round.

the glasses of alcohol were brought in front of him, two tall shot glasses. he took them down without a thought, the liquid burning his throat.

his phone vibrated on his lap,

unknown

room 615.

it happened in slow motion, at least to toji. the way his fist knocked against the door of the hotel room and shoko answered with a smirk before pulling him in by his belt. then things started to pick up.

the way he cupped her face and kissed her hungrily. his anger from earlier and passion from the lust he felt were put into the kiss, the sounds of their lips smacking and shoko moaning ringing in his ears.

she broke away to flash a wicked smile before she bent down in her heels, becoming eye level with his crotch. she began pawing at the bulge in his pants, emitting a groan from him. his hand grabbed at her hair, chestnut coloured tresses bunched up in his fist and a gruff “suck it” leaving his lips.

his dick was hard and it was leaking for her. the way she sucked on his reddened tip had his eyes fluttering closed. she opened her mouth wide and took him until her nose was brushing against his freshly trimmed pubic hairs.

those same nails that had his leg jumping traced his prominent v-line. toji was seeing stars as she began to bob her head. he hadn’t gotten head in so long, months probably. her throat was so tight, so warm.

does it help if he said he thought of you during it, the cheating?

when he had her back arched over the bathroom sink and stared at her fucked out expression through the mirror, he saw you for a minute. he blamed the alcohol, of course.

would it make you feel better if he said he used condoms?

he didn’t want to bring anything back to you. and after that night, he got tested sometime that week to make sure everything was okay. it was, and he let out a sigh of relief.

can knowing he felt like absolute shit once he finished bring you solace?

when she had come for the third and final time in the bed, he gave her a kiss to the forehead as she fell to sleep. he walked bear to the shower and at the sight of himself in the mirror he wanted to throw up.

he came home just after midnight to find you were sitting outside megumi’s door with a blanket over your body and head resting back against the wall.

“love,” toji crouched down and shook you softly. you should have been in bed. “(y/n), wake up.”

you stirred, but eventually your eyes opened to see your husband, with a curious look on his face. “you’re on the floor.”

“why didn’t you answer your phone?” was the first thing you asked him. you didn’t say hi, you didn’t ask how the night was—you got straight to it.

toji pulled his phone out from his pants pocket and turned off his do not disturb to see he had five missed calls and ten texts from you.

“i put it on do not disturb so i could focus on the clients, m’sorry baby. what happened, are you okay?” he quickly scrolled through the messages:

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

you seriously are going to throw a fit bc i’m pregnant and tired?

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

fine fuck you then

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

ok not fuck you fuck you. fuck you for now

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

megs is sick and his head is burning. is your dinner close to finishing?

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

toji i get we are beefing atm but our son is sick and i need your help

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

he just told me to leave him alone bc he doesn’t want to get me sick and possibly harm the baby. i told him that won’t happen but he won’t listen to me. toji pls call him

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

bro can you not be on your petty shit for a hot minute and just answer me?! i don’t know what to do he has chills now! holy fuck

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

toji !

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

update: it’s been an hr, idk what tf you got goin on but megs is still sick. i made him soup and he had a little before throwing up. i gave him some medicine and cold towel for his head but there’s no change. idek why i’m texting this shit to you 🙄

wifey👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻💍

if i lock your ass out pls know it was justified.

toji looked at you with apologetic eyes. you were mad, rightfully so. you had expressed to him how uncomfortable you had been lately, with your body in more pain then before. standing up for long was difficult, he knew this. he had heard the doctor tell you not to over exert yourself and take it easy on your body.

“started to think you wouldn’t be coming home.” you pushed the blanket off of you, dressed in one of his tee shirts and a pair of your pajama pants, your cornrows tucked away under your hair scarf.

you struggled to get up on your own, your max weight now being shifted to your front and creating an imbalance. but you did it with a huff, toji standing tall now and watching. he had offered to help but you slapped his hand away.

“(y/n)—.”

“shut the fuck up. i’m going to bed and you’re on the couch.” you pushed the blanket into his chest. he was still slightly drunk so he stumbled back a bit, but caught himself.

toji didn’t have any more time to dwell on his past actions. or to recall the night you found out, because you had come back downstairs. “megs’ still high, but he says it’s better than how he was before. he said he and his friends took a pill—probably molly. i ordered him some food to eat so hopefully it comes down fast. rin doing okay?” you stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the banister.

in front of you was toji’s back as he held rin, who was fast asleep in a formula coma. the bottle was empty and she was content, snoring away in her fathers arms.

“she’s fine now.” he mumbled but you heard. and with a nod, you walked to the door to put your shoes back on.

“great, i’ll be on my way. listen out for his food. kiss rin f’me.”

toji heard you unlock the door, and heard the sound of it opening. before you walked out though, he called out to you.

“yes?”

“was there any part of you that would’ve taken me back….after everything?” he turned his head so he could see you in his peripheral. he wasn’t going to look at you as you said it, he couldn’t.

he doesn’t think you understand how hard it’s been to look at you since that night.

you blew air out your mouth, cheeks puffed and eyebrows raised. you hadn’t expected for this to be the question he asks you as you get ready to leave. not at damn near five in the morning.

but might as well, right?

“honestly, yeah. i would always have these random moments where i would feel like i needed you again, in my life or in my bed…but then i would remember that you cheated on me when i was pregnant, and when i was in the darkest period of my pregnancy, at that.”

the emotions were still raw for you, the betrayal and the pain. it was a feeling that felt almost close to that of stabbing. a piercing blade through your heart that turned deeper into the organ anytime you’d think about it.

“i, uh, remember how i stayed up crying for months after because i just knew that whoever that woman was, she must’ve been the definition of gorgeous—because you used to tell me there was not a being alive who could outshine my beauty. and i believed you.”

“i didn’t lie” toji said. his voice was shaky and he honestly didn’t know why he asked you such a question. it was obvious there was no sign of reconciliation between you two. but yet he asked anyways, hoping some higher being somewhere would give him back his family. he didn’t appreciate it at first, but he’s learned now.

you chuckled dryly, “no, you were just proven wrong. goodnight, toji.” you quickly left after that, not wanting to wait around for anything he had to say.

as far as you were concerned, that was the end. it was over.

pt. 3

[vintagexherry]

Treasure for Three Days [2]

Pirate!Miguel x Princess!Reader

// Sexual harrasment, blood, minor character death, slight gore, consumption of alcohol, implications of sexual acts, Ooc Miguel, Miguel is mean

---

Previously

"Speaking of the entertainment district, why don't we give it a visit while princess looks for change of clothes." With that, the crew cheered, and the navigator smirked as he directed the steering wheel to the nearest land which you assumed where the "entertainment district" is located.

You gulp.

How are you gonna survive three days with these men.

It took hours to get to said island, and within those hours, you tried getting some sleep in the captain's cabin, but your thoughts keep you up.

What would you do if Miguel didn't keep with his words?

You let out a sigh, deciding not to think too much. Maybe Miguel is right. Your head just might explode.

As you sat straighter on the bed, you decided to look around the place, Miguel was still up the deck, probably talking to his crew or what not.

You stood up and checked the wall.

A jaw full of teeth of a sea beast is displayed by the side. You wonder how long it took for them to remove every bit of flesh and muscle just to get to the bone. All you know is probably messy.

You then turned to a barrel of rolled up papers, and you took one and unrolled what seemed to be an impressive handrawn map of an island. You must say, whoever was the cartographer, they need a raise.

Finally, you went to one of the shelves displaying golden statues and alcohol. Your attention was driven to a goblet, which edges are engraved with gold. You also noticed a symbol seemed to be stamped at one side of the goblet. A royal sigil, it seemed familiar.

"Took that one from a neighbouring kingdom."

You flinched and turned swiftly to see Miguel leaning by the door with his arms crossed.

How come you didn't hear him approaching?!

For his big size, his steps are unnaturally quiet.

Miguel took your silence as a sign to speak more. His steps led him to you in front of the shelf, and you took a small step back.

"We were pillaging this castle, y'know what pirates do? Yea, that. And while we're at it, I saw it gleaming nice at a table, so I took it. Aside from others' valuables, of course." He chuckled at the end.

His eyes then drifted to the skeletal jaw you were looking at earlier.

"And this bastard. Took me a while to get it but, it certainly did a number on me."

While he talked, you find yourself immersing in his stories. Being homeschooled and practically repeated a series of routines. You got curious about the outside world. Only finding solace in the books you read.

"... Once we killed it, I made my most experienced swordmaster do the honours of cutting the meat of its flesh. That beast was bigger than a regular cannon." His eyes gleam at the memory.

"A-are there any other creatures you encountered?" You hesitantly asked, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Miguel glanced at you for a while and seemed to be deep in thought.

"This one ain't a beast." He walked up to his desk and sat on the chair putting both legs up the table while you sat back on the bed.

"...but we encountered this island. We thought it was a newly discovered land since it wasn't on any map I've seen. But then I've seen why." His eyes turned dark. And you felt anxious of the tension on the air.

"...It was because no cartographer was able to get out alive to even draw it. Why? Cus it's an island full of cannibalistic people."

Your eyes widened. You only seen them in books you've read, but you only thought them as myths.

"C-cannibals?"

"Humans who eat other hu-"

"I know what it means." you annoyingly huffed.

Miguel just shrugged and put his hands up to a surrender.

It was safe to say this was the only conversation you both had that didn't feel like danger to you.

Miguel seemed to want to tell you more, but a knock on his door stopped him. The door opened to reveal a crewmate notifying him that they have arrived.

You gulp.

The light enjoyment you felt suddenly waned. But then you thought, If there's land there's people. If there's people then there's hope.

A hope for you to ask for help.

As Miguel and you left the cabin and headed for the deck, it was already sunset. Usually you would enjoy the view but nothing to enjoy when your headed to a place you barely know.

"Hm, it's almost night. What perfect timing." Miguel smirked.

He turned to you with a brown bag on his hand.

"Here, catch." He threw the bag to you which you caught it, feeling the weight and hearing the jingles in it.

Must be coins.

"Like you said, you want a change of clothes? Go buy then."

You felt the ship hit land within the docking areas where you see other people either exiting or entering their own ships.

You felt nerves underneath your skin, goosebumps all over it.

This could possibly be the first time you explored outside your country.

"You either just stand there, or you start walking."

You snapped out of your thoughts and followed Miguel down the ship, landing your bare feet in the sand.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

Cheers and glass clinking can be heard everywhere.

You felt out of place.

After buying clothes, you wore a white and maroon dress, After shopping, you asked if you could go back to the ship.

"And miss out of the fun? Ay ay hermosa, live a little. Just make sure to stay within my sight." He chuckled as his crew went directly to a dark street full of bars, filled with drunk men, women, and even other pirates.

"Oy Miguel! Long time no see!" A drunk middle-aged man called out from a bar, and with that, you were left on your own.

Right now, you were sitting by the corner watching men chant songs and women gossiping. You also see men and women flirting with each other, some just drunkingly kissing, and some went up to the bedrooms upstairs.

At one side of the bar, a drunk Miguel being surrounded by women, all dressed provocatively and talking to him. Although what you don't see is his subtle glances to you time to time

You look around and thought, maybe this is the perfect moment to get up and go out and ask for help.

As you left the bar, making sure no one spotted you in the process.

As you step out, you feel the cold breeze of the night and hear crickets buzzing and the soft muffled noises from the bar.

You continued your way to the direction you remember where the docking place was at.

While you walk, a sweaty hand suddenly stops your movements, and you froze.

"Heyyyyy" A ragged man who seemed to have too much to drink greeted you.

"Wuz a pretty lady doin hir?" He's senteced were slurred as he hiccuped in between, and you winced im disgust when you could just smell the alcohol off him.

You didn't want any trouble as of tonight's events. So you pushed his hand away from your shoulder.

"I-its none of your business, i-if you don't mind, I sho-should get going." You stammered due to the freezing temperature but also the fear of what could happen if you got to the bad side of this man.

You started to walk away as fast as you could, but the man grabbed your forearm and pulled you towards him.

"Oi! Im bein nice hir pretty lady, why downt you be a grateful little bitch."

Oh no this isn't good, he's getting mad.

You tried pulling your arm away, and he angrily gripped the thin fabric around your chest. And for such a drunk guy, he seemed to possess unnecessary strength. Which resulted in ripping your fabric around your chest area, revealing your cleavage. The only thing saving you now is your corset to cover it.

If you're scared a while ago, you're definitely afraid now.

You screamed for help while you tried to fight his grip, but that only seemed to spur him even further. His slurred words angrily spit insults and words you couldn't get the meaning of.

His grip finally loosened and for an unexpected reason.

You froze from the sudden quiet in the air.

When you glanced at him, his face painted with shock and his torso painted with red.

Blood.

Blood with a sword coming through it.

You quickly stepped back as his face collapsed to the floor. Your eyes quickly drifted to the man above him.

Miguel O'Hara.

His face is devoid of expression, his usual smirk gone, yet there's rage in his eyes. Your body froze from the view in front of you. You don't know what to do first, thank him? be afraid?

He took back his sword and wiped the blood on the shirt of the dead man.

"We're heading back." He deeply stated, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"I-"

"Shut up."

He didn't shout this time, but you know better than to disobey, he gripped your forearm, and you both head back to the ship.

This night marks the end of Day One

○●○●○

taglist: @lionhearted-soldier

[ravioliet]

ok so let me be cringe on main for a minute here (this is a joke btw i know cringe isn't real). odd squad mlp au for your consideration

please ask me questions about this by the way i have so much for this. i'll put some of the basic info (it's a lot more than that now but in my defense it started as a basic summary) and a few more drawings under the cut though please look at it with your eyes thank you

so for some basic explanations we have Olive who is a unicorn, Otto who is a pegasus, Olympia who is a part unicorn earth pony (which i'll explain in a sec), and Otis who is a full blooded pegasus (which i'll also explain the importance of in a moment). i haven't drawn Ms. O, Oscar or Oona yet but they are an alicorn (formerly an earth pony), a unicorn, and an earth pony respectively

Olive and Otto are the only two that i've come up with cutie mark designs for so far (they are so hard to design..) but Olympia and Otis have them too, they just get them mid-season. specifically after the talent show. i'm designing them side by side so that they kinda match because they get them at the same time and also they're besties your honor, but anyways theirs are a little fireworks design and some sort of a swan design because y'know. the ugly duckling story. and also i think part of his talent is dancing and like swan lake exists etc etc. and yes this does mean that he's a little bit scared of his own cutie mark at times but he just tries not to think about it and usually covers it with his wings anyway. all four of their cutie mark meanings are kinda abstract personality trait related things

Olive got hers after stopping the pienado because character development moments, which also kinda means that she's sorta tied to Todd because of this which she Does Not Like. i'll need to make a whole other post about Todd in this au because he's definitely a guy, but anyways while they were partners Olive was a blank flank and despite how good at his job he was Todd was one too and it was like one of the only things they really had in common, but it also ends up being one of the reasons he goes rogue because not only is Todd bored but he's also frustrated because he's tried everything he can think of and won every award he possibly can and he still doesn't have a cutie mark even though he feels like he definitely should by now because this has to be his talent. why would he be so good at it if it wasn't? he doesn't get his cutie mark until after he reforms btw, because before then he was either too certain about his talent being something else or too busy causing trouble to entertain himself that he never really took the time to stop and discover that his actual interest was gardening and that's when he finally gets his cutie mark. in my head i have this alternate version of Otis's tomato speech where when Todd is like "i'm Odd Todd it's who i am" Otis is just like "that's not what your cutie mark says" and it's very silly but anyways i'm gonna circle this back around to Olive real quick

so on top of Todd's cutie mark being in gardening he also has a sort of side meaning as well in the sense that he's a little bit like the CMC and has a sort of knack for encouraging character growth in others whether he realizes it or not because. encouraging plants to grow.. encouraging people to grow... the whole villain rehab thing...... you see what i'm getting at here. but the funny thing is the first pony he really did this to was Olive and it was completely unintentional. he didn't know that she would get her cutie mark by stopping him, at least not consciously, but she did. it probably takes him quite some time before he actually puts together the fact that he's had that talent the whole time.

Otto's cutie mark is a lot sillier. he actually doesn't know how he got it or what it means (as mentioned earlier it's symbolic but he doesn't know that. also shoutout to Shroom aka Evillandscaper for suggesting a paper crane because i did NOT know what i was gonna make it) he just kinda walked into work one day and Olive was like "oh cool you got your cutie mark?" and Otto was just like "WAIT I GOT MY CUTIE MARK?????" cue a whole silly filler episode involving the two of them trying to figure out what it means and also Olive having a crisis over the fact that Otto can do that pegasus thing where they use their wings like cartoon hands. both of these become running bits from then on. also i drew this comic about it and it might be one of my favorite things i've made for this au honestly

and on the topic of cutie marks as i previously mentioned, Olympia and Otis both get theirs after the talent show and they're also matching a little bit. theirs are also personality things but in addition to that Otis's is also for dancing and Olympia's is for magic, and you may be wondering how an earth pony can be a magic talent and this is where that half unicorn thing comes in!

so Olympia is half unicorn half earth pony which i don't think is too uncommon on its own, but the thing that makes her weird is that she inherited traits from both sides instead of just one over the other, so she actually has unicorn magic but no horn to actually use it with so she's unable to cast actual spells or anything but her magic will kinda spill over at times, especially if she's emotional, and cause things to happen like that one time she exploded into glitter when interviewing Olive or of course the fireworks! she's kind of like the Pinkie Pie character who just does unexplained things sometimes she's just very silly. fun fact in her ref you can see that her mane and tail are sparkly and that's because they kinda just perpetually look like they have glitter in them, but the thing is it's not really glitter it's all just magic. i imagine her coat is like this as well but i just didn't draw it in

also as a side note it came to my attention that she bears an uncanny similarity to Sparkleworks from G3 and i have absolutely no idea how that happened At All. like they have the same cutie mark and everything it's so weird. i've never even watched G3 i'm a G4 kid i legitimately have no clue how the hell this happened. i did make this out of it though

anyways for Otis, he's a pegasus of course but he's specifically a Cloudsdale weather pegasus, which yes i did make up but hear me out. so basically in my mind pegasi born in somewhere like Cloudsdale are more likely to have weather talents or like. stronger abilities in controlling the weather and such, which means stuff like larger wings and weatherproof wings and feathers to make it easier to deal with storms and stuff like that, so basically all this is just an excuse for me to give Otis waterproof feathers like a duck. but anyways since he was still raised by the ducks he doesn't actually know he's from Cloudsdale or anything so he just thinks he's weird for the feathers thing

okay i have. way more but i'm cutting myself off here so i don't overload everyone with information but anyways, please ask me about them, and also here's some extra drawings i've done of them :3

[magicbystarlight]

Venomous - Part Eleven

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: 18+, a bit of an angsty one, arranged marriage, age gap relationship, ptsd, war. Minors DNI.

A/N: Our poor reader can't catch a break.

The last days at the Manor passed mechanically. Wedding appointments set for Easter Break—dress, cake, invitations, dinner. A book left unread despite the pages turned. Smiles that didn’t reach your eyes. Laughs that were hollow. Unanswered letters. No word from your brother. Nothing in the papers about the Muggle war.

Abraxas was at your side, arm slung too casually around your shoulder as you walked through Platform 9 ¾. Your trunk somewhere behind being dragged along by the Malfoys’ oldest house-elf Honey. Or was it Bunny? An unsubtle reminder to the growing crowd that you were a Malfoy, even if not in name yet.

At least your mother hadn’t come.

His goodbye was drawn out. You smiled and dutifully let him kiss you again and again until he couldn't keep you any longer. You hoped your own face didn't betray your joy as you stepped onto the train. The compartments were full as you dragged your trunk. It took longer to find Larissa and Abigail than usual thanks to the added weight.

Their concern felt wasted on you when you stepped into the compartment. Too much of your friendship had been spent on your petty problems when their families lived in constant danger that you knew nothing about.

You insisted you were fine, that it had only been a bit of stress, and everything was okay now. You brushed off concerns about Abraxas’ behavior, rewriting his jealousy as protection. You were fine, everything was fine.

The conversation veered to them and you listened intently. A funny story about Larissa’s mother getting on the wrong train in the underground. Talk of Abigail’s father’s wonderful cooking. Love letters they found under her little sister’s pillow. It made your heart ache.

“We should set up a dinner or something for the Easter holiday,” you said as the laughter was starting to subside. “So I can meet your families.”

Your friends shared a look that didn’t look pleased with the idea. “Won’t you be too busy? With all the planning? We don’t want to add to your stress.”

“Too busy for you? Never.”

“It’s just,” Larissa said slowly, trying to find the words to say, “well, we know how your family feels about half-bloods. You might not mind, but they’re not gonna be happy with it.”

“They know we’re friends, it’s not that big of a deal anymore. Maybe they’ll be upset if they find out one of Abby’s parents is Muggle, but we can go somewhere Muggle and they’ll never even know. Make a day of it, a real day, show me more of the Muggle world. I’ve never even seen London past the windows in the Leaky Cauldron.”

Larissa went to say something else, another argument against it from the frown in her face, but Abigail cut her off, face lacking its normal color. “We’ll see. I’ll need to owl my parents and ask if they can make the time for it. Easter’s pretty busy for them.”

Your face fell before you could catch it and school it into something false.

“We can do Cambridge instead!” Larissa offered quickly, too eager compared to her hesitation a moment before. “I’m sure Mum would love to have you both over. And it gets so pretty in the spring there—” 

She continued, naming reason after reason Cambridge was the place to be for Easter. You worked your smile back, though it was as hollow as it’d had been at the Manor. A tentative date set for the Tuesday after the holiday—you had no appointments set and Abigail would be too busy helping out around home before then. Color still hadn’t returned to her face.

When enough time had passed, you excused yourself to use the restroom. They didn’t offer to join you.

Scalding water splashed from the tap, causing your hands to retract with a hiss. You waited for the temperature to correct itself and tried not to scratch at the pain.

Abigail didn’t want you meeting her family. Larissa could spend a week with them and you couldn’t even have dinner. You always knew they were a little closer. How could they not be when you barely put any effort into the friendship? They may have been your best friends, but today you realized you weren’t theirs.

That was okay, you told yourself. You would do better.

You looked up into the mirror as you scrubbed your hands. A crack cutting diagonally down it you hadn’t noticed before. How poorly were these restrooms maintained?

The door swung open.

“—almost punched Ralph McLaggen in the middle of Diagon Alley! Over her? Can you—“

The Slytherin girl from Potions cut off abruptly as her gaze met yours in the mirror. The one who loved to tell people about your torrid affair with Slughorn. You’d have to remember her name eventually. 

Her grin was sickly sweet. “You looked great at the Minister’s ball.”

“Thanks, but,” you said, matching the acidic tone. “I don’t remember seeing you there?” Then you laughed, shaking your hands dry and turning to see her now scowling face. “Oh right, you must have seen me in the paper! I’d almost forgotten.” 

You walked to the door, eyebrow raised expanctly at her friend who still stood in its way. She squeaked out an apology before moving aside. “Well lovely to see you, Judith. Hope your holiday went well.” Maybe you didn’t have to learn her name.

—

Dumbledore wasn’t at the welcoming feast. It wasn’t unusual. Since First Year he’d been in and out of class aiding in the fight against Grindelwald. But you felt the absence more now. You’d wanted to talk to him about Warrick. 

There were eyes on you. More than usual it seemed. You kept your back to the Slytherin’s table. 

Abigail had recovered, at least. 

Her smiles were warm again as conversation swirled at the table around the next Quidditch match. Ravenclaw had only had one match the previous semester and it left them at an advantage, same as Slytherin and it was expected the match would be tense. You listened attentively as some of the team’s players explained how many points they’d need to rack up to gain the lead. It surprised you how attentively they listened when Larissa started dissecting Slyhterin’s weaknesses and strengths. Her insight was, well, insightful. 

“We’ve got the pitch on Thursday, you’ll be there?” Erin Lockhart, this year’s captain, asked her as you all made your way back to the tower. 

Larissa’s face was bright. “Haven’t missed one yet, have I?”

It was past midnight when the three of you finally clambered up the stairs to your dormitory. Normal. A truly normal night. Not a mention of engagements or wars or stalkers. Filled instead with Quidditch and school worries and silly little jokes. So many new things noticed about people you’d known for years. Funny how that can happen when you’re not existing solely in your own head.

Larissa was giggling about how good Henry Higginbottom’s hair looked when she stopped abruptly after opening the door. You thought maybe the ladies at Twilfitt and Tattings had outdone themselves and delivered early, but a melodic chirping drowned it out.

On your bed, in a rather large and intricate gilded cage, was Ravenclaw’s emblem. A Golden Eagle.

Their eyes were such a familiar shade of brown. 

“When did you get an eagle?”

“I didn’t.” You felt cold. “I’ll take my chances with whatever gilded cage awaits me rather than whatever crate you’re offering.” Could Tom never stop with his fucking metaphors?

Abigail was the one to investigate. She plucked an envelope from the bed, turning it over. Your name was on the front in familiar handwriting and an even more familiar teal seal.

Of course Azar was still doing Tom’s bidding.

Anger seized as you took the letter she handed over. Blood splatters marred the parchment.  

Found her in Astrid’s owlery. 

A likely story.

Apparently she’d been there a while and now she seems a bit confused about what she is. Thought getting her out of there was for the best,

You scoffed. Of course he would decide what he thinks best.

but the dungeons aren’t a good place for her. She needs to spread her wings. 

One thing he wasn’t wrong about. 

I know Selene said no to getting you an owl, but she never said no to an eagle.

He remembered that? It’d been years since you’d asked. 

Dippet was happy enough to approve her as a pet for you. Unsurprisingly, you’re one of his favorites.

It was a surprise to you.

She prefers hunting for herself, so she won’t be a bother. She’ll even take the post for you. You’ll have to give her a name though. Our aunt only ever called her örnen.

That sounded like Aunt Astrid.

Sinc Love,

Uggy Az

P.S. There’s no excuse. I’m sorry.

P.P.S. She was perfectly tame until I put her in the cage. You’ll get along well, I think. 

The anger had dissipated by the end. Not gone entirely, but less. You still weren’t convinced it wasn’t some new trap laid, but for now you’d let it be what it seemed. A sincere apology. Those were so rare.

“Uggy Az?” Larissa questioned, reading the letter over your shoulder.

“It’s what I called Azar when I was really little. It was supposed to be Uncle Az.” You reached for the latch, pulling the door open. “Mum hated it cause it sounded like I was calling him an ugly ass.” Cautiously the bird stepped out, stretching her wings and legs. She was beautiful.

You knelt at the end of the bed and she met you there. This close you could see the gold speckled throughout her eyes. When you reached your hand forward, she bent her head and let out a chirp at the contact.

“What should we name her?” you asked, stroking her.

“Princess?” Larissa offered before her face immediately went sour and shook her head. “She needs something more classical. Aethon?” 

That made you shudder. Would that make you Prometheus? 

Abigail’s fingers joined yours to stroke the brown feathers. “How about Drein?”

The eagle let out another chirp.

“You like that?” you asked. “Drein?”

She chirped again and seemed to nuzzle against your hand. 

“Well,” Larissa laughed, joining you and Abigail in your affections to the bird, “Drein it is.”

—

Sweat covered you as you shot up from bed. A nightmare. You couldn’t remember much beyond explosions, screams, and a hand around your throat.

The hands of the clock pointed to a quarter past five. Too early to start the day and too late to try to sleep. Not that you’d be able to sleep anyways.

Drein stirred from her perch atop your wardrobe when you moved. It was odd how comforting it was when her eyes followed you to your desk. Being watched by a predator was normally so unsettling, but for once you didn’t feel like prey.

You took a piece of parchment and your quill and began to write. It wasn’t right. You scratched it out and started again. Still wrong. Dashed through the new sentences and tried again. No. 

Curiosity got the best of Drein, her wings fluttering softly as she landed on the edge of the desk. Her head cocked as you ripped off the bottom, bare part of the parchment.

Why? You wrote. Your quill hovered for a moment more. I miss you. A few tears landed on the parchment before you wiped away the rest. Drein crept forward, pushing her head against your hand.

“Can you do me a favor?” you ask her. She blinks. “Take this to my brother.”

—

Drein had returned by that night. There was no reply. A week passed. Days that weren’t quite bad, but exhausting. 

Transfiguration was the easiest. An essay to write from the substitute instead of hands-on practice. Astronomy. History of Magic. Ancient Ruins. Herbology. Arithmancy. Potions. Care of Magical Creatures. None of them required a wand often. 

But Charms and DADA?

Horrible.

Abigail thought you were sick. First you fainted and now you were struggling in class? You’d gone and gotten checked just to ease her concern. You weren’t sure how no one noticed the crack in your wand, but you powered through. It did seem to work a little better as the days passed. Less resistant. A few more days, maybe a week or two, and it would be fine. Like nothing happened.

Whispers followed as they always did. Some with pity, but more with glee. You’d walked into a room more than once to be greeted with hurriedly hushed voices. Thankfully your housemates were more akin to pity.

Saturday afternoon you sat alone in the common room, where you’d been since after breakfast. It was a dreary day outside, but you couldn’t pull your attention away from the window. There wasn’t anything else to do. Abigail had left for some Divination project she had to work on with a Gryffindor and Larissa was serving a detention she’d gotten the last day of last semester. Abraxas had planned to visit, but something had come up and he postponed for Sunday. Homework was done and you didn’t feel like tracking anyone down to occupy time. 

Why hadn’t Warrick written you back?

A very nasally, high pitched noise came from beside you, breaking your concentration. Myrtle Warren stood there, nose high in the air. She held out a folded piece of parchment. “Avery asked me to give this to you?”

Your eyebrow shot up. Myrtle was muggleborn. Azar didn’t like interacting with that sort, let alone entrusting them with anything.

She cleared her throat again impatiently and wriggled the note.

With a muttered thanks, you took it. She still stood there. It simply read: Library?

“He told me to wait for a yes or no. Wants me to walk with you there for some reason if you say yes. Very odd, I think, but he’s paid me ten galleons just to bring this, and it’ll be another twenty once I get back to him with an answer.”

Ten galleons just to get you a note. Thirty in all to get an answer. And an escort. 

“Was there anyone with him?”

She shook her head. “No, he was all alone. Just like you. And me.” She shrugged. “Probably why he asked me.”

Azar must be hoping to apologize in person. There hadn’t been any chance to catch you alone throughout the week. You’d ensured that. While Myrtle wasn’t your first option of a companion, she was better than nothing. And talking it out with Azar was better than staring out a window. You needed to thank him for Drein, too.

Myrtle was surprisingly patient. You’d had to put your things away up in your dorm and she waited without a single complaint. It was unlike her. She hadn’t gained the nickname Moaning Myrtle for nothing. 

It was probably the promise of galleons that kept her so quiet  as you walked down the staircases.

“Do you mind if we stop by the restroom?” she asked as you landed on the second floor.

Had she not been so patient before, you’d have said no. But she had been. So you relented, eyeing the staircase wistfully and hoping she’d be quick. You wanted to see Azar. Know if it had been real.

Her favors weren’t over. “Could you check if there’s anyone in here? I don’t like an audience.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes and did as requested. It was empty, thankfully. “All clear,” you called from the end of the stalls. 

“Well that is very,” Myrtle’s voice changed, the nasally high whine turning deep, honeyed, and unmistakable, “convenient.” 

You twisted, wand in hand, to witness as Myrtle’s face bubbled. Her robes stretched to accommodate the added height and width, its blue yellowing to green, Ravenclaw’s emblem contorted into Slytherin’s. You’d meant to Stupify him, but nothing came. A red jet of light shot from his. With horror, your grasp on your wand loosened involuntarily and it shot from your hand. He caught it effortlessly.

“I’m not here to fight,” Tom said evenly. He eyed your wand, surveying the damage. “Not that it seems you’d be able to put up much of one.” 

“Fuck you,” you hissed, despite the pounding in your ears. 

He smiled. “I have missed your quick wit.” When you said nothing, he sighed. “I wanted to apologize.”

You repeated, “Fuck you.” 

“That’s fair.” Your wand clattered on the floor as he threw it back. “I deserve worse.”

You don’t move. You consider it for half a second, hand tensing to reach for your wand, but you don’t. It’s useless.

“I didn’t understand how horrific what I did was. But I do now. And I’m sorry.”

Lies. Lies lies lies lies lies.

“I don’t want your apologies. They don’t mean anything. You regret nothing. You understand nothing!” Your voice rose, angry panic outpacing your ability to quell it. 

“Forgiveness will take time, I know. I’ll be patient.”

Tears seared your cheeks. “Forgiveness?” you questioned. “Forgiveness for what, Tom? For—for trying to kill me? For stalking me? For ruining my life?” Yanking the Malfoy heirloom from your finger, you held it up. “I only have this,” you threw it, aiming for his frozen face that didn’t even flinch and missing by a yard, “because of you. If you’d have left me alone, none of it would have happened. You took everything. And for what? What has it gotten you in the end?” Your arms were shaking as you gestured to the lavatory he’d trapped you in. “Downing polyjuice to corner me here and listen to me tell you that I hate you.”

Quaking shoulders. Terrified and angry and devastated. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

“I don’t know.”

It came out so soft, yet the words thundered in your head. He’d been so confident months ago. Spewing nonsense about power and freedom and breaking traditions. Now he stood there and said he doesn’t know why he continues to torment you?

“You don’t know?”

Cracking sounds reverberated against the walls.

“You don’t fucking know?”

Glass shards fell to the floor as the mirrors over the sinks shattered. 

You crumbled.

Next Part

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[heliads]

Someone's Brother, Someone's Sister

Based on this request: "y/n’s motivation for joining the dregs is that she has a sister with a work contract with pekka rollins. she wants to break into pekkas office and destroy her sisters contract. when kaz finds out he talks about his brother and y/n gets the impression he’s projecting his relationship into theirs and she resents that?"

masterlist

It is surprisingly easy to enter the home of the Dregs. The building affectionately referred to as the Slat looms on the horizon; oil lamps shine in its crooked windows like gap teeth, and the stones and brick of the exterior are unwashed and dark with soot. All who pass by it do so with great unease, tugging coat lapels over mouths lest the devil get in on a stray word that wasn’t a prayer for salvation. 

You would think it would be some kind of impenetrable fortress, but you walk right in. There are guards loitering by the door, relaxed in the knowledge that someone who wanted to be here would have tried to kill them already, and any intruder who wasn’t trying to start a fight would lose their money if not their life when they tried to leave again. People don’t just bother the Dregs. You beat them or you die trying. There is no peaceful coexistence.

The wooden boards creak under your feet, but no one casts you longer than a fleeting glance before moving on to better, brighter things. It would be a stupid idea to come here unless you were invited. Maybe that’s why it’s so easy for you to navigate up to the top floor, taking the staircase level by level until the stitch in your side tells you that you’ve reached the summit.

Kaz Brekker is not expecting you. Not officially, anyway. Still, for someone who supposedly has no idea you’re coming, he looks rather unsurprised when you enter his office after knocking once on his door. You think you see a flash of black at his window, but when you double take, it’s gone. Kaz does not acknowledge the shadow’s absence any more than he points out your presence.

Instead, he tilts his head back, knocking a wave of raven-black hair from his cold gaze. “Can I help you?”

It’s a pleasant thing to say. Were it not for the fact that he’s eyeing you like you’re a lamb before the slaughter, you’d almost believe that he genuinely does want to help you. However, this is, of course, the Barrel, and no one would go out on a limb for anyone unless they had an idea of a pound of flesh they could extract for themselves.

“I have a younger sister,” you begin.

Kaz cuts you off irritably before you can progress much further than that. He waves a gloved hand, annoyed already, which isn’t a good sign. “Everybody does. Do you know how many people beg me for jobs every day? There are scores of brothers with mouths to feed in this city. If I wanted to help someone’s sick mother or dying cousin, I would run a hospital, not a gang. Get a better excuse or get out.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Fine. I know someone working in Pekka Rollins’ office. Is that better?”

Kaz lifts one shoulder. “I have spies already.”

“Not this one,” you tell him. “My sister works in Pekka’s buildings every day. Cleaning, polishing, that sort of thing. Who knows the kinds of papers she might see? Or the people feeding him information? No one suspects the help.”

“I don’t need you to tell me the importance of spies in the shadows,” Kaz scoffs, but he’s less dismissive than before. Good. You need this to work, even if it’s a sob story he’s both heard and told time and time again.

“Is that why you sent some of your men to follow my sister and I?” You ask slowly.

Dirtyhands doesn’t smile. Kaz might, though. When the corners of his lips twitch upwards, you’re not sure if it’s a declaration of his good humor or just an indication of a wolf ready to feast on blood and gore, but either way, it’s better than the barren stare.

“Why would I send my own Dregs after a maid and her sister?” He questions you.

You meet his gaze coolly. “Because you were already looking at us as a potential source of information. I’m here to accept your job.”

“I haven’t made an offer,” Kaz points out.

You shrug. “Don’t, then. There are plenty of other gangs in the Barrel. I just need a way to get my sister out of Pekka’s grasp before it’s too late. If you won’t help, I’ll find someone else who will.”

Kaz leans forward slightly. “It isn’t the best idea to flaunt your disloyalty. If you’re just as willing to go to other gangs, why should I trust you in mine?”

“I’m as loyal as I need to be once I’m hired. Once that happens, you won’t have a reason to doubt either of us. That I can promise.” 

He cocks his head at you, considering this. “Making your sister into an informant could kill both of you. One misplaced sense of familial duty isn’t worth the agony Pekka Rollins could cause you if you fail.”

“It would be worse not to try,” you assert. “I owe her that much.”

Something passes over Kaz’s face, a shadow of something he won’t say aloud. For someone who’s heard this story before, he seems affected by it regardless. Perhaps that’s why he’s so cold and calculating outright; if his candidates are scared off by him, they won’t trouble him with their siblings and parents and relatives any longer.

At last, Kaz places his hands carefully on the desk. “I have entertained the possibility of your sister feeding me information before,” he admits, “I consider it for every new hire of his. You were already a possibility before you even knew I existed.”

He proves this statement by pulling a piece of paper out of his desk. You scan it quickly, realizing it’s a contract with a blank at the bottom for you to sign. “And what, me showing up sealed the deal?”

He nods indifferently. “It proved you were willing to face the risk of this job. I don’t want my spies to be cowards.”

“Trust me, you’ll find that both of us are brave enough,” you tell him, and sign the contract with a flourish. 

Kaz takes the paper back, eyeing you appraisingly. “I suppose we’ll find that out soon enough.”

He’s as good as his word. Not two days have gone by before you’re given a set of instructions. Your sister must find a select document in Pekka’s office while she’s cleaning and report back a series of names to you, who will in turn feed the information to Kaz. Your sister already informed you that she would be more than fine with taking this sort of risk if it would get her out, but you can’t help a knot of guilt from twisting around your stomach when you think of the disastrous consequences should she get caught in the act.

She isn’t caught, though, and soon enough you’re hurrying back to the Slat. Kaz looks microscopically more welcoming on your second visit, but this quickly shuts down when, instead of telling him your sister’s information, you start out instead by telling him that you want your sister out of Pekka’s grasp in a month or less.

“That’s absurd,” Kaz says flatly. “Why would I terminate such a useful asset?”

“Because I want her safe, and even if you won’t have her, you’ll still have me as a member of the Dregs, and I’ll be more familiar with Pekka than most of your other employees,” you argue. “Besides, you had me sign a contract, not my sister. She has no responsibility to you.”

He arches a brow. “And how exactly would you go about removing Pekka’s influence from your sister? He’s not the kind of man who gives up easily, that I can assure you.”

“It won’t be that difficult,” you assure him, “my sister’s a maid, not one of his higher level employees. I just need to get in his office so I can destroy the contract she signed with him. After that, he’ll have no reason to keep her around, and he’ll still be under the impression that she knows nothing, so she’ll just slip out from his fingertips.”

“Of course,” Kaz muses sarcastically, “it shouldn’t be any trouble at all to get into Pekka Rollins’ office. It’s not as if that office has been the object of my attention for quite some time.”

“So we’ll make a heist out of it. Fine. Send other guys with me, we can take money or documents or whatever while I tear up the contract. One month, though, and she’s out.”

Kaz is silent for some time. “You really think you can protect your sister from Pekka Rollins? No one can. No brother is strong enough to protect their family from him.”

“I have no brothers to protect me,” you whisper, “just me. If I lose my sister, I have no one.”

“You are not the only one,” he says slowly, “with no one. You would not be the first one to underestimate what you’re getting yourself into. This sort of thing can drown you.”

He shivers when he says drown, a whole body spasm. You’re not sure that he’s aware of it. You’re not even sure that he is aware of you anymore. Wherever Kaz is, it’s not here, not anymore. He is in the thrall of some memory you could not dream of understanding.

“You can’t keep anyone safe from Pekka,” Kaz mutters. “You can’t. He couldn’t. J–”

He cuts himself off abruptly, knuckles curled into such tight fists that you almost expect the gloves to tear. Instead, he speaks up again, voice hoarse but controlled. “You may try. The information. Now.”

You tell him what your sister learned, afraid to hold back anything. When you leave the room, Kaz looks unsettled again, eyes wide and haunted. There is something he knows about Pekka Rollins that he will not tell you, something he’s reminded of whenever you speak of your sister.

You see this shadow of his again and again in the coming weeks. Sometimes it lingers for longer. Other times he blinks it away in a flash and he’s back again like nothing ever happened. When one month passes and your deadline comes to save your sister, he actually agrees with a plan to break into Pekka’s office. You weren’t entirely expecting him to accept such terms, but you think there is something compelling him to do this more than mere greed.

Then again, maybe greed is all. When the announcement is delivered to a select group of Dregs that you’ll be breaking into Pekka’s office, Kaz gives no mention of your sister nor her contract. In fact, when you bring it up to him, he just waves his hand and listlessly says that you can do what you please in there so long as you don’t ruin the mission.

At the beginning, maybe this casual dismissal would have stung, but you’ve grown accustomed to Kaz’s varying tempers by now, so you nod and take your leave. He’s standing by his window when your group leaves. You can see his silhouette when you look back, and although he’s too far away for you to see much other than a black shadow against the gold of lantern-light, you can sense the deep furrow of his brow as if he were right there before you.

Kaz is not your concern now, though, the heist is far more important. Still, you can’t help but turn to Inej Ghafa, who was appointed to lead this little expedition, and ask her why Kaz isn’t coming with you. It’s a foray into the stronghold of his enemy, why wouldn’t he be there?

Inej has always been kind to you, and the soft downturn of her frown when she speaks to you emanates calm sympathy. “He doesn’t want to mess with your task,” she says simply, “Not what the rest of us are doing, but how you’re freeing your sister. He says he doesn’t fare well with family disputes, not when Pekka’s around.”

You shake your head. “That makes no sense. Kaz isn’t superstitious. He doesn’t believe in luck, bad or otherwise.”

Inej lifts a shoulder, the movement a ripple of shadow against shadow in the dark of night. “I know. It’s all he’d tell me, though.”

You can feel her eyes on you even after the conversation ends, even after you walk away. So Kaz is afraid to mess with this, then. If you dared to put a finger on it, you think it might– well, it might even have to deal with Jordie.

You’re not entirely sure that Kaz is aware he has spoken the boy’s name aloud. It took him a long time, many long nights and early mornings. He has taken to musing and mumbling when you’re there. On one of those times, you heard a name. Jordie. Between that and his unnatural fixation on your relationship with your sister, you’ve been able to guess at a story. You may not be aware of any other Brekkers in the city, but that does not mean there were never any before you joined the gang.

The air inside Pekka’s headquarters is fraught with peril. Still, your sister’s information is good, and you’re able to find your way to the man’s office without too much trouble. There’s a filing cabinet in the back, full of contracts, and you quickly leaf through them to find your sister’s. You burn it with the very candle on Pekka’s desk, and after thoroughly checking to make sure there are no duplicates, you rejoin the rest of the gang without another word.

Kaz is waiting for you when you come back. The rest of you stole other important documents from Pekka’s office, just as you proposed when you first mentioned your need to liberate your sister, but Kaz quickly shoos everyone out of his office but you.

He sits there, stiff as a corpse, and stares at you. “Did it work?” He asks hollowly, “Did you save her?”

You nod. “The contract was destroyed. She’s safe.”

“The contract may be gone, but there’s no telling of her safety,” Kaz muses, half to himself, “No one is safe, not really. You think you’re alright and then he disappears, and then it’s over.”

You close your eyes for a moment of strength, but when you force them open again, Kaz still has the same weary expression on your face. It’s starting to rub you the wrong way, if it hasn’t since the first day. “My sister is fine, Kaz. I’ll find her work somewhere else. We’ll both be okay.”

Kaz’s eyes flash to you. “How can you promise her safety? You can’t do anything to save her. Not here.”

“I just did,” you argue, “I destroyed the contract. I did it. Pekka’s hold on her is over.”

“And what about the rest of us?” Kaz questions. “Can you find the rest of our contracts, too? Can you act like a Saint and save all of us?”

His tone is bitter, mocking. It cuts you to the bone. “I’m not your Jordie, Kaz. I can’t fix you.”

“I know,” he says, the words gut-wrenching, “I know.”

You stand abruptly. He does nothing to stop you. “I’m still honoring my contract,” you tell him, “I’ll carry on as a Dreg unless you kick me out. But don’t you ever even think about putting my sister in harm’s way. Her days as a spy are over.”

Your rooms seem even smaller than usual that evening, despite the fact that your sister is overjoyed at the thought that her life won’t be at risk anymore. In every one of her smiles, though, you hear Kaz’s warnings rattling in your ears. You can’t protect her. None of us can. Who are you to think otherwise?

You still show up at the Slat. You’re given jobs from down the ladder of command, never from Kaz himself. You haven’t haunted the top floor office in days, then weeks. It is fine, sort of, except for the fact that you do not want it to be just fine, you want– you want him, and that’s not what you expected at all.

A month goes by with no word from him, and then one night you’re out strolling by the harbor, looking over at the relentless surge of the tides, and he materializes from the gloom to stand there beside you.

He doesn’t look at you at first, just stares out at the water. “Your sister is alright.” Not a question, just a statement. You wouldn’t be surprised if he has taken it upon himself to find out that information already.

“Yes,” you answer.

He tilts his head up to stare at the empty sky. “This city has a way of wrecking us. You have enough bad turns and you think they’ll never end. You don’t trust it when someone has something good. I have been waiting for your rescue attempt to be ruined. It hasn’t.”

You nod. “Not all good things are a trap, Kaz.”

“I know,” he says, “I know. I’m sorry.”

You glance over at him in surprise. Dirtyhands doesn’t apologize. Kaz might, though.

Kaz meets your gaze for a second longer, then starts to walk away. “My door is open,” he tells you over his shoulder, then disappears back into the gloom of night once more.

You watch him until he’s long gone, then turn back to the water once more. The Barrel is not a good place to cultivate your dreams. More often than not, you’ll end up drinking poison instead of wine. Tonight, though– tonight, you think it might not be so bad after all.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy

[matchamocchi]

Relief - 1

After the assault of a curse's special attack, Takuma has a problem. But he's lucky that his teammate is more than willing to lend him a helping hand.

P0rn with a bit of plot exploiting the good ol' sex pollen trope.

A/N: This snippet of smut would not fit into my story – which doesn't mean it did not haunt my mind to the point I had to write it down. Enjoy!

Four missed calls. Two unanswered messsages on read. And he couldn't care less - even though he did care about her. Actually more than about anyone else.

Since their first meeting, he was smitten with every single aspect of her existence. Her looks, her voice, her patience and intellect, her soft nature that contrasted her fierce fighting skills. While he didn't want to surrender to it at first, at some point it was unavoidable to think about the girl during the lonely nights when his urges got the better of him. But each time he pleasured himself to the images of his teammate, he felt filthy afterwards for making this sweet, pure girl the protagonist of his lewd mind-porn.

But right now, as he was lying on his bed, fisting his swollen dick, it did not matter at all. No efforts should be spared to help him getting rid of this painful erection.

Early this morning, he was called to a mission. She was already in the car when Ichiji came to pick him up. They met Nanami at the haunted building and decided to split up to get the job done as quickly as possible. Ino and the girl took out a group of lower grade curses of which one suddenly blew out a thick veil of purple dust. She managed to fight off most of the substance with her cursed technique but Ino was directly hit in the face and inhaled some of it.

Later, Ieri checked on them to find out if it was some kind of poison and they needed further monitoring or treatment.

„Ino-san.“. He was just about to leave her office with Nanami and his teammate when Ieri addressed him and made a come hither movement with her finger.

„There's something you should know.“ She closed the door, sat down, lit a cigarette and tapped the pile of papers in her hands against the desk. „Your blood analysis shows a consideringly increased testosterone value.“ The doctor took a puff before continuing. „Apparently the strange dust this curse emitted was some kind of pollen that fuels the sex drive with the goal of incapacitating its victims.“

Ino's eyes widened. „That means?“

„Well, it's very likely that you will be easily aroused or fall into a state of permanent stimulation. I advice you to stay inside for the rest of the day and maybe also tomorrow, depending on your condition.“

Ino cleared his throat. „Okay. But... I don't feel any form of, uhm, arousal right now...“

„Thanks to your teammate you only inhaled a small amount of the curse's pollen. It can take some time before it takes effect.“

„And... is there... you know, something I can do?“

Ieri grinned and made a gesture with her hand that told him: jerk off.

If only it were that easy!

This was the most persistent boner of his life and no matter how long and hard he tried, he couldn't cum. He was horny to no end, his mind flooded with unrestrained scenarios of his cute teammate. But touching himself just didn't cut it. His body demanded for the real thing. A hot, juicy pussy that would milk him dry. He realized this after two hours of smearing an entire tube of handlotion onto his dick, rubbing it in all ways possible that would normally get the job done within only a couple of minutes.

Sex, sex, sex.

It was the only thing on his mind. However, the feeling was far from adolescent horniness. It was a destructive carnal thirst that seized his body from head to toe. Like a fever he could not escape. He was so deprived of most of his self-control that he felt like an animal. Takuma wanted – no, needed – it so bad that the desire caused not only his hardness to ache but also his conscience.

He had to fuck right now or he would lose his sanity.

With a groan, Ino pulled his pants up and sat down in front of his computer in a corner of his living room. He typed his address into the search field and added „callgirls“. Paying for sex had never crossed his mind before but now it seemed like his last resort. He studied the search results and opened some tabs when the sound of his doorbell sent a thunderbolt through his guts and he winced like he had been caught doing something illegal. No matter who it was, he would ignore them. Neither physically nor mentally was he in a state to interact with other people.

„Ino-san?“ The sweetest voice he knew called his name from the other side of the door.

No. Please not her. Not her of all people.

„Hey, are you okay? You did not answer your phone. I'm worried, so I came to check on you.“

Ino bit his lip. What should he do now? „Just pretend to not be at home.“, he concluded

„Ino-senpai?“, her voice made his cock twitch and his heart beat faster. „I'll come in now, okay?“

Next thing he heard was a rustle when she lifted his doormat to get the spare key he had told her about some time ago.

Shit. What now?

The second he heard the key being turned inside the lock, he hurriedly closed his computer, quickly threw on a hoodie and grabbed a blanket which he placed on his lap to hide his boner. Ino remained seated and put on his earphones so he could pretend he had not heard her.

„Senpai?“

Damn! How he loved it when she called him that!

It made him fuzzy-headed whenever he explained things to her and she would listen and nod enthusiastically, responding with something like „Really? That's interesing! Thank you, senpai!“

Remembering the way senpai fell from her lips also never failed to get his dick hard. Now, those six letters only sent another surge of pain to the region between his legs.

„Ino-san?“, she gently touched his shoulder to get his attention. The touch covered his entire body in goosbumps.

Takuma turned around, looked at her, doing his best to fake surprise and took off the headphones. „Oh, hi! What's up? What are you doing here?“ His voice was shaky and sounded raspy.

Takuma tried to sound as casual as possible despite the thick lump in his throat. When he looked at her, his fingers trembled and his jaw clenched. He involuntarily licked his lips when his eyes caught sight of her chest. She wore a tight shirt which accentuating the curves. Before his eyes, he saw a very clear vision of how he would kiss and suck the smooth flesh and could almost feel the weight of her breasts on the palms of his hands.

She had to go. He had to get her out of here immediately.

„You didn't answer my calls and messages. I was scared you might suffer from the attack this morning.“

„I'm fine but a bit sleepy. Actually, I just wanted to take a nap. Don't worry about me, I bet you have better things to do.“

He looked at her lips. They looked a bit shiny from the peach-tinted lipbalm. And inviting. They would perfectly match the pink hue of his cock.

„Oh my, you're sweating!“ When she reached for his forehead to check if he had a temperature, Ino flinched.

„It's okay, it's okay!“, he stammered, stopping her assault by grabbing her wrist.

His reaction shocked her, he could tell by the hurt expression on her face. Which turned into an angrier one within only a split second.

„No, I insist that we go and see Ieri-san. Now! Let's go, I'll call Akari to come and get us!“. The girl pulled her phone from her pocket and when Ino got up to stop her from making a call, the blanket fell off his lap, exposing the huge tent in his pants.

„...oh.“, she almost whispered and looked at the sight with widened eyes. The outline of his cock was prominent against the dark grey cotton of his sweatpants. „Oh!“, she exclaimed once more as she fully realized what was going on.

With glowing cheeks, he hurriedly picked up the blanket and covered his groin as if he were naked. He noticed that her wide-eyed gaze still lingered between his legs.

This was by far the most embarassing moment in his entire life!

„Okay, I have an issue! This is the curse's work and it won't go away! So could you please, for fuck's sake, leave me the hell alone so I can take care of it?“, Ino almost yelled due to his nervousness. „Can you just go now to not make this any more awkward than it already is? Please?“ He was so agitated that his voice threatened to break any second.

He pointed towards the door but when she did not move, instead remained in the living room with a baffled look on her face, he fled to his bedroom.

The brunette sat down on his bed, face buried in his hands. He was hot – but couldn't tell wether it was due to arousal or embarassment.

„You want me... to help you?“

He looked up and their eyes met. She leaned against the doorframe. Ino knew her well enough to know that this was no joke. The tone in her voice, the posture. She really wanted to help him.

His brain spat out so many thoughts at once that it felt like it was riding a brutal rollercoaster:

"But wait. What does she want to do? Does she want to do this. No, absolutely not! There's no way she means to have sex with me. But she is smart. So does she have another idea?"

[kasdan]

𝐸𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟'𝑠 𝐹𝑢𝑟𝑦 {𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 14}

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a/n: i would like to apologize that this chapter has taken so long i have been working mainly on fics on my side blog atm and am trying to juggle this story and the other fics i'm writing so please bear with me 🙏🏼 i hope people still enjoy reading the story and that you enjoy the chapter<3

summary: you have to cut off your power usage and a visitor shows up on the bunker's doorstep

pairing: frank castle x reader

warnings: frank is upsetti spaghetti, mention of blood and dead bodies, reader and frank have another moment ‼️(they were cock blocked again smh), mild language, smidge cliffhanger ending (sorry)

word count: 1.2k

“How the hell did they know where we were?” I hear Frank’s booming voice from the bathroom where I’m washing off all the blood. He doesn’t give me much of a choice when we get back to the bunker, immediately ushering me into the bathroom to get cleaned up, even though he looks to be in worse condition than I am.

He tries to inspect my injuries, but I push the first aid kit into his arms so he can tend to his own wounds and not worry about mine. I’ve been washing off in the sink, watching the red-colored water swirl down the drain. Most of the blood on me isn’t mine; it’s from others that I need to scrub off.

I quickly rinse off the blood and change into the clothes Frank left outside the door before leaving the bathroom. It’s easy to find where the two men are in the bunker, given its size, and also where the loud talking continues.

As soon as Frank sees me walk into the room, he’s in front of me, tilting my chin up to inspect the cut. “Frank, I’m fine.” I try to tilt my head away, but his grip is firm, not letting me move as he examines my chin.

He doesn’t let go until he’s sure I’m not badly hurt, then walks back to where David is sitting at his desk. Wrappers and bandages from the first aid kit are scattered over the desk where Frank hastily patched up his injuries.

“The bracelet she has only prevents large amounts of waves from being sent into the air at one time, making it almost impossible to track—emphasis on almost. They’re apparently very persistent,” David explains, sighing.

“So my best chance is to just not use them?” I ask, uncertain about the situation since many of the men who came are either still bleeding out at the house or dead.

“Right now, I think it’s best if they’re only used when absolutely necessary.” I understand his point, but it makes me uneasy not being able to fully control them or work on them. How can I ensure they’ll work when I really need them?

“You can still practice with them, just not so much at one time,” David says, as if reading my thoughts. I nod slowly, slightly disappointed that I won’t have any more full-on training sessions with Frank anytime soon.

“C’mere,” Frank says, grabbing a couple of papers from the desk and motioning for me to follow him to the back of the bunker.

“Yeah, just leave me with the mess,” David calls out as Frank walks away, not receiving a response.

Frank sits down on the ground, knowing I’m more comfortable there than on the benches or chairs. I’ve told him many times that he doesn’t have to sit on the ground with me if he’d prefer the chairs, but he brushes me off every time.

He places the papers in front of him as I sit down next to him, wondering what this is about. He gives me a reassuring smile and slides the paper closer so I can see it.

There’s a list of words on it, each color-coded. “This is the list of the powers that were put into the system. They were all a different color for some reason, so we wrote them down as listed,” Frank explains. I reach out to pick up the sheet and survey it.

I skim over the list, focusing more on the colors than trying to make sense of it. However, I can't help but notice the word “time” a couple of times. My eyebrows crease as I attempt to figure out what it means. “What is it?” Frank gently asks from next to me.

I show him the two items I’m looking at. “What do these mean?” He leans in to see where I’m pointing.

“Freeze time and reverse time,” he reads from the paper. “Freezin' time is makin' everythin' around you stop and freeze in place. Reversin' it is going back a few seconds or minutes to an earlier event.” I recall the time in the house when Frank repeated the same thing but didn’t seem to realize it. Was I the reason for that? I glance back at the paper. ‘Freeze time’ has an icy blue color next to it, while ‘reverse time’ has a lighter green color.

“You don’t know what the colors mean?” I look up from the paper, surprised to find that we’ve grown closer, our knees touching as I look at him. He meets my gaze and visibly swallows before clearing his throat.

“Uh, no. They were never really explained in the files…” His voice trails off, and I look at him in confusion.

“Are you okay?” I ask, noticing his distraction.“Frank?” I say again when he doesn't say anything, and he lifts his head to look at me.

“I shouldn’t…” he mutters, sounding conflicted.

“Shouldn’t what?” I respond, but there’s no time to think before he tilts my chin up and presses his lips to mine.

It catches me off guard, and a small gasp escapes me as he moves his lips gently against mine. I feel sparks ignite within me once again, and I slowly start to move my mouth along with his.

A groan escapes his lips when he feels me respond, and he grips my hips, pulling me closer. I find myself resting my hands on his shoulders to steady myself as our mouths continue to move together.

My body tingles as sparks shoot through my arms and into my hands, causing Frank to pull back and look at me. I’m breathing heavily and notice my hands glowing dark red again, and I don’t understand what triggered it.

Instead of pulling fully away, Frank ignores the shocks and leans in to press his lips back against mine. I try to pull my hands away to stop hurting him, but his strong hold keeps me in place.

A noise escapes me as he presses his mouth more firmly against mine, forcing me to push back with equal force. He pulls me into his lap, our bodies pressed close, and I can’t help but wrap my arms around his neck and melt into him.

My body feels like it’s in overdrive, new emotions swirling inside me, making me want to stay close forever. However, the universe has other plans when a knock is heard from the front bunker door.

We break apart, panting for air. I stare at him, confused about what’s happening. His grip loosens, allowing me to slide off his lap.

David’s urgent voice comes from the other side of the bunker, calling us over. I glance at Frank one last time before picking myself up and slowly making my way to David. Frank follows, but I catch him glancing down at the paper left on the ground before he does.

“Do either of you know who this is?” David points to the screen of the camera outside the door. A woman stands there in a long dark coat. There’s something familiar about her, but I can’t quite place it.

buy me a coffee ♡

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@sleeperthelazy @lunaticgurly @casa-boiardi @mattmurdocksstarlight @cherry-berry-ollie @givemylovetoall @maddiewinchester

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[booquip]

Hello! Sorry guys I broke my arm lol and it was my right arm too so writing was on the back burner for me. I even had to take a final with my left hand. But dw guysss I came back so alpha sigma skibidi 😜😜🐺🐺 I hope you enjoy whatever the heck of writing this is that I never posted because it felt stupid and doesn’t even make sense to me ☹️☹️ 

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x fem!Reader x Suguru Geto

Synopsis: Takes place a bit after the star plasma incident (written in multiple POVS) (trigger warning(?) Scars and bloody injury.)

Word Count: 1,455

The scorching summer day slowly faded into an orange-purple hue welcoming the stars and saying goodbye to the sun. Something you’d usually notice but everything recently just looked dull. You found yourself ignoring it… Dismissing the moment under the guise of saying you’d see it the next day… something you’d been saying a lot recently.

You were walking to your dorm coming back battered from a mission. You didn’t even notice the blood stain on your arm or the aching pain from how deep the curse had punctured you. You’d been biting more than you could chew recently with missions and who were the higher-ups to deny a special grade actually wanting to do something? You needed the distraction… Your mind being miles away —well no more like stuck in time—hence why a grade two curse was able to almost get the jump on you.

You look down to the thin paper cut like scars on your hands tucking them under your sleeves it seemed to be a permanent karmic reminder of that day… When Gojo and Geto became Suguru and Satoru… But at what cost? A trauma bond? The loss of a promising young girl? The over exertion of all your techniques? The questioning of all your morals?

Goj—Satoru didn’t let anyone get behind him for a while. It’s subtle but you noticed it…. Or were you just projecting that hurt? Suguru being a different story all together.. it was a rare occurrence to see him anymore… You never know how much a presence is needed until it’s well…gone.

You let out a breath your eyes feeling heavy yet you weren’t sleepy this had been going on for a while since then… Instead of bee-lining for your dorm like usual in which you’d usually cross paths with Satoru who’d be talking to Shoko about whatever it was they would talk about, you were too tired to pay attention…

You walk straight to the student common area to make yourself some tea. You didn’t even notice Geto’s presence until you saw his figure in front of you in the dim lit kitchen area.. You just give him a slight bow of the head in greeting. In which his eyes rake over your form. His presence didn’t seem right… but then again nothing did these days.

You didn’t realize that you subconsciously made tea for two. Why had you done that? You set a cup in front of him. He gives you another once over almost like he was surprised. Then he does so again the moment you take a seat beside him.

He murmurs something, you make it out to be a thanks but it was hard to tell because he kept his gaze down his shoulders slouched as if he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

You notice the bags under his eyes ,the attire he’s wearing, the way his hair looks, his slouched shoulders… His once vibrant violet irises, that reminded you of purple Hydrangeas were now withering purple Hyacinths. Even like this he was still a breathtaking site. You were snapped out of your thoughts when he unexpectedly spoke a bit louder for you to hear this time, breaking the silence that would leave even a feather to be heard if it fell.

“You’re hurt.”

His voice had a rough coarse edge to it, yet hearing it after so long it could be mistaken as silk to you. How long had it really been since you heard him speak? You take one hand off the hot tea cup you were holding going across to touch the wound on your left shoulder. You graze over the wound staring down at the crimson on the pads of your middle and ring fingers. Now that he pointed it out it started to sting. “Oh it’s really noth—“

He cuts you off by taking your wounded arm and rolling your sleeve up. He doesn’t fail to notice the way you almost instinctively retract your arm the scars from the Star Plasma incident stoping at your elbows… he knew you over exerted your blood technique back then but not by how much. He clenched his jaw at the site rolling the fabric up further eying the fresh wound on your shoulder.

His hands were cold you thought to yourself. Cold but soft…You manage to say something before you could get lost in his touch—his movements… Even in this state he did everything with such grace… “It’s nothing… really it’ll heal on its o—“

Why were you always neglecting yourself? He found himself thinking.

His mind was everywhere but worrying about you seemed to be the only constant.

Even though the both of them weren’t speaking much he could tell Satoru was also worried about you with the way he conviently needed to go to the girls dorm to talk to Shoko every time he saw you walking back on campus from a mission.

Suguru knew he wasn’t one to talk about appearances at all considering he could barely muster the energy to do well… anything. Yet somehow he found himself drinking the tea you made him, he found himself actually enjoying it,savoring the taste on his tongue as much as he could. He hears your pitiful attempt to downplay the situation quickly shutting that down with a knowing look. He felt the ghost of a grin purse his lips…it was almost amusing to him how fast you had stopped yourself.

Your eyes widen a bit seeing even the undertone of a smile on his lips. How long were you missing no— craving his presence. His hands were cold yet even the slightest curl of his lips felt so warm. You clear your throat a bit when he grabs the first aid kit beginning to clean your wound wincing a bit at the stinging sensation.

“Don’t be such a big baby.”

Says someone with an airy tone that betrays hints of something you couldn’t quite catch. Worry? Sympathy? Pity? Concern? You didn’t know but something about it was as everything was these days …off.

You turn your head looking up at him. You were so lost in the moment with Suguru you hadn’t sensed Satoru’s presence behind you.

His arms were crossed leaning his back against the wall raking over your form, his eyes narrowing in on your wound. The scars from that day still sent a mess of anger surging through him. Why was that? Why did it pain him to see you hurt? Why did it pain him to see you so clearly neglecting yourself? Why were you so casual about it? More over why did he care? Why was he finding himself wanting to pamper you?

He glances at his best friend…if you could even call them that right now.. Satoru knew he was going through something but he was afraid. For the second time in his life he found himself afraid of something…What if everything crumbles the moment he points something out? Since when did he find himself feeling doubt? Why did it always have to be about you two?

Suguru doesn’t look up from your wound but his grip on your arm tightens ever so slightly as if he was…nervous of Gojo's presence. It had been so long since the three of you were together. The tension between the two was thick almost enough that it could be cut with a knife. You let out a light laugh your eyes crinkling a bit at the sides as you shake your head in response to Satoru’s words .

You hadn’t noticed the way both of their eyes widened ever so slightly. Geto looking up at Gojo, both of them silently communicating...something. You turned your attention back to Sugurus hands now wrapping a bandage around the wound on your shoulder. For some reason the tension seemed to visibly dissipate Suguru finally speaking, the ghost of a smile returning on his lips.

“Like you’re one to talk Satoru”

He says his voice still tired but now with hints of playfulness to it.

Satoru pauses for a brief almost unnoticeable moment before clutching his hand to his heart in a dramatic display of mock offense, letting out a gasp.

You smile a warm one this time looking down at your now patched up shoulder, Suguru’s touch still lingering.. Why did you find yourself always craving more of it? You realize you smiled more in this hour than you did in the last two weeks. Their bickering filled the room feeling so warm the atmosphere beginning settle into something so foreign yet so familiar at the same time.

Everything would definitely not go back to normal but you three… maybe... You three would be okay.

I don’t really know how to feel about this to be honest…. I find myself pulling my hair out when it comes to witting Gojo. Trying to write him in a way that isn’t over saturated in fannon because he’s just way more complex than that but still finding myself unsatisfied with the way i write him because it doesn’t feel canon (but then again nothing will be because its FANFICTION). Oh and don’t get me started on dialogue its like pulling teeth taking me half an hour to figure out if they would really say the most simple phrase or if they would really react in such a way. Sorry if this disappointed you guys anyway as always thanks so much for the love on my last posts!! Also thanks so much for reading! Constructive criticism and feedback is always appreciated!!

I was tweaking my old writing and it spiraled into this long mess. I like to think that Suguru would be more assertive in situations where the reader is hurt just the silent type… Like he’s mad but quiet in his words but body language tells another story… while Satoru is similar but much more… aggressive... maybe? Like he would berate the reader loudly for not taking care of the wound tease her for being ‘weak’ but also patch it up best he could even though he doesn’t really know how to??? I don’t know mann I just be yapping 😭😭

Also sorry for any inaccuracies again you can totally nit pick me I love getting better at writing! (Not too much though I have a fear of rejection) due to well uhmm my broken arm… haha… I couldn’t catch up on JJK as well as I hoped… you’d think I’d be able to laze around but nooo… I had to be an actual person and do stuff 😒😒 so yeah just feel free to tell me if I made an error in any concept!

Taglist: (I'm not sure if this is the writing you guys wanted to be tagged in but let me know and i'll remove it but thanks for liking my writing enough to want be tagged!! Like seriously it makes me jump for joy🙆🏽‍♀️🙆🏽‍♀️ also i have no clue how to tag so if i did it wrong let me know and ill fix it) @colorful-happy-shit , @ami20019