#and feeding which is why we smeared blood all over his lips he had a good meal .:D

[marvellovegalore]

Breaking You

Chris Evans

Parte Deux - Hurting You

Synopsis: You begin to feel the true consequences of you hurting Chris and it's beginning to overwhelm you - and him.

Word Count: 2,483

Author's Note: I listened to quite a few songs to truly get into the vibe of this but The Cinematic Orchestra - To build a home (slowed) really got me into the energy I want to be delivered from this write-up. Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know how you feel!

Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Mental Illness, Sexual Content

You’ve rarely had to consider yourself as someone who runs from her problems. You’d probably proudly tell anyone that asked that you quite confidently tackle your problems head-on.

However, you’ve created quite a serious problem for yourself. A broken heart.

What you have periled numerous men with, is now afflicting you. The odd thing is, is that you are exulting in it. It’s an oddly familiar sensation; it drowns your body in an intangible sickness that paralyses and asphyxiates you.

You sit at your piano, watching the silent and unmoving countryside. The fields of Portofino showered with golden sunlight, the brio reflecting into your room.

You haven’t pushed aside the sheer curtains since you arrived four days ago. You’ve taken your first shower this morning, the water sinking you into its comforting, warm embrace. You don’t really want to tell yourself aloud why you chose to come back to your grandparents’ old house, when stuff is going wrong. You’ve decided that playing the piano and smoking your days away is better than confronting yourself in the mirror - good thing all the furniture is covered with sheets. The sorry state of your face would make you plunder even deeper into your melancholy.

You will yourself to forget him and try to forget his existence.

But it’s virtually impossible, with him promoting a new film three towns over.

Good thing is you feel physically incapable of stepping outside of the confines of the house. The ladies that tend to the house scurry around the town buying food for the house and maintain its upkeep, they attempt to feed you three meals a day or four. You refuse most of the time, and they regard you with concerned gazes.

How could you begin to explain that with breaking a man’s heart, you subsequently had broken your own? His words blistered with bitterness bit you and dragged you down to the same pits of sadness that you plunged him into. You can probably say that you loved him, but you’ll probably truly never grasp why you can’t stay in something that requires such cemented commitment.

“Signora?” Your house governess interrupts your train of thought, you pull your cigarette away from your lips. “Sí?” She presents you with a letter addressed to you. The handwriting vaguely familiar to you. You thank her and dismiss her, the cigarette back in between your lips.

The letter doesn’t inform you of who it is from, but you hope, in the depths of your ribs that it’s from him, but you couldn’t possibly understand why he would ask to meet with you. He left you wordlessly two months ago and hasn’t been in contact since, not even through subliminal messages on social media. You can wager that you’re probably dead to him. It was made clear to you when you stood at the beach outside of your friend’s Malibu compound. He would rather die than get back with you; you don’t blame him.

You turn back to your piano, the keys feeling like lead beneath your shaky fingers. You play out a melancholic tune, your fingers feeling like they’re losing blood, you play clumsily, your eyes welling with tears.

You do have to admit, you feel extremely guilty for leaving him.

Life was beautiful with him.

He would have served you the sun on a platter if it meant making you smile - but you’re meant to destroy beautiful things.

It was what your father told you. You ruined his marriage to your mother; your sheer existence drove her to the brink of insanity. Since you were conceived you were a parasite that took the love your mother had for your father and you guzzled it out of her, taking all of her focus and affection. When you were born your parents refused the diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. Your mother believed you were an angel sent from heaven and doctors were trying to take you from her; so, she slowly succumbed to the madness and your father eventually was forced to send her away. The resentment he felt towards you all but scented the house, you were a poisonous leech, and you were treated as such.

You take the last drag of your cigarette and drag yourself to your walk-in closet, you decide on taking another shower - scrubbing away the odour of tar and smoke. You ready yourself for your strange and mysterious encounter. You dress yourself and half an hour later rush out to your car. The sun is low in the sky by the time you start driving away from the house, the countryside hugging you from all sides.

The drive is long into the town centre. The sky is blushed with pink and tinges of orange. You park your car and take a slow walk to the Splendido Mare; you enter the hotel’s restaurant and are led to a table. Your order a glass of wine and wait. After ten minutes you take out the letter, you read it from start to finish and confirm that the invitation was not a figment of your imagination; you were indeed summoned here by a mystery writer. Whom you hope is him.

You sit for half an hour at your table, you sip your anxiety away through two glasses of wine, you step outside and smoke two cigarettes and yet you’re still waiting. You flit through your phone notifications; you decide against your better judgement to type his name into the Goggle search bar. You fleetingly glance around the sparsely attended restaurant. You lock your phone without looking at the updates about him.

The thought of him makes your chest ache, harshly. The pain is tangible, you place your hands over your chest and wince. Something is not right.

You’re not aware of his slow approach, his hands wringing around each other, his cheeks red with nervous energy. He wishes he had had a shot of something - anything before getting here. He doesn’t recall what filled him the mad inspiration to send you a stamped letter to meet him at his hotel restaurant. He doesn’t know whether he wishes he had just called the brunette and spoken to her tonight; but he misses you. Madly.

He pulls out the chair in front of you. You can both tell that you’re holding in your breath.

Every time you see him it feels like the first time, all over again.

And he feels the same, but for either of you to admit it would be succumbing to defeat. You’re engaged in a silent and unspoken battle of wills.

“You sent me a letter?” You show him the letter. He nods, you sigh. “What is it you want to talk about?” You’re afraid to look into his eyes, they’re huge lakes filled with your dreams and deepest desires.

He hesitates, a ghostly sentence is formed on his tongue – he decides against materialising it. “I heard you were nearby; thought we could catch up.” He motions for the waiter. You narrow your eyes in - almost offence. What does he think, that you’re old pals?

He wants to catch up, but you want to do everything. Mostly profess your adoration for him and make love to him.

You despise the feeling; you’ve never felt like this for anyone. The alien feeling makes you heat up, your chest rises and falls quickly; agony filling your body as if you were a vessel to claim. “Right,” is all you can utter.

“What have you been up to?” He’s ordered two martinis, his eyes connecting to yours. You wince as the pain in your chest returns. How can he be so close yet so far?

“I was filming a fragrance campaign recently.” You speak quickly, an itch to smoke tickling your fingers. He nods, his eyebrows raised high.

“Nice.” He sighs and extends his clasped hands further onto the table. You look even more beautiful than in his thoughts, which he can’t expel you from. It seems your haunting presence is with him to stay, and his imagination can’t do any justice to your face and your intoxicating smell.

The conversation you have over your first drinks is dry, emotionless and full of hidden desires.

After each of you have three cocktails you let out the first laugh. He’s released himself a bit from the shackles of wanting to one-up you, his joke about his dog’s stubbornness reminding you of the good days of domesticity with Christopher and his dog. You move out to the terrace, candles flickering in the wind; you share more laughs. Memories being shared between you about life together.

There’s a clear shared emotion - longing. You crave the late summer nights sharing the dance floor with his friends or yours; him undressing you slowly in your pool; the nights watching the fire pit in your Santa Barbara home; the dinners enclosed in brick walled Italian restaurants with candles illuminating your elated faces.

“Come up with me.” His suggestion is quiet, his lips edging closer to yours. You nod, overcome with emotion. He grips on to your hand, the grip of a man thanking his lucky stars. He leads you to his room, on the top floor. A paradisiacal view of the sea and hills greeting you. The sun has set completely, and the moon casts a pale light over the buildings across the water.

Chris closes the door, and no sooner is he clutching at your lips with his. His hands smother you onto him and you meet him with the same desperation. Your hands slip under his shirt and moan into his mouth, your lipstick smearing over his lips. You feel him inhale your smell; he sighs desperately as he pulls you closer to him. You fall onto the chaise lounge in front of the open doors leading onto his balcony. The wind whispers sweet nothings onto your skins as you meld together, your bodies wanting desperately to be combined. He removes your clothes with familiar precision and your fingers touch him where you know he likes it.

The grooves of his skin are familiar, his dick entering you slowly as your fingers caress his tanned skin. He looks spectacular underneath you, his skin illuminated by the moonlight. You ride him slowly, you lips adventuring each other, like your bodies are each other’s long lost home territory. Your lips touch again, but it feels like the first time all over again. You feel yourself melting, your brain feels high, your limbs terribly relaxed. You guess this is what true love feels like. There’s nowhere else you’d want to be.

You love him. Only him.

He turns you over, on all fours, one hand gripping your throat and the other around your hair. He thrusts into you - with passion, his lips ghost over your shoulder. You feel your eyes close, the strength to fight the sedation unable to be found. It goes on for a while, and he flattens you onto your stomach. He lays on top of you, his hips gyrating against your skin, his arms encircling your torso. You feel safe, his head laying to rest in between you shoulder and jawline. He inhales your scent and kisses your shoulder, his lips printing their mark on your skin.

He turns you over and takes a deep breath, his eyes hold your entire world. They’ve trapped you into his universe and you have no desire to leave. He’s your whole world and you gave him away on a silver platter - but he’s here. He accommodates himself in between your legs and gives you a hug, his lips find yours in the darkness. The moonlight bathes you generously and he nestles himself inside you again. His lips refuse to leave yours; his thrusts grow in fervour; he wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.

He’s so deeply, and madly in love with you.

He can’t believe you hurt him. He hates you for it.

He pulls away from your kiss, his breathing heavy and slightly laboured.

His hides his face in the nook under your head. You feel like crumpling when you feel tears run over your shoulder, you hug him tighter. You want to stitch his wounds closed, tightly with your bare fingers and your lips. You want to mould your bodies together and live forever in this moment. His fingers reach for your clitoris and he makes love to you in two different ways. Your head lolls back and you feel ecstatic, currents washing over you slowly and you orgasm.

Chris kisses you desperately, swallowing your moans. He thrusts into you, complementing your orgasm. He releases himself into you, slowly moaning into your mouth.

After a few moments he stands up from the lounge chair and heads to the shower, as he walks through the door, he turns to you. He smiles in a way that you understand is an invitation to join him in the shower. You stand slowly, your legs feeling like jelly. You join him for a warm shower, peppered with tender kisses and saccharine touches.

Your bodies unconsciously refuse to part until you’re lying in his bed. He turns off the lamp and lays facing you.

A sweet look embalms his irises. His hand lifts itself to nestle under your cheekbone. He regards you softly.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaky.

You smile sleepily, “I love you too.”

You’re hypnotised to sleep by his soft breaths.

—

The sunlight reflected on the lake wakes you out of you slumber, the first dreamless one you’ve had in months. You turn to the side where Chris is and find nothing but empty air. You sit up quickly; the room is deadly silent. Nothing but your movements on the bed make noise. You scramble out of the bed and look for him.

There’s no trace of him in the room. You let out small wail of desperation. What if it was all a dream?

You pace the room, an uneasy feeling setting itself in your chest. You feel the space between your ribs tighten and your head feel faint. Your legs feel weak and unsteady, you crumple into a heap near the chaise lounge. Your breath feels constricted, massively so. The world begins to spin, and you fall onto your back.

It feels like a heart attack.

You can barely feel your heart.

You drag yourself to the counsel table, desperate to reach the phone. Your hand misses it massively, instead a hotel branded paper flickers down next to you. You pick it up, the tightness in your chest limiting your movement.

I guess this is goodbye, I can’t get over the fact that I’ll never be able to trust you. No matter how much I want to.

I hate you for ruining us

I’ll miss you, forever.

With all my love,

C

--

Parte Quatre -

Tags -

@chvntelle-99, @krispy-toes, @hampass, @calimoi, @saltyflowermakertaco

[kindaeccentric]

When I was writing my university bachelor's degree thesis (that I'm still to defend) about Penny Dreadful as a modern adaptation of Frankenstein I noticed how the original novel's homoeroticism is realized by the series in an interesting way.

In the way he is presented, it seems to me that Victor secretly desires men, but thinks that only through creating a perfect one by himself he's allowed to touch other man's skin. His endeavour to pierce the veil between life and death is an excuse, since Victor from the series grew up lonely after the death of his mother and he searches for companionship, for someone who would love him unconditionally, like his mother used to. He believes he can find such love only in a person he creates himself, brings from the dead, and who would see him as his only friend, calm and obedient. Yet his first instinct is to make a man, not a woman, and a handsome man at that.

I can imagine both Rory Kinnear and Alex Price are not everybody's cup of tea (I do find them attractive, they are quite charismatic), but the way the original Creature and Proteus are shown makes them attractive. Proteus we see through Victor's eyes, when he is tending to his body before its even reanimated, when he sketches him (a sure sign of affection) and when he teaches him how to eat in a way that becomes seductive, because of how the camera lingers on his lips and then, in a closeup, on his fingers running down his long throat, immediately bringing to mind erotic imagery. Some may argue that Victor tries to emulate the relationship between his mother and himself taking the parental role and projecting onto Proteus the role of his childhood self, and as much as it is partially true, their relationship bears these marks of hidden desire on Victor's part from the start. The image at the end of the first episode when Proteus is born shows Victor trembling, teary-eyed, looking at the body, a torn and stitched back together, but human body, of a naked man. He's afraid, but not necessarily of the man, but of finally getting what he wanted, it's a fear resulting from excitement. Then the man is touching his face tenderly and Victor, still trembling, cannot stop himself from a little smile. Their faces are softly illuminated by the orange light of the gas lamp, creating an intimate atmosphere of a warm bedroom. Victor practically gasps hearing his own name smoken by Proteus. I doubt all of it was intentional in the way I read it, but it doesn't change the fact that the final scene can be easily interpreted this way.

Then the original Creature, with the violence surrounding his return, presents him as highly masculine, smart, powerful, a direct opposite to the delicate, clueless Proteus Victor could easily form into whatever he wanted. The Creature throughout the entire series is perceived as ugly by some and easily tolerated by others, making his ugliness purely subjective, since, despite his small deformities he remains strangely alluring with his gothic qualities (black long hair, black lips, white skin, yellow eyes, proportional features) of a dark brooding gentleman. With blood on his face he becomes vampire-like (vampires always a symbol of hidden desires and 'depraved' sexuality, the Creature and Victor becoming a mirror image of Vanessa and vampire Mina, both Creature's and Mina's monstrosity an indirect result of Victor's and Vanessa's desire towards having a same-sex companion). The Creature touches Victor's face, a callback to Proteus doing it, but the Creature is not gentle, he smears blood all over Victor's face (blood in vampire narratives was always a symbol for other bodily fluids, that's why it seems so sexy, it also gained another meaning in the 80s, due to the HIV epidemic, which no filmmaker can shake off if they tried, I could discuss it more with The Lost Boys, but no time for that right now).

The dynamic between Victor and the Creature is a reversal of Victor's budding relationship with Proteus, experience winning over innocence. Victor is under another man's rule, and it terrifies him, because it would force him into a position of having to admit his attraction, whereas as the one in control he could have still easily deny it. The Creature, with all his attributes, symbolizes carnal love, he's all 'body', where Proteus was virginal, pious love (to an extent). In one of the scenes where we see Proteus he looks up into the skylight at Victor's apartment and appears angelic, as if in a halo of white light.

It's revealed Victor never had a woman, and the series wants the viewer to believe it's because of his awkwardness and passion for science that consumed him, but his dedication to creating himself male companions instead of searching for a living female one is exactly what makes him seem more queer coded.

It's clear that the lack of paternal figure results in Victor quickly becoming close with older men he encounters (Sir Malcolm, Van Helsing), but it also puts him into a position where he's constantly surrounded by men, with whom he feels more at ease, and is intimidated by women. The rivalry between him and Ethan is that of siblings, until the moment when Ethan teaches him how to shoot a gun. It might be a stretch (it is a bit of a stretch, I admit), but a gun often, especially in horror, alongside a knife, represents manhood and masculine power. Victor allows Ethan to touch him and encourages him to show off with the gun, which is a scene all too familiar from many other movies where the role of Victor is reserved for a woman and the interaction is flirtatious (can't pull examples out of thin air, but if you saw over 1400 movies like me you know I'm not lying). All this adds to the general image of Victor.

The Creature and Victor, when they are on a walk, have a very revealing conversation in which the Creature points out how quick Victor was to grow attached to his more perfect man, and Victor doesn't deny it, he admits that he did in fact feel affection towards Proteus, although the meaning of it as the scorned past partner expressing jealousy over the love he didn't get while someone else did is largely subtext. When the Creature says that he's lonely, Victor answers 'I cannot love you' (paraphrase, because I can't find the exact quote right now) and the Creature, disillusioned, mocks him, 'I do not want what you cannot give' suggesting that Victor, by making himself a meek obedient man, is selfish, cruel, manipulating, and a coward, therefore could not have loved Proteus truly. Then again, Victor cannot bring himself to love his original Creature, because he's not the ideal man he envisioned and by then the Creature being too aware of his flaws of character. The Creature/Caliban/John Clare knows that Victor is 'monstrous', not just because he's someone who desecrates dead bodies, plays God and abandons his creation, but because of his queer desire. It's important that in the case of Penny Dreadful 'monstrosity' signifies many different things, literal (being a vampire werewolf, witch, and so on), metaphorical (bad deeds, like letting your son die a horrible death, cheating, killing etc.) and wholy subjective, merely condemned by ignorant society (Sembene's blackness, Brona's sex work, Lily's want to be equal or greater than men, Vanessa's want for sexual freedom, the Creature's ugliness, Angelique being transgender and other cases), so it's NOT that much of a stretch this time.

We also have the whole problem with Lily. Victor is so attached to Lily (who takes up both Elizabeth's and creature's bride parts in the novel) because he believes that only by possessing a good woman he'll be redeemed for his 'sinful' desires, but he's foolish to think that. This belief reduces a woman to a semi-maternal, semi-virginal angelic ideal with no sexual urges or agency, like virgin Mary. Lily is a true replacement for Victor's mother, and his imagined redemption. As long as she's similar to Proteus, in that she's not sexual, and pure like an angel. Yet Lily is not a woman in that sense. She is another of Victor's creatures, so she partially also takes over the role of the original Creature from the novel, a male. She's not an ideal of a Victorian obedient wife, she has power, or tries to have it, but power in the context of patriarchal society is masculine by nature. The moment she drops her pretenses of a weak delicate wife-like girl Victor does not want her like this. He doesn't want a woman that is sexually liberated, because he doesn't like women in this way, and yet, by being similar to the first Creature (from Victor's perspective, from hers John Clare is similar to Victor-a man, I could delve into Brona's sexuality, but later, this thing is already way longer than I intended) she's 'the man' he wanted.

There is also Henry. Henry Jekyll takes the role of his namesake in the novel, Henry Clerval, Victor's closest friend, and a character most often cited to have homoerotic tension with Victor. It's true that some of the eroticism might be accidental, stemming from the prevalence of homosocial interactions in 'Frankenstein' which in turn is a result of misogynistic nature of 19th century Genevian society and in-novel universe reflecting it, but like I mentioned before, it still feeds into the queer reading of the text and translates beautifully into Jekyll and Victor being both extremely misogynistic towards Lily and their mutual homoerotic tension. In the scenes where Henry purposes his plan to Victor he practically seductively purrs it into his ear, Lily becomes merely a female buffer that allows for that interaction, a female presence which is an excuse for male closeness (here I have a couple of examples actually: Dead Ringers, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Scream (in a roundabout way, through murder) and a couple others, but that deserves its own article). I won't even mention more references to the novel, because that's a lot already.

Penny Dreadful, although I believe largely unintentionally, expands on what is already there through the changes it introduces in relation to the novel's plot. I have nothing else smart to say, I just think it's worth considering.

*I use the word 'queer', because that's the umbrella term we use in academic writing for years now and even our lgbt+ group at university is called 'queer', so don't come at me with stupid takes

[darling-i-read-it]

Bodies

1992! Dracula x reader

Word Count: 800

Warnings: dead bodies, blood, drinking blood,

Author’s Note: what is this 

Summary: you bring bodies up to the castle for drinking 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

You walked back up to the castle carefully. It was not a long walk but it was uphill which grew tedious. If you didn’t have to drag up the bodies of the villagers you would have simply turned to a bat. It was the dead of night, the only time in which you were allowed to be out. Allowed was a loose term. You would burn in the sun if you were out during the day. 

Dracula did not like to leave the castle. It was a personal preference that you admired of him. It made the townsfolk talk of him as though he were a mystery. He haunted them. The closest they ever got was you and it was a rarity to see you. 

You came for food, which you brought back to Dracula in due time to keep you young and beautiful. You would snatch up a body or two and that was the closest anyone would get to understanding the ways of a vampire. 

You opened the large double doors, tossing the two unconscious bodies onto the marble flooring. Dracula was waiting for you at the top of the stairs. 

“Took you longer than usually my princess,” he called. You stretched your arms and took a deep breath of the air on top of the hill. It was more familiar to you. 

“Pests. All of them. I don’t see why we don’t wipe out the whole town,” you muttered. He smiled softly, walking down the staircase. You took off your top hat and placed it on a nearby table. You had stolen it from him to change things up a bit. 

“Would you like to forge over a hundred letters so that no one comes looking for the dead?” he asked. You let out a small annoyed sigh.

“We have the time. Why not? We could make it a summer art project,” you said dramatically. “Oh dear, we could have so much blood awaiting us.” You kneeled beside one of the bodies and moved her hair aside to see the veins in her neck. They pulsed and flowed. Dracula put his hand on your shoulder and you turned to look at him. 

“What trouble did they make for you?”

“She screamed. He squirmed. They always make trouble, begging for their lives back. As though begging will do them any good.” He kneeled down beside the man, across from you. 

“Well then I suppose they will make a delicious meal. They’re always tastier scared,” he commented. 

“I suppose you're right. And that is why I continue to go down to see them,” you commented. You leaned down and took a bite of the woman's neck. She woke up but not in enough time. She was dead in under a minute. You lifted your head, blood flowing down your chin. 

You hadn’t even noticed that he had taken his share as well but the body beside him was limp and dead, void of blood. You wiped the blood from your lips but it only smeared. Your red dress would need to be washed. 

“Worth it?” he asked, standing. 

You shrugged.

“I suppose so,” you muttered. “You have blood on your suit coat,” you said. He looked down and let out an annoyed sigh.

“Both of our clothes will need to be cleaned. We really should look for a new person to feed off of for a few months to do the laundry,” he said offhandedly. He looked at the two bodies on the ground. “I’ll take care of these two.”

“A cliff outside the castle was rather convenient,” you muttered. 

“I didn’t build the castle,” he commented.

“Oh you bought it did you? Or are we renting it?” you questioned. He laughed heartily. 

“You’re too witty for your own good my dear.” 

“Take the bodies Dracula. I am going to go change my dress and perhaps invest in a new castle. Do you think there’s one down the road?” you asked, standing. You whipped the nonexistent dust off the bottom of it. 

“Darling go change your dress.”

“I will!”

[justasimptm]

The Bride C11

The next few minutes are a blur of screaming and begging that comes to a head when Heisenberg tosses her to the ground next to me. He hisses something at her that makes her whimper, but he doesn't give her a chance to respond before he grabs her arm and slices a quick line right under her elbow. The smell of fresh blood assaults my senses and within seconds I’ve latched on to her, sinking my teeth into her soft skin. Whether by sheer force or the sharpness of my teeth I don’t know, but biting into her is as easy as biting into a sandwich, minor resistance, high reward. The responses are immediate-she yells and tries to pull away, the sound is stifled in seconds by Heisenberg grabbing her face and holding his hand over her mouth, his other arm grabbing around her middle and forcing her to keep still. The flow of blood is steady despite her struggles, strong swallows forcing it down into my gut, warmth spreading through me.

She tastes like cinnamon and citrus, tastes alive and so so good. Part of me knows I could stop now, that I don’t have to keep drinking. I can already feel myself recovering, feel the odd tugging as my body regenerates around the wound, the stinging as it drives out the poison that was killing me, the small popping as it comes out in the form of small crystal shards. However, fair is fair. She was going to kill me, damn near succeeded. The least I can do is return the favor, so I keep drinking, gulping down the thing that sustains us both.

Keep going even as her fighting gets weaker and her arm starts getting cold. Keep going until she stops resisting and even moments after that when her body falls fully limp and there’s nothing more than drops left in her veins. Only then do I let go, letting myself flop back to the ground, sated and full of energy, my wound closed.

“Do you need more?” Heisenberg asks, tossing her now empty body to the side without a second thought and hoisting me up so I’m sitting, but leaning against his chest to keep me stable. The concern in his voice is kind, a nice contrast from the rough sound of his voice. Through my gluttonous daze I smile at him, the voice in the back of my mind says to close my mouth, knowing my teeth are certainly stained red. Logically I know it’s likely also smeared around my lips, I was nowhere near neat eating this time. I was more concerned with consumption than I was with manners. It doesn’t seem to bother him though, which is nice, as his eyes never stray from my eyes.

“She tasted good,” I hum, closing my eyes in relief, “That’ll be enough. Thank you for helping...Karl…” My head dips down, resting slightly on his shoulder. “I’m sleepy.” He nods, shifting so one of his arms is under my back, looping his other under my legs, pulling me into his lap and then up as he shifts into a squat and swings up quickly to stand.

“Rest. I’ll have these brutes clean this up. I’ll bring you back to your mother.” He instructs. I want to tell him not to, that she’ll be mad, but my tongue is too heavy and I can’t get the words to come out. I hear him speak lowly to the Lycans before I can feel him start moving. His steps are slow, calculated as not to jostle me too much. The walk back feels long, whether that’s because he paces himself out so it is, or because I’m too out of itl, I don’t know, but it feels like hours before the gates come into view. They rattle for a split second before flying open with a clang. I want to tell him to be quiet, to put me down, that my mother can’t see him here, can’t see me in his arms.

His arms, which make me feel safer than I’ve felt in ages, warmer than all my blankets ever could. I hear my mother screech my name, making me flinch and blink my eyes open. He shushes me slightly when he feels me tense, before replying to her. “Alcina.” He greets her as he makes his way up the path towards the front door. We get to the bottom of the stairs before my eyes truly focus. She’s stepped out from the frame, not leaving the radius of the door, and boy oh boy does she look furious.

“Put my daughter down this instant, Heisenberg.” She snarls, voice colder than ice, cutting through my post-feed-healing ditz and spearing my brain with a spike of awareness. He opens his mouth to protest but she cuts him off before he can, stating her demand again much more firmly. He sighs, looking down at me briefly before bending slightly to set me on my feet. He keeps his hand on my waist for a moment as I sway unsteadily, but despite my vertigo I extract myself from his grasp. “Come inside now, Y/N.” I nod at her, whispering my thanks to him almost silently before stumbling my way up the steps past her looming form. I vaguely hear her hiss out a threat before she follows me inside, slamming the door and latching onto my bicep harshly, not letting up any pressure even as I cry out from the pain. She drags me downstairs towards the dungeon, past the smug faces of my sisters, before throwing me into one of the empty cells on the far side of the castle, far from the girls we bring down, from the blood we store. “You’re going to stay in here until you learn to keep away from that slime. I don’t care how long that takes.” I want to scream, protest that I didn’t seek him out, that it isn’t my fault, but I know it’s no good, she doesn't want to hear it. Doesn’t want to hear how I almost died, how he saved me and that’s the only reason I was near him in general.

She leaves me there as soon as she locks the gate. My brain starts turning back on after a few hours, my wound fully closed, the blood I consumed finally settling into my body, the buzz it gave me calming. Not long after that I hear faint laughing, that grows closer and closer until my sisters are standing in front of the bars, all looking like the cat who ate the canary. Daniela approaches first, looking me up and down before cocking her head to the side.

“Why am I not surprised to see you three here, gloating over my fall from grace.” I muse, skimming over their proud forms. “Let me guess. You let her escape. You gave her the knife. Is that why you’ve been scaring the help off?” Her lips curl up higher, clearly satisfied with her work. “You do realize I could just swarm out of here right? Right out through the bars.” Cassandra tsks, moving to join her sisters side, looking rather pleased with herself.

“You certainly could try, sister, but we had mother coat the bars in salt ages ago when some of our experiments started coming back.” My stomach dips slightly. Salt? Of course they had her do that. They’ve been planning this, clearly, because alongside silver, salt is one of the only other things that can a. hurt me, and b. keep me from passing through gaps in either form.

“Have fun down here. Who knows when mother will stop being upset with you. You really pulled that for us. Chasing after the girl, we could have stopped her before she got out of course. But god, coming back in his arms? We really should thank you.” Bela teases, stepping up out of the shadows and I can’t stop the disgusted scoff that comes out of my mouth. The three of them quirk their eyebrows, wordlessly asking what’s funny. I take a dragging step up, keeping a few inches from the bars, but as close as I can be to the three of them. Cassandra and Bela look towards Daniela, both looking as if they want to step away but following her lead. Funny, I would have thought Cassandra planned this.

“You girls are very cute, you know that? Thinking I wouldn’t know you planned this. Imagine how interested mother would be to find out the girl had one of her silver knives? You know, the ones she keeps locked away in her office that only we know about?” I reply calmly, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on theirs. Daniela opens her mouth to give some witty retort, I’m sure, but I cut her off before she can utter a syllable. “You girls need to be very careful with how you want to keep playing this game. The longer you’re on her good side, the easier it’ll be for me to topple you. I’ll let you have this one, but if you ever try anything again to make me fall out of my mothers favor you will regret it. Because even if mother doesn’t like me, Mother Miranda does, and I don’t think she’d be pleased to find out you three are trying to torment the person who’s been so beneficial to her research. Watch yourselves.”

They huff indignantly, and I know they won’t take my threat at its full merit, but that’s fine. More satisfying for me if I have to burn them. This time, however, they find their graces not to continue poking at me and walk off deeper into the dungeons, leaving me in the dark with nothing to entertain myself. I want to ask for a light, but I refuse to give them the satisfaction of it, so instead I clumsily make my way to the bed, sitting on it with minimal error and resign myself to leaning against the wall until mother decides she wants to let me out.

@foggyturtleknightangel @beingviolentlyhappy @inesalexandra1995 @loveboldlywingedangel130

[drarryruinedme7]

kinktober, day 14. gang bang

With a hint of voyeurism 😋 thanks to my ever present now beauties @chuckalart and @crimsonhead-ache 🥰as for this.. I have no regrets. I loved writing it. 1.4k of Harry, Draco, Blaise, Theo and Neville having some fun. 

Oh, honestly. 

Harry hated all of his friends. Ron had ditched the ‘guys night’ that Sunday to stay with Hermione, while Seamus and Dean had more important things to do (sex, of course). Only Neville had stayed with Harry, but only so he could spend some time with Theodore Nott.

That left Harry drinking beer in a corner with Zabini and Malfoy. Nott and Neville were with them physically, yet they kept throwing each other such dirty glances Harry wasn’t sure mentally they were somewhere else entirely.

“So… what do we do tonight?” Zabini asked, fidgeting with his wand.

Harry impatiently huffed. “I still don’t understand why Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs never join us.” 

“Because Potter—” Malfoy’s words were sloshed. Merlin, the git always got tipsy so quickly. “—they’re boring people who only want to study and do boring things. Because they’re boring.”

“What are they, again?” Harry asked, hearing Neville snort from where he was sitting right now— Nott’s lap, to be precise.

“Boring,” Malfoy repeated, chin raised. “Are you deaf, Potter?” 

Harry shook his head, amused. He surprisingly found himself not that unhappy to spend time with the Slytherins once he got to know them. 

“I have an idea,” Zabini said with a smirk. Harry panicked— he had learned to fear anything he said when he had that look about him.

“We should play truth or dare.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, because that isn’t boring.”

“Well,” Malfoy said slowly. “We could spice it up a bit.”

“Spice it up?” Nott asked as his hands tightened possessively on Neville’s thighs. Honestly. 

Malfoy pointed a finger to his temple as he pursed his lips. It was so theatrical that Harry couldn’t resist chuckling. That made Malfoy turn to narrow his eyes at him and declare, “Yes. We can only ask sexual questions and dare sexual acts.” 

“Mate gotta tell you, it looks a bit dangerous to do with only five men playing.” Neville’s voice was amused, and Harry registered vaguely that that’s not really how he recalled his friend acting before. He remembered him shy, coy… what was happening?

“That’s why it’s fun!” Zabini exclaimed, conjuring a bottle and placing it in the middle of their weird, ill-assembled group. 

“Alright, then we’re all in?” Nott asked, staring intently at Harry, when they all turned to glance his way, awaiting his response. 

Great. 

Harry wished for a moment they’d be back in fourth year when his greatest worry was how to face a dragon.

“Fine,” he nodded. Maybe it was time to start experiencing that famous ‘youth’ they all talked about for once.

“Wait!” Malfoy closed his eyes and held out a hand where a vial smacked flying out his room. “Veritaserum.” He winked and poured a drop of it in everyone’s glasses.

“I don’t even wanna know how you have that, Malfoy,” Harry exhaled. 

The game started pretty expectedly. They’d asked who had ever given a blow job, or the weirdest place they’ve ever done it, and their favourite position… until Nott’s bottle pointed directly to Harry. 

Nott grinned wolfishly. “What’s a fantasy you would never admit to out loud?”

What a bastard. Harry shook his head, but alcohol and veritaserum mixed found him in an inexorable trap. “Me naked and blindfolded, with a group of blokes feeding me their cocks.”

The second he gritted out the words; he felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out. Everyone was looking at him with wide eyes and mouths open in shock. 

Harry was thinking of a quick way to Obliviate them all and flee the state when Malfoy recovered. “That’s—” he whispered, voice rough. He cleared his throat. “—interesting.” 

Harry whipped his head to him, ready to tell him to fuck off, but when he saw the expression on Malfoy’s face, the words died on his lips. His expression was full of lust and bared want, and it made Harry’s cock jump.

“It certainly is,” Nott agreed. 

“Say, Potter,” Malfoy continued, looking like a predator ready to attack. It made Harry’s blood quickly rush to his cock, hardening it in one go. “How’d you like four blokes feeding you their cocks and never telling a living soul?” 

“Make it three,” Zabini hastened to correct. “I prefer to observe.”

“Kinky,” Neville said, blushing immediately. Nott laughed. “I’d say everything right now has taken a very kinky turn.” 

They were all looking at Harry. Harry inhaled deeply, mind already supplying him all kinds of images involving cocks, mouths, and his deepest desire finally satisfied, which made him think with his cock rather than his brain.

Neville whispered a “Harry, please, remember you’re not, in any way, compelled to say yes—” when Harry held out a hand. His eyes watered: he’d thought he would never get to see his fantasy realised, and, weird as it seemed, he trusted them. 

“Yes,” he murmured. “Please, please, yes.”

Zabini was the one to conjure a blindfold and tie it behind Harry’s head, purring, “okay?” into his ear. Harry nodded and shuddered when Malfoy’s voice vanished Harry’s clothes. 

“Merlin, Harry.” Neville licked along Harry’s jaw, wrenching a moan out of him. “Who would have thought… this would be so hot.” 

He kept mouthing at Harry’s neck when Nott’s voice reached him too. “Erm, Harry, look, if it gets too much… just… tap your hand on one of our thighs, alright?” 

Harry nodded. Malfoy’s voice came stern this time. “Use your words, Potter.” 

“Wow,” Zabini chuckled from somewhere next to Harry. “Draco honestly gets to you, huh?”

Damn, Harry knew he must have been blushing all over his face and chest at the command in Malfoy’s voice. He felt his cock stiffen even more, if possible, and was sure the others must have seen the drops of pre-come that leaked from his cock at the words.

“Yes,” Harry said. 

“Open your mouth.” 

Fuck. Zabini was right. Malfoy was genuinely getting to him— Harry was suddenly feeling lightheaded, crazy with want anticipation. 

He opened his mouth and immediately groaned when what must have been Malfoy’s cock pushed past his lips, thrusting until it hit the back of Harry’s throat. 

Harry stubbornly ignored his gag reflex and worked his throat around what he was now sure was Malfoy’s cock, judging by the timbre of the groans that filled the room. 

“Fuck, Potter, can’t wait to see that pretty face of yours smeared with all our come,” he stuttered as he grabbed Harry’s hair and started fucking his mouth. 

Harry whimpered, clenching a hand around the base of his cock. A hand grabbed his wrist. “No touching,” Neville whispered into Harry’s hair. “Squeeze my hand instead, if that’s okay for you.”

Harry squeezed Nev’s hand, only to find his wrists tied behind his back in a matter of seconds. “You’ve got some wicked imagination, Potter, I would have never guessed,” Zabini murmured on his nape. “I hope you won’t mind me wanking off to this sight.”

Nott chuckled, whispering something to Malfoy. Malfoy’s voice came right into Harry’s ear then. “Try tugging on the ties around your wrists. They should come off easily.” Harry tried. They did come off easily; he nodded. From that point on, he couldn’t concentrate on their words anymore. He was lost in the feeling of the cock thrusting in his mouth, of his wrists tied, of the kisses and bites someone was leaving on his collarbones, neck, shoulders. 

A second later, someone else’s cock —probably Nott’s— breached past Harry’s lips, and soon enough, he was gone entirely. He could barely sense when and whose cock was in his mouth anymore, could only feel pleasure grow in every part of his body, burning hot as fire in his groin as his balls kept tightening more and more.

A loud cry startled Harry from his stupor— someone… Zabini came with a string of nonsensical words and, “fuck,” he said, “the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, fuck.”

Not a second later, another boy was coming down Harry’s throat as someone else shot their load all over his face. Harry swallowed greedily, feeling dizzy. He was so aroused he couldn’t stop trembling, swaying his hips, fucking into the air. 

A hand circled his waist, followed by a reassuring voice, lips brushing against Harry’s. “Calm down, Harry.” It was Malfoy’s voice, so soothing Harry could immediately feel relief. “It’s okay; you’re okay. You did so well, you know? So good.” His praises made Harry sob, and a tear rolled down his cheek. 

Soon enough, he found himself quietly sobbing in Malfoy’s arms as he swept a soothing hand on his back. He untied Harry’s hands and slowly brought them on Harry’s chest, covering them with his own hands. “Yes, Harry, yes, just like this. You know you made us crazy, never have I been so aroused in my life. You’re amazing.” He kept murmuring reassurances in Harry’s ear until Harry’s breathing came out evenly. 

“I—” Harry tried to speak but had to stop with a sudden fit of cough. “I need to come, please,” he said weakly. 

Someone freed Harry of the blindfold, then, and Harry pulled back from Malfoy’s embrace to see Neville smiling gently at him. 

“Tell us how, and we’ll satisfy you.”

Harry smiled. “You already have, more than I could have ever imagined possible.” 

[ladyhallen]

Never Count the Cost

Read on AO3| FFN

It was hopeless.

The Death Eaters numbers weren’t going down. And maybe they were, but not visibly, not enough. Kill one Death Eater, and five more would take their place.

Hermione had given people new, more destructive spells and Ron’s strategies were getting more and more geared towards mass destruction. But it wasn’t good enough.

It shot down morale and everyone was getting desperate.

Harry was getting desperate.

She’d asked Kreacher, which was the start of a series of bad decisions.

Kreacher knew the Black Library better than anyone, and gave Harry a book bound in questionable leather.

Harry took one look at the book, and felt her skin crawl. She decided not to ask the house-elf questions.

“Thank you, Kreacher,” she said.

She read the book when it was supposed to be her turn to be sleeping, and lost her appetite at the horrifying and terrible rituals that the book had. She was pale and unhappy reading the rituals.

Still she found one. One ritual among hundreds that suited her purpose. A ritual to “Summone a Moste Powerful and Chaotic Monstere.”

Harry read it dozens of times, memorized the words and knew the sacrifice.

Desperation and bad decisions led her to the forest with a stone floor. She had left a note with Dean, hopefully, it would stall her friends.

Her hands remained determinedly steady even as she carved the damned sigils on the floor with an enchanted knife. Her hand slipped at one point and bloodied the runes on the floor. She paid it no mind, bandaging her hand and continuing again. She didn’t dare use magic until the ritual was complete and she broke the circle. She endured her throbbing hand and at one point forgot about it, she was so focused on getting it right.

She took a deep breath and started the chant, just as Hermione and Ron sprinted into the clearing.

But Harriet had already started, the words coming out of her mouth frosty and hot in turns, some words tumbling out as heavy as a boulder, others coming out quickly and speedily like an eel.

Ron stopped Hermione, more aware than her about the dangers of interrupting a ritual.

“…in sumptus vitae meae,” she finished with a shout, slamming her hands on the sigils firmly, smearing it with blood. At one point, she had started to bleed from her injured hands.

“Harry, no!” Hermione screamed, held back by Ron’s hands on her shoulders. Of course, her friend could understand the Latin.

Smoke started rising from the blood and sigils, and from that smoke, something with tall with horns emerged.

Harry would be panicking, except she had gone so far from panic that she’d circled around to glassy calm. She’d be hyperventilating later.

If there was a later.

“At the cost of your life, huh,” a lovely, deep voice said inside the circle. “That’s a very interesting payment.”

The smoke cleared, and standing inside the circle was a man. Or as close to a man as a demon could get. His horns were long and curled back, the points curling at the tips and shining a dull red. His eyes shone yellow and his teeth were very sharp. His feet were cloven hooves and covered in shaggy fur, with a tail that flicked as he stood.

And his face. Harry instinctively shied away from looking at his too perfect, too beautiful face.

“Whatever is your trouble, lovely summoner?” the demon asked.

“Me and my people are at war,” she said, as boldly as she could manage. “And I am willing to pay anything for you to help us win.”

The demons beautiful face started to smile, a slash of a terrible smile on an otherwise inhumanly beautiful face.

“Break the circle, dear one. And I will seal the contract with you. You’ve already given me such lovely blood,” he whispered, a hypnotic ring in his voice.

Harry found herself moving despite Hermione and Ron’s shouts in her ears. She broke the circle with the knife still in her hand and the demon stepped out.

As he did, there was a ripple in the world like an invisible curtain, and the goats feet, horns and tail vanished. In his place was a man.

Still beautiful, but no longer inhumanly so. Enough of a change that she could look at his face without feeling that otherworldly aura.

“I am a chaos demon,” he declared. “And we seal these things with a kiss.”

The glassy calm broke, and Harry managed to squeak out, “What?” before the demons lips were on hers and she was consumed by the best kiss she’d ever had, all heat and passion.

After a minute, he pulled away and smiled at her dazed face.

“Stay here, my bride,” he said.

Harry crumpled to the forest floor and her best friends rushed to her, holding her hands and touching her shoulders. Hermione looked seconds away from crying. Ron looked like he wanted to wrap her up in bubble wrap.

“He just called me bride,” Harry managed weakly. “What just happened?”

Ron gave a tired huff into her neck, hugging her almost desperately.

Hermione gave an exhausted sigh.

“Harry,” she began slowly. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but I think a chaos demon just propositioned you.”

When Harry whined pathetically, Ron started to give little huffs of hysterical laughter.

.

.

The three of them staggered into Hogwarts, holding onto each other for support as well as comfort.

For Harry, she needed the help. The ritual took almost all of her magic. If she were a weaker witch, she would be dead.

“Ms. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said grimly. “Something has changed the battlefield.”

They looked into Hermione’s Seeing Mirrors, and Harry tried not to cringe at the sight of the stylishly dressed demon just. Walking and causing immense destruction with just a gesture.

It was one thing to know you’d summoned a monster, and another thing to see said monster in action.

“Oops,” she managed. “I guess he was more effective than I thought.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“You did this? At what cost, Harry?” Neville asked.

Harry gave a wan smile, and he inhaled in understanding. Before he could open his mouth, the chaos demon came strolling back, hands in its pockets and a very cheery smile on its mouth.

“My bride,” he said. “I have killed all the leaders and destroyed their souls and happiness. I will, of course, wait for a week to see if they reform. After that, we will marry.”

“Ex-cuse me what?” Seamus said loudly. The noise of a couple hundred students causing chaos was defeaning.

The demon picked her up like she weighed like nothing and carried her off.

.

.

Harry thought the demon would eat her soul. Or even just eat her, she hadn’t thought demons were picky about corporeality.

Nowhere does cuddling factor into it. Or hand feeding her grapes while making encouraging noises. Somehow, her fear just…went away when he was holding fruit to her mouth.

“You are too skinny,” he said, looking at her critically. “You must eat more.”

Uhm, no? They were at war…had been at war. Rationing was a thing. Still a thing while they solve the food issue because the first thing the Death Eaters had targeted were the Hogwarts Farms.

“If I eat more,” she explained to the demon currently holding her in his lap. “Then the children will eat less.”

He pouted. “And these….children…are important to you?” At her nod, he added, “then I will get you more food.”

He vanished for an hour, and returned with an entire freaking passel of pigs. Harry felt her mouth drop open.

“You will eat more?” he asked, like he hadn’t just solved their food problems for the next few weeks. If the keep some female alive and one or two boars, they can even keep some pigs for livestock and feed the entire school for years.

“Sure,” she said weakly. “I’ll eat.”

He looked so immeasurably smug that she wanted to hit him.

.

.

Outside the repaired grassy knoll beside the Great Lake, Harry enjoyed the rare sunshine and the lovely view of the lake.

Well. She tried to.

“Harry,” Hermione whispered. “Can I see the ritual you used?”

Harry had no qualms about that. Just. There was a chaos demon sleeping on her legs and she couldn’t move, or make much noise.

“Ask Kreacher,” she whispered back. “I don’t think I’m moving anytime soon.”

The chaos demon, who still hadn’t given his name – that was bothering her, hugged her thighs tighter, his face on her stomach. Harry oofed, leaning back to be more comfortable.

“Get me a book?” she asked her friend. “I’m stuck.”

Hermione looked bemused and handed over The Hobbit.

Harry, who actually hadn’t read the book yet, found herself combing her fingers through the demon’s hair as she read. Eventually, the heat of the sun and the cool wind combined with the firm weight on her stomach made her fall asleep, the book falling on her face.

Unseen to her, the demon’s tail flicked with pleasure.

.

.

A week filled with trials and burials later, she finally broke.

“What’s your name?” she asked. Hermione, opposite her in the sofa, crossed her arms frantically. Well, too bad for her, but Harry was tired of these unsaid things.

“It’s Reborn,” he rumbled. “And you are Harriet.”

Something about the way he said her name made her shiver.

“Yeah,” she said. “Why didn’t you eat my soul?”

He slow blinked at her. “That was not what you offered. You offered me your life. Not your death, or your soul, or even your blood and bone. Just your life. Obviously, in order for me to partake of your life, you have to be alive.”

“You are…feeding off me?” she asked.

“No,” he huffed. “I am experiencing it with you.”

Ron choked. “Isn’t that just marriage?” he coughed. His face was red. Harry’s own face was steadily going red.

The de – Reborn nodded. “I know! It surprised everyone too. It was so forward.”

Harry covered her beet red face and groaned.

.

.

Reborn had to leave on some business. According to him, paperwork originated in hell and it was needlessly complicated. If he delayed further to log his contract with her, he’d have to fill out an extra fifty forms.

He kissed her very thorougly, rendering her stupid for a minute, before leaving.

Hermione then pounced, explaining what went wrong. Thank Merlin for Hermione, the lack of explanation reason was driving her crazy.

“You read it wrong,” she said. “And a good thing you did. Though how on earth you read ‘animae’ as ‘vitae’, I wonder. It saved your life.”

Harry blinked at the horrific ritual book and sighed. “I was reading it sleep deprived and at one point, I think I was starting to hallucinate?”

“You and your luck, Harry,” Hermione said. “And did I scold you yet for summoning a chaos demon?”

Harry felt her everything tense up. “…No,” she cringed.

She prepared for a lecture mostly done in yelling. She was braced for it.

Except Hermione hugged her tightly instead. “Thank you,” her dearest friend whispered.

Harry felt unintentionally teary. “For you and Ron? I would do it again,” she said into the bushy mane.

They both took a moment to compose themselves.

“So,” Hermione said in that tone that by long association, made Harry feel dread. Hermione only ever used that voice when she was being a little shit. “The chaos demon didn’t proposition you. You propositioned him first.”

“Oh my god,” Harry groaned. “You’re never gonna let this go, are you?”

She gave Harry such a look of mischief. “Never. I thought you were going to die, Harriet Potter. I’m going to say this to your wedding, and to all your birthdays.”

Thank Merlin that she was still alive to have birthdays.

She complained to Hermione just for the spirit of it, but was just as glad.

[chaoticpuff17]

A Dangerous Game

part 28

masterlist

Hello my darlings! Here it is next chapter because I am stressed and my mother is threatening to send me to live in Moose Jaw where my cousin is eagerly waiting to marry me off. But enjoy! send me an ask! drop a comment! and check out the teasers for the rest of the hyung line!--- chaotic puff

Boredom had eventually forced her to the kitchen much to the horror of Miss In and the rest of the staff. Even getting someone to show her where the kitchen was had been a struggle, but here she was fluttering around the kitchen in a flour smudged apron with the cook and Miss In both hovering as she went about her business. She was almost positive that both women were going to have an aneurism.

It was fall and the inexplicable urge to make something pumpkin related had overtaken her which had led to the decision to make a massive batch of pumpkin bread considering there were no muffin tins. She knew full well that she wasn’t going to eat this much pumpkin bread, but she figured she could shove it off on the boys. Jungkook had a bottomless stomach, and Jin loved to try new foods. Yoongi didn’t like sweets very much, but she was sure she could force him to take a few slices. She’d even give some to Taehyung and Hoseok. Jimin would get a whole loaf as an apology for hitting him over the head now that he was back.

“The incomparable Mrs. Kim!” A familiar voice crowed. She looked up to see Mark waltzing into the kitchen.

“How do you keep getting in here? Aren’t you banned? I think someone got fired last time you were here.” She mused turning her attention back to the pumpkin bread. “As long as you’re here make yourself useful and hand me the vanilla.”

He grinned taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves as he joined her at the kitchen island brining the vanilla with him. “Baking today?”

“Bored to tears. This seemed like something different to do.”

“Are you feeding an army?” He asked looking at the amount of batter she was mixing. “Or a small country?”

“I’m bored.” She deadpanned flicking a speck of the bright orange mixture at him. “Don’t judge me. You’re not even supposed to be here. If my being in the kitchen isn’t going to give Miss In an aneurysm your being here will.” She whispered conspiratorially trying to suppress her grin. “What are you even doing here?”

“I’m here to check up on my favorite mob wife. Someone needs to make sure Namjoon isn’t keeping you locked in a tower.”

“Not a tower. A mansion though. An entire gated estate.” She laughed mixing the batter together before taking a tester spoon to it. “It needs something. Taste.” She handed him a tester spoon as well.

“More cinnamon?” He asked looking at the mixture contemplatively.

“More cinnamon.” She agreed as he handed her the spice in question.

“Who are you even feeding with all of this?”

“A small army. We’ve been over this.” She teased happy to have someone new to talk to. She was starved for Namjoon related company these days. Something about the late fall had everyone busy, not that anyone would tell her what it was. She was the wife and nothing more. Information about Namjoon’s empire was strictly forbidden to her. Even his study was locked when he wasn’t in it.

“Ah. Planning to use your small army to take over your husband’s empire? I’d support that.”

“We’d both get shot.” She reminded him. “You in the head. Me probably in somewhere nonlethal, and I’d never get to leave my bedroom again.”

“Kinky.” He teased playfully bumping his hip into hers, and she could practically feel Miss In’s glare boring into their backs. Namjoon was going to have a field day with this later.

“How did you get in here?” She asked looking over at him in confusion.

“Very carefully.” He answered giving her a wink.

“You’re going to get yourself shot.” She warned prepping the bread pans. “I’d prefer you not to get shot just because you were checking up on me.”

A slow Cheshire grin took over his face. “You like me.”

“False.”

“You like me. You don’t want me to get shot.” He laughed helping her pour the batter into the pans. “Wait till I tell Jackson. He’ll be so jealous.”

“Careful. He won’t be the only one who’s jealous if they hear you say things like that.” She warned casting a quick glance at the door just to make sure Namjoon hadn’t materialized. Someone was bound to have told him about her visitor by now.

“Faint heart never won fair lady.”

She froze before turning a solemn glare to him. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” He asks innocently.

“Flirty things. I will not be responsible for the hole between your eyes if Namjoon ever got wind of it.” His grin faded seeing how serious she was.

“You really think he’s going to shoot me.”

“You don’t?” She scoffed putting the bread pans into the oven, two in each. “You really think he’s not capable of shooting you out of some sort of misguided jealousy? You think JB could protect you?” She asked putting one hand on her hip and the other on the counter as she stared him down.

“You’re really worried about this aren’t you?”

“He crashed a car with me in it to get me here. He put a chip in my neck to make sure I can’t run away. I don’t underestimate him.”

“He crashed a car with you in it!” He yelped looking vaguely panicked on her behalf. “What the hell?”

“You should probably go.” She laughed the sound bitter and sad. “He’s bound to know you’re here by now, and that means we’re both in trouble. You should get out of here before either he or Hoseok shows up. Maybe Yoongi. Yoongi would shoot you, no hesitation.”

“I’m going.” He grinned again, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes this time. “If you ever need help, you can call me.” He whispered into her ear pulling her into an unexpected hug, and she felt something heavy drop into her apron pocket much to her confusion. “Don’t let him know you have it.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek leaving her in shock as he waltzed out of the kitchen.

Her eyes immediately shot to Miss In as soon as she recovered her senses. “I’m in so much trouble.” She groaned leaning over the counter.

Y/N nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist as she took the bread out of the oven.

“Don’t do that!” She shrieked placing the bread pan on the cooling rack. “Hot pan.” She scolded turning in his arms only for Namjoon to cage her in against the counter his eyes dark and furious.

“You had a visitor today.” He growled his face only inches from hers, and she was thanking her lucky star that she had hidden the phone that Mark has slipped into her apron pocket before Namjoon got home.

“I did.” She gulped her hands trembling as she gripped the counter behind her.

“He kissed you.” He hissed his jaw clenched, eyes blazing.

“Only on the cheek.” It was a pitiful offering that did nothing to calm him.

He closed his eyes taking a deep breath as he tried to calm himself. “Y/N.” Her name was more a warning than anything else as he said it.

“Nothing happened.”  She whispered softly.

“And it won’t. He’ll be dead by morning.”

“Namjoon.” She made her eyes as wide and pleading as possible. “Joonie, please.” She wrapped her arms around his waist pressing her cheek against his chest in an effort to calm him down and save herself from his wrath. “I made pumpkin bread?” She offered as she trembled in his arms.

“You are in so much trouble.” He growled though he wrapped his arms around her keeping her pressed tightly to his chest. She knew full well that he was soft for that nickname.

“Nothing happened.” She whispered. “I didn’t even know he was coming.”

Namjoon’s sharp eyes focused in on Miss In who was standing off to the side looking as composed as ever though her eyes refused to meet his. “How did he get inside my house?” He barked.

“I’m not sure, sajangnim.” She bowed her head her lip trembling slightly under his scrutiny.

Y/N’s brow furrowed as she took note of the slick feel coming off the back of Namjoon’s jacket. Pulling back she examined her hand only to find it streaked in red. “Is that blood?” She yelped jumping back from him only to be kept firmly in place by Namjoon’s arms around her. “Why is there blood on your jacket?”

“I was taking care of some pesky rats at work when I should have been taking care of the rat that found its way into my house.” He huffed staring down at her meeting her own wide eyed stare. “I never want to hear of him being anywhere near you again, him or anyone else from his wretched group. Am I understood?” He asked dark eyes boring into hers. “Am I understood?” He repeated when she didn’t answer.

“Yes, Namjoon.” She nodded gently pushing on his chest in an effort to get him to back up. “Pumpkin bread?” She offered again in an effort to circumvent his wrath and change the subject.

“I’m bringing Jungkook back.”

“Okay, Joonie.” That would honestly be more of a relief than a punishment. She was starved for company these days.

“No more illicit visitors.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t like she had any control over that either. 

“Why are you in the kitchen?” He finally asked taking note of the apron and the floor smeared on it.

“I made pumpkin bread.”

“Why did you make pumpkin bread?” He quirked a brow looking down at her with a sort of fond exasperation.

“I was bored.”

“So you bake?”

“And have illicit meetings with strange men.” She joked only to receive a withering glare in return. “Right. Not the time.” She chuckled nervously. “Pumpkin bread?”

“You’re not supposed to be in the kitchen.”

“Was that a rule I didn’t know about?”

“We have people for this.” He reminded her shooting another glare in the direction of Miss In and the cook. “I have people specifically to take care of your every need.” 

“I wanted to. You can’t blame Miss In for my antics.”  She murmured her eyes cast down to look at their feet. “You should clean up and change. There’s blood on your jacket. We can have tea afterwards.” Sucking up to him and offering her company voluntarily couldn’t hurt in the effort to diffuse his anger. She was getting good at that. The man, she had come to realize, was very much in love with her in his own twisted way. If she played into his vision of her life, he was much less likely to be angry with her.

“You’re still in trouble.” He warned her.

“Okay.”

“Jungkook is still coming back to keep an eye on you.”

“That’s fine.”

Namjoon took her chin in hand tilting her head up so that her eyes met his. “If you ever let another man touch you again, I’ll carve out his heart and serve it to you on a silver platter.”

part 29

[owl-with-a-pen]

Hola querida! We need a story where brainy says something along the lines of “touch her and I’ll kill you” or “don’t you dare touch her..” we don’t see many instances of protective boyfriend brainy.

- I was trying to think of a scenario for this for a while, but 6x03 gave me an intriguing idea. Thanks for the prompt! x

Brainy had expected this task to be easy.

After all, compared to every other thought track currently running simultaneously through his mind, gathering a box of belongings from Lena’s old workplace hardly needed space for consideration.

Brainy understood why Lena didn’t want to face Luthor Corp again, certainly not to collect the meagre selection of knick-knacks that one of her old assistants had no doubt scooped into a piece of cardboard for her to carry out with her tail between her legs. It was a cruelty, plain and simple, and Brainy was beginning to learn how much such cruelties stung.

So, when Lena had mentioned with offhanded distaste what she needed to do that day, Brainy was more than happy to volunteer to go in her steed. It worked in his favour, after all. Alex had been pushing him to get out of the lab for some fresh air for nearly eighteen hours - now he could fulfil her request. 

With one thought track focused on reformatting Nia’s training simulation, and another remotely accessing the Phantom Zone data map for any new leads, Brainy found he had far too much of his mind left wide open - places where far more dangerous thoughts were now encouraged to grow more often than not.

Perhaps a distraction was exactly what he required.

The office should have been empty. That’s what Lena had said, that’s what Luthor Corp’s security feed had suggested. Brainy hadn’t considered any alternative outcomes, and so the moment he’d spied Lena’s belongings sat on the table by the sofa, he’d headed there immediately.

“Not even a week without her assets and I see my sister’s already wrangled someone into doing the heavy lifting for her.”

The sound of that voice sent every nerve in Brainy’s body on edge.

He’d been doing better. Over the last few days since his talk with Lena, he’d been doing better. Giving himself an emotional outlet, allowing them to flow from him instead of being boxed inside, turning to toxic waste in his gut. He’d even found it easier to switch his attention from the television when Lex’s face predictably appeared for one of his seemingly never-ending publicity stunts.

But, that was television. That was circuits and screens, separating them from one another.

Now, Lex was stood there in the room with him, Lena’s desk acting as their only partition.

Brainy could feel Lex’s eyes on him, shark-like and hungry, waiting for his response. And so, Brainy kept his jaw locked tight, focusing his line of sight on the box and nothing else. Of picture frames and other keepsakes.

A photo of Lena and Kara stared up at him, their smiles so pure and genuine it nearly stung.

The acid in Brainy’s lungs swelled.

Aggravatingly, his lack of response only made Lex that much more talkative.

“It was an impressive hack, by the way,” Lex continued casually. “I assumed you were the mastermind behind it. Reminds me why I wanted you on Team Lex to begin with.”

Brainy stiffened. “I was never on your team.”

He shouldn’t have spoken. Shouldn’t have given in. But suddenly, all that he had done to free himself of his emotional backlog hardly seemed enough. It surged from the very depths of his uninhibited mind, hissing and spitting like vitriolic acid.

Which only seemed to make Lex’s confidence grow.

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Lex asked. “Does it help you sleep at night?”

Brainy bared his teeth.

“Oh no,” Lex said, fake sympathy dripping from his voice. “Something tells me it’s not working.”

Brainy pursed his lips, instead reaching once more for the box. His arms trembled with wasted potential, but he ignored their protests. He had a task to do. Unexpected interruptions aside, Lena was counting on him to carry it out. And he would not fail.

“Maybe it isn’t for you at all then,” Lex wondered aloud. “Maybe you sell that story for your girlfriend’s benefit.”

An ugly flash of red tinted Brainy’s vision.

“Nia, isn’t it?” Lex asked innocently. “I hear she works for CatCo, quite the up-and-coming journalist. Although, CatCo is such a troublesome place of work, isn’t it? Always getting destroyed in the crosshairs of city-wide threats. Just how long can that place go without another casualty?”

Brainy could hear the barely disguised threat behind Lex’s words.

Fresh rage bubbled inside his chest, inching closer and closer towards his heart. The box blurred from his line of focus and, in the next instant, Brainy found that he was staring directly at Lex, his fingers clenched so tightly he felt the sharp prick of his own nails digging against his flesh.

“Touch her and I’ll kill you,” Brainy said, his voice so low he barely recognised it as his own. But it was his voice, and he realised all too soon that his threat was very real.

After all, he could do it. He knew exactly how to do it. Multiple ways, in fact, flashing through his mind with startling precision, each one more elaborate and gruesome than the last. Watching the light extinguish from Lex Luthor’s eyes… nothing would make him happier.

His ancestors would revel in it. They already were, louder than ever before, melding with the rage that was corroding his lungs with every breath he took.

Some quiet part of Brainy’s mind startled at such inclinations, such a desire to be one like the bloodline he had fought so hard to renounce.

But what was one whisper against a hoard of enticing cheers?

Lex only stared at him, with that smile that never quite reached his eyes, urging him to the very edge of his emotional barriers. “Empty threats, Brainiac-5.”

That was all it took.

Brainy didn’t remember clearing the room, only that when he was fully aware of himself again, he was stood in front of Lex, his right hand gripped firmly around his throat. Every implant inside of him was fired up, ready to snap his neck at the slightest provocation. 

When a gleeful laugh tumbled from Lex’s lips, the red staining Brainy’s vision only grew stronger. He growled out, slamming Lex’s body against the reinforced windows with enough force that they shuddered inside their fixtures.

All he needed to do was activate his implants to their highest capacity, activate his ring, and he could take Lex high into the sky. He could watch the oxygen drain from his lungs. Watch his eyes bulge and swell.

Or… or he could simply drop him. Drop him down into the city he nearly destroyed, allowing him to fall with such velocity that the only thing that might remain of him on the sidewalk would be a smear of blood and bone. Like he had never been a person at all.

He had never been a person at all.

Brainy bared his teeth, looking his enemy in the eyes.

Which was when he saw it.

There was no fear there. In fact, if anything, Lex only looked deeply satisfied with what he’d done. What emotions he’d brought to the surface.

Brainy’s eyes flickered back and forth uselessly over that expression, trying desperately to make sense of it. But it… it didn’t make sense. He was threatening Lex’s life and… and he didn’t care.

No. It wasn’t that he didn’t care. He was enjoying this. This game. This…

The red film washed from Brainy’s eyes all at once.

He let go of Lex’s throat, stumbling back a pace, gripping uselessly at Lena’s old desk, squeezing it numbly.

Brainy’s chest heaved.

This wasn’t him. He’d spent months now hiding from his truest self, allowing the rage of everything Lex had put him through to fester into a corrosive bile inside his chest and stomach.

But, he was not a killer. He would not turn to the darkest version of himself. He had fought far too long and hard to prove that he was not his kin. That he would never follow the path of his clan.

Lena had let Lex go. And now… now Brainy knew he must do the same.

Lex had crumpled when Brainy had removed his hand, holding tight to his throat between dramatic gasps of air. Still, he was smiling, something crazed shining in that expression. Something... desperate.

Ah. Now, Brainy believed he understood. 

Lex needed this… this sick form of attention. Without his sister, without Supergirl, he had run out of enemies to aggravate.

Perhaps it had not been happenstance that this office had been inhabited when Brainy had arrived, after all.

“You aren’t worth my attention,” Brainy said through his teeth, trying to draw in from the emotionless façade he had pulled in the past. It was far more of a struggle than it had ever been before, but it was enough to keep his voice steady.  Brainy took a step forward, watching Lex quizzically, as though he were nothing but an animal inside a cage. “My friends,” Brainy continued levelly, “my loved ones, we protect each other, but who would protect you?”

Lex blinked, the smallest furrow creasing his brow, a murmur of confusion.

Brainy’s lips twitched. “If I were to kill you, who would even care if you were gone?” He smirked. “No one.”

Brainy turned away from him then, ignoring the angry red handprint that still painted Lex’s throat, ignoring his enemy’s attempts to goad him even as he headed out the door.

Instead, he took Lena’s box.

And he walked away.

[ill-skillsgard]

Would you ever write about Faust making Faith squirt for the first time cause that would be the hottest thing ever.

Warning: 18+ SMUT. Anal play, sex toys, size kink, possessive sex, strong anti-Christian themes, squirting, angst, feelings.

Note: I really hope you guys enjoy this one! Please let me know your thoughts and reblog/like if you can! I’d appreciate it. 

Faust x Faith Masterpost [x]

"You didn't wear the outfit," Faust murmured against Faith's lips. 

"Sorry. I forgot. You got here so quick."

He took hold of the metal loop dangling at her neck and smirked. "But you wore this for me."

"I thought you'd like it," Faith giggled. 

"You think you're some kind of naughty girl? Do you think this collar makes you bad?"

Faith shrugged. 

"Do you know what happens to girls who wear things like this?" 

She grabbed his hands and placed them on her chest. "Why don't you show me?" 

"You couldn't handle it," he chuckled. 

Faith wasn't in the mood to convince Faust to do what he wanted with her. He'd gotten it lodged in his head that she was too delicate, but she wanted him to overpower her and make her hurt in that viciously pleasurable way she dreamt of. 

"Come on, Faust, you were the one who said you wanted to wreck this pussy. You won't take advantage of our last couple of nights together by making me never forget them?"

"You say that like I'm never coming back."

Faust nipped her bottom lip, palms sliding down her ribs to the back of her skirt. He pulled it up and squeezed her ass in both hands, watching her face change shapes any time he compressed her skin.

"You're going away for weeks. Who knows what will happen? Maybe you'll find a new girl and forget all about me."

Faust loosened his and shook his hair out of his face. "Don't say that."

"Im just kidding," she chuckled, leaning in for a kiss and meeting the crest of his cheekbone instead. 

"What?" Faith asked. 

"I'm serious. Why do you think that way?"

She pulled away to focus on the solemnity of his face. "I don't know, it's just something girls say."

"I don't think so."

"Relax, baby. It's okay. Let's just do it right here in the car. Please? I'm going to miss you so much when you go away. I need all I can get."

"I don't care," Faust said, framing his long fingers into a C-shaped hold on her neck. He didn't squeeze, but held her in place and drilled into her eyes with his. "Are you saying you might find another guy while I'm gone?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Then why do you think I'd cheat on you?"

"I don't think that," she whispered.

Faust released her throat and tightened his arms around her, pinning her in his firm embrace as she straddled his lap. "I'm not looking for groupies and shit. I just want to play. That's all I care about. That, and you."

"I know, Faust. Why do you always have to take everything I say so seriously? You know I'd never think about that. I'm a good girl, remember?"

Faust's throat rolled out a soft growl. "Good girls don't wear slutty little collars. Or sneak out of their dorms to fuck their boyfriends in the backseat of a car."

"Don't you want to corrupt me? Christian girl, taken by some heathen devil-worshiper... Destroying her purity."

He curled his hips up, the thick seam of his jeans rubbing against her flimsy panties, brushing over her sheathed clit. The pressure grew with the next carve. Faust filled with blood and clamped her frame against him as his hand snuck around to the back of her skirt again. 

"Faust, please. I want it. I'll let you do anything to me."

"I know. You've waited long enough. Now I know what you can and can't handle. But not here."

Faith whimpered when he stopped feeding her strokes of his groin. She'd been wriggling against him, trying to fret hard enough that his buried erection pressed against her folds. Though his tilting stopped, the hands at her behind explored the soft mounds of flesh and the sensitive spots that lied between them.

"You're gonna give me everything. That mouth and those pretty lips. Your cunt. Mm-hmm, and this one right here too. Yeah, I'm gonna fill that asshole with all kinds of things. My fingers... my tongue? Maybe a special surprise I have waiting at home?"

Faith never felt such a violent shiver ripple across her skin. It was like the window cracked open on its own and let in the bitter night air, sweet with the seasonal decay. He pressed his index finger against the promised hole, rotating and varying pressure over the cotton.

"All right, I'm serious now. Let's get going. Climb into your seat and buckle up."

On the ride back to Faust's apartment, his arm stretched over to toy with her clit, still never breaching the protection of her underwear. He only ghosted his fingertips over them, refusing to nudge them aside to give her the full strokes she craved. Even when Faith tried to pull them down, he stopped her hand, clicking his tongue and berating her for being too eager.

"Control yourself. Just enjoy what I give you."

"Please, I want more."

"You'll get more when I decide you deserve more. Tonight, you're mine. My pussy. My tits and ass and mouth. Whatever I say goes. Understand?"

"Yes, Faust."

"Good... Now I want you to lean back and finger your pussy. Then I want you to smear that pussy juice on the windshield. Draw my roommate a little picture."

Faith scoffed, cowering against the backrest, clutching her seatbelt. "What? Are you serious?"

He swung his eyes away from the road for as long as it took for the windshield wipers to clip twice. 

"Do it." 

She obeyed, and parted her legs to insert her middle finger as far as the second knuckle, curling to find the spot inside Faust helped her discover. Faust looked back at the road as she worked herself up, nodding and smirking when she brought her glistening fingertip to the glass to create the shape of a heart. 

"Aw, isn't that sweet? Leave 'em a little message."

Faust held the hand she'd used to finger herself the entire elevator ride up. He led Faith straight into his room after dropping the keys at the door. This behaviour was normal, as Faust never had much to say to his roommate besides agreeing on times to use the car. Faith skipped along with his formidable steps to the bedroom.

Faust's bed welcomed her instantly. Giddy and nearly delirious from the excitement of not sleeping in her own bunk at school, Faith sat down and smoothed out her skirt while he went to the closet to rummage around. 

Even the gory posters and beer bottles gave her a sense of comfort. She'd miss his room, and the nights they spent entangled in each other, his massive limbs always draped over hers while they cuddled or talked or slept or fucked. It keyed into her head then that she wouldn't see his plaid bedsheets or nap under the comforter that smelled like his shampoo and deodorant for a long, long time. She tried not to think about that, but the realization overcame her by the time Faust retrieved the item for which he searched. 

He knelt on the carpet, noticing a single tear on her cheek and wiping it away. 

"Don't do this, babe. Don't cry."

Faith brushed the next droplet away herself and breathed in deeply. 

"I'm so sorry. I'll try not to. It's just hard because... I'll miss you."

"I know. It'll be tough, but when I get home, maybe I'll be able to get out of here... Get a car. Move closer to your school. I won't have to keep borrowing fuckface's shit-wagon to come see you. Things will be better after I get back."

"I just can't imagine sleeping without you for that long."

"It's part of the gig, Faith. It always will be. I'll have to do this at least once a year. Probably more if things go well."

She looked down at her toes and nodded, avoiding the large green eyes imploring her to accept reality. Faust stood up and raked his hand through her hair, pressing her face against his thigh. 

"Don't get soft on me now. We have a big night, remember? Unless you don't feel like fucking no more?" 

Faith would never pass up the opportunity to please him. It always meant if she did a good job, he'd pleasure her right back, tenfold. But tonight made a heavier promise Faith craved since the moment she passed him by in the diner; for Faust to show her the dark side of life, where her elders and superiors had always promised demons lurked, waiting to undo her and lead her away from the righteous path. 

He handled her jaw firmly, raising her to her knees on the bed. He bent at the hips and captured her lips along with the silver ring hanging from her neck. A length of chain slid through his grip as he stood up, and he wound it up in his fist, raising her another inch. The leather pressed into her skin and she surrendered instantly. 

"That's what I thought."

"What're you gonna do to me?" 

"Don't speak. You'll answer me and that's it. Now get off the bed. On your knees." 

They switched spots, Faust sitting on the edge of the bed and Faith kneeling between his legs. He pulled the leash short and worked open the button and zipper of his pants, nodding for Faith to pull them down. 

"You wanna be a bad girl?" 

Faith nodded, a warm, fluttering sensation filling her chest. 

"Yeah. You want to do all the sinful things they taught you not to do in school. Like giving your precious little pussy away. There's no way a slut like you can wait until marriage and you don't care how it looks in your God's eyes. The only one you want is to serve me, even if it means going back on the vows you made to stay pure and chaste," Faust chuckled." Well, it's way too late now. I've already soiled you and taken your virginity. But don't you think it's inherently perverse how those supposed men of God put so much importance on what's between your gorgeous legs? Almost like that's all they think about. And who can really blame them? You can do bad in school, cheat on your work, hurt others, lie, steal, disobey your parents and still earn forgiveness, but the moment you let a man's cock inside you, you’ve got no worth. Funny, isn't it? The ultimate sin is what you crave the most. All those white men policing your pussy. Your pastor... Your father... Your God."

A sliver of her past self shuddered to hear the unabated truth pouring from Faust's lips. There was always a shameful breath lingering inside her whenever they had sex, but she always suppressed it by looking into his eyes to find the love living deep in those green pools. Tonight, Faust didn't let an ounce of affection shine through, determined to bring her shame to the forefront of her mind to exploit it. 

"What? Am I wrong? That's what they taught you, isn't it? That your urges make you sinful. That your natural human instincts put you off the path to heaven. Even though, mm, when I stuff all your little holes, you swear you're already there. Why does it feel so good to fuck me when it's so wrong?"

The residual polyps of her religious upbringing quivered and stung, echoing past lessons drilled into her from birth. Faith was always aware of existence on the other side of the fence where the criminals and harlots and sinners lived, and as a child, thought herself too good to wander into those dim pastures. As she matured, new world realities filtered through the pinpricks her parents overlooked—other children whispering of PG-13 movies, sex-charged billboards and unsupervised access to the internet—leaving behind the silt of the depraved for her to examine with hungry eyes. Nothing excited her more than the thought of finding a used porn magazine at the park, or staying up later than the rest of her girlfriends to catch flashes of soft-core skin on cable television. Now she was neck-deep in the sin they'd worked so hard to keep her from, ready to dive in with but a nostalgic glance back at her old, virtuous life.

It still bothered her whenever Faust referred to God, as they fashioned Him before her as divinity, unchallengeable. The unabashed way Faust spit upon His image made her cringe, yet his gall carved out a spot in her head above her pastor, above her father. Faust was the only man to defy her doctrine, and that made him more courageous than anyone she'd ever known. Even her daddy cowered in fear of God's wrath. Faust... he pissed on the cross and the bible, made a mockery of the gospel and showed her how delicious the grapes of temptation tasted on her contaminated tongue.

Faust pushed the elastic band of his boxers down so it bunched under his balls, helping his shaft stand upright. If left without support, he'd loll to the side, the girth too much for his blood to circumvent.

"Open your pretty mouth and suck this fat fucking cock, right now."

Faith displayed her tongue, waiting for him to trace a line from tip to tonsils. The warm pre-cum coated her tastebuds, and she wrapped her lips around the head, swallowing the fluid and moaning.

"Oh, Christ, baby, that looks so good. How does it taste?"

Faith hummed in agreement, unable to form a word with the mass wedging her jaws apart. He bucked his hips up once, hitting the back of her throat, then settled on the bed and let her go to work while he used the chain leash to angle her head. Bubbles formed around the ridge, dripping down in all directions to lubricate the way. Soon, Faust shivered from the warm froth gliding downward and pulled her off by the chain, anchoring his shaft against his belly.

"Suck that spit off my balls," he barked.

Faith did as she was told, keeping her eyes on his slackened face as she trailed her tongue up and down, collecting the saliva and swallowing.

"Good. That's good. Now, get up on the bed. On your hands and knees," he yanked the chain.

Propelled by the force around her neck, Faith crawled onto the bed and awaited his next move. She didn't notice the shiny object in his hand until he placed it on the bed next to her. A shiny metal plug with a jewelled end awaited, puckering the bedspread under its weight.

Before Faith mustered the courage to ask, Faust pulled her panties down to her knees and lapped her entrance with the same sloppy ardency she'd shown him but a minute before. He nipped her folds and continued upward, two hands now spreading her cheeks apart to reveal the next destination of his travelling tongue.

"Did you get all nice and clean for me?" He snickered.

"Mm-hmm," Faith said with a nod.

"Yeah, 'cause you knew I was gonna play with that ass."

Faust teased her with circles of varying pressure, switching his middle finger out for his tongue the first time he dipped inside. She wiggled and let curious noises escape her before clamping her hand over her mouth.

"How does that feel?"

"It feels... good," Faith replied.

"Yeah? You like it? Like it when I sodomize you?"

She whimpered. Faust took her mewling as a sign to continue. Slowly, he inserted his fingertip, reading her body and how it contorted from the new intrusion. When he was certain she wouldn't refuse, he worked the digit in and out, anointing the site with a fresh wad of spit.

"What do you think about the toy I bought for you?"

Faith craned her head to regard the little silver toy. "I like it."

"Really? You're not just saying that are you? It's not just something girls say, is it?"

"No, I want it. I'll do it if you like that."

"Anyone ever tell you how sweet you are? You’re always thinking of others. Perfect little cock-slave. It's really too bad your holes are so tiny. I'd really love to fuck your ass, but we wouldn't want anyone getting injured tonight," Faust said.

Faith simpered and wiggled her hips. There was a brief loss of contact as Faust went for a bottle of lube he always had stashed under the bed for nights Faith needed it. He coated the toy and rubbed the rest around and inside her tightness. With his fingertip eclipsing her hole, he dipped in one last time before replacing the digit with the tapered end of the plug.

Faith couldn't tell what it looked like when her body accepted the weighty piece of decoration, but when Faust had it in place, he breathed heavily.

"Fuck, Faith... That's adorable. How's that feel?"

She tilted her hips from side to side, grimacing from the flare pressing into her cheeks. "It's... Different."

"Spread your legs a bit more. Yeah, that's good. Open up and show me that pussy and your cute plug."

Faust overestimated his reserve of patience. Once affixed with the pink jewel, he lost sight of everything else except filling her other holes too. But he had to control himself if he wanted to achieve what he set out to achieve, and that required endurance. He had to tease her with a little more tongue-fucking before slipping his cock in from behind. She gasped and clenched hard, flinching away. The added fullness only intensified the stretch from his width and the imposing length. Faust seethed a moment before teasing her pussy with the tip.

"All right, work it however you like, babe. Get comfortable. It's a lot."

Left to her own efforts, she sat back on him and let the stretch course through her. Faust watched most of his length disappear, mouth dropped in awe. She continued jamming him back inside after every withdrawal, hoping to impress with her resilience. 

"You're doing good, baby. Keep going. Fuck, that feels amazing."

When Faust grew bored with the position, he flipped her on her back so he could watch her wince in mixed pain and pleasure. Her struggle urged him on, her panting, encouragement. Over the months, Faith got used to the breadth of him inside and didn't tremble as much or wilt from trying to keep up. It was time to move onto the next part of his plan, which was to introduce yet another form of stimulation. 

Faust had her sit on him, his chest to her back, fully enveloped in her wetness with the plug angling just right. Once she perched in his lap comfortably, he reached around to rub her clit with one hand while the other anchored her collared neck back so her head rested on his shoulder. 

"You're gonna come all over me, understand? I won't stop until I feel your pussy spasming around my dick." 

Faith squealed from the frantic fingers dancing over her clit, the shaft pumping her in a violent clashing of rhythms. Even his brutal whispers in her ear fell into time, playing her like an instrument with expertise. By her arching back and sharp breaths, Faust knew he was close to his goal. He just had to restrain himself from succumbing to the tightening pressure around him, the feast that was her body contorting on top of his. 

"Are you gonna come? Gonna fucking squirt for me?" 

Faith nuzzled into his neck and whimpered, "I... Can't. I don't know how." 

"Yes, you do. Feel that spot right there? Remember? Remember what I told you."

"Faust," she gasped. 

"You're right there. I can feel it. Right there, Faith."

He coiled his thick arm around her chest, pressing her as he shot his groin up and up. Each thrust landed harder while his fingers coddled her most sensitive spot. 

Amid the barrage of sensations, a peculiar warmth bourgeoned in her groin. For a second she thought her bladder was about to release, but it was too gradual... Too intentional to be a regular function. The undulating pulse sent red hot waves of pleasure through her body, shooting to her fingertips and crackling in her ears like a sudden ascent up a steep mountain. She closed her eyes and let out one continuous groan that spiralled upward, squealing from between her teeth as the volcanic frequencies shut down all other modes of operation. 

Faith didn't notice the first spurt. Only when Faust laughed did she unscrew her eyes to see between her legs. Faust lifted her quickly, sidling them both to the edge of the bed where the mirror reflected the clear fluid dripping down his cock and spreading between their thighs. He'd fucked her hard enough to collect fizz along the underside of his length. She gasped when a contraction forced another small emission from a place inside her she never knew existed. 

"Oh, my goodness... Am I?" 

"Squirting? Damn fucking right, babe. I knew I could get ya to gush all over my dick."

The fervent racks of orgasm subsided after a while, and she giggled. Faust laid back on the bed, feet planted on the floor as he slipped out of her and let her roll to the side. Faith huddled up under his arm and placed her little hand on his heaving chest, his heartbeat kicking up the limb. 

"You didn't come," Faith said.

Faust grabbed her hand and tightened his arm around her shoulders. "Yeah. That's 'cause I'm not done with you."

~*~

On the day of Faust's departure, he drove Faith to her campus and got out of the car to give her a hug. She produced a rickety smile as she buried her face in his hair and the first sniffle racked her throat. She imagined they looked novel to most; Faust spreading his feet and crouching to use his entire body, clam-shelling her in leather-bound arms and ripped black jeans, and Faith in a school kilt and his largest and softest hoodie. 

Faust kissed her once softly, then again slowly. She savoured his breath and sent her tongue after his. They parted, joined once more and parted again for their first attempt at goodbye.

Faith shivered from the effort of holding back her tears. She knew crying would only make it harder to part ways. If she could hold on, then she could cry in her plain, two-sided cubicle in a building of people that weren't Faust. She already felt sorry for her roommate who would suffer her grovelling.

To her surprise, she reared in the heat behind her eyes, remembering the times in the Summer when Faust would talk about touring. The glint in his eye and the smile he let slip only in her presence was Faust at his purest. How could she let her emotions taint his goals? Faith smiled, driven by her unexpected surge of self-control. 

It was Faust who bit his lip and blinked rapidly, trying to smother a tear before it oozed out. Faith gasped at the glimmer he smeared with the leather cuff of his jacket. Then, she broke.

Faust wrapped her up in his arms again and squeezed her tight, Faith jostling with sobs.

"I love you. I love you so much," she cried into his chest.

"Yeah, babe. I love you too. I fucking wish you could just come with me. I don't trust this town either. You better not ever walk alone at night anywhere. Even if it's from your dorm to the parking lot. You always walk with someone."

"I will."

"I'm serious, Faith. And don't fucking hang out with Anika and that crowd."

"Why not? I mean, I won't, but... Why?"

Faust pressed his lips together, squeezing his fist. She cocked her head, and he released his frustration in one deep breath. "All those guys will rip you apart. Because of your... Upbringing. Christians just... Fuck. I can't put this nicely."

"Do you really think I still care about my religion? It was something I just did as a kid. I don't really... I don't know. I know what you guys sing about and I don't care."

"It doesn't matter. To some of them, Christians are the enemy and they'll do terrible shit you'd never think of. Please, just fucking promise me you'll make some other friends. Some smart girls. Have like a girl's club thing in your dorm."

"Girl's club?" Faith taunted.

"You know what I mean."

"No smart boy friends?"

Faust went deadpan, then stooped to grab her ass and pull her closer. "Don't make a murderer out of me. If I hear of any guy—"

"Or girl!"

"Or girl... If anyone tries anything with you..."

"You'll go to prison for me. I know. I'll do everything to make sure you don't end up in prison."

"And you better not worry about me and what I'm up to. My life will be nothing but sleeping on the way to shows, sound check, pre-set, set, post-set shower, then beer in the bus."

"I trust you. But will you say goodnight, every night?"

"I'll try."

She hopped up to kiss him again. "Thanks, beetle."

"One more thing before I go," Faust said, stepping toward the car. He circled to the driver's side and ducked in to grab something he'd tucked under the seat while Faith wasn't around. She already had her mouth covered by the time he returned to the sidewalk. "That collar you supposedly had lying around... You gotta get rid of it."

Faith touched her throat as though the leather strap was still there. "How come?"

"Because I got you a better one," he said, handing her the parcel. The box had a weight Faith didn't expect.

She unravelled the black plastic, a lacquered wooden box beneath the makeshift wrapping paper. The collar inside was thin, with a metal buckle and a thick D-ring hosting a thicker chrome loop.

"Faust!"

"My friend made it. It's not some Hot Topic shit. This collar means you belong with me."

"Is this like your version of a promise ring?"

Faust scoffed. "It's not a ring. It's a collar. Hand-forged metal. Leather cut with skill. Not some tiny, overpriced rock. But if you want me to make you a promise, I will."

"Promise me what?"

"That I belong to you, too."

Faith melted, rolling her eyes and leaning into him. "Ugh, oh my gosh, if you keep being so cute I'm not gonna let you leave! First you cried and now you're giving me something you asked your friend to make for me? That's sooo cute!"

"Shut up. Come on, this is serious."

"I know! Which is why it's so cute, because you're a big, tough, serious man, aren't you?"

Faust's indifference broke, and he chuckled with her as she poked him and hung off his arm. He helped her put on the collar, then slipped the box into her backpack.

They settled back into a melancholic silence, neither one of them wanting to start the next round of goodbyes. Faust eventually stepped into the tight hug, proceeded more kissing and a few deep breaths to wane the sorrow.

"I hope you have fun, Faust. You don't have to worry about me. I promise I'll be safe."

"Say goodnight, every night."

"I will."

"All right... Well, I should go."

"Please do, so I can go to my room and cry some more."

Faust pressed his thumb into the corner of his eye. "Fuck, I know."

"I love you, beetle."

"Love you too, babe. I'll talk to you soon as I'm on the road."

Faust let her go and drove away. An immovable lump formed in his throat as he drowned out his inner-mourning with a cacophony of feral guitars, erratic drumbeats and screeching.

[shreddedparchment]

Absence Makes the Heart

04/17/2020

Pairing: Superman x Reader          Word Count: 5,431

Warnings: language, lots of language, violence, blood, wounds, injuries, plenty of angst

DCEU Canon

A/N: I’ve been meaning to write this one down for a while. It’s based on a dream I had but I just went and added details and a little bit of backstory. Nothing too crazy. This will probably just be a one shot. The top half is heavily edited while the second half I just spat out because I was inspired and I went with it. Hopefully it’s good. This is my first foray into something other than Marvel, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Edit: I forgot to thank @babiiface95​ @evansweaters​ and @sherrybaby14​ for giving me some feedback on this! It helped tons!! xoxo

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

In this moment, all you can feel is the pain in your side.

You stumble forward, hitting the chestnut wood of your door hard. With nothing to brace yourself on, you slide along the length of it until you’re sitting, shoulder pressed against it.

“Ugh…” You groan, letting your hand trace the smooth grain until it can latch onto the handle. “Fuck this shit. I quit.”

You tell no one.

There hasn’t been anyone for months.

The door gives as you twist the knob sending you falling onto the small foyer of your apartment. You’re on the top floor, beside the penthouse. Your own place is small. Compact. Just three rooms, four if you count your bathroom.

You pull yourself along the dated ceramic tile and watch as you leave a smear of red behind you.

“Honey…” You begin, kicking the door shut while you stay flattered against the floor. “…I’m home.”

No one responds.

You exhale through your nose as annoyance rips through your chest.

“Fucker.” You say at no one, but obviously someone.

It takes every ounce of strength you have left to haul yourself into your bathroom. You peel off your suit, letting it drop to the floor in a whip of heavy fabric, space quality tech that was not fashioned on Earth but created for you.

To protect you.

Because he said he cared.

“Fucking…fucker.” You huff, yanking the first aid kit from the open shelf beneath your sink.

Your sports bra is drenched in sweat and blood, sticky against your skin as you plop yourself at the small kitchen table. You pull open the kit and reach for needle and thread.

It’s a messy stitch, clumsy and crooked from the angle you’re forced to work in. However sloppy, you do seal the wound to your ribs and the bleeding finally stops.

In your blood-soaked underwear, you make yourself a sandwich and stand at your counter, staring at the primary blue coffee cup sitting beside your own in teal.

You chew loudly, smacking your mouth as the bread sticks to the roof of your mouth. Eyes glaring at the cup, you bite down more fiercely. Tearing the food apart angrily.

“You’re a stupid bitch, Y/N. Get over it.” You sigh, then retreat to your bathroom to tidy up.

~~~~~~~~~~

Exhaustion is not your friend. It makes you cranky and irritable and sad because you can’t stand the silence in your home.

You groan, pressing your hand against your side gently, then reach for the remote and turn on the TV to war the silence.

It’s a cacophony of sound and for a moment, it grates your nerves. Some cartoon, loud and full of slapstick.

Next channel has people screaming at each other from opposite sides of a stage. Chairs begin to get thrown. A guy with a mullet takes off his shoe and chucks it at a man with one ear.

Next channel has an old black and white movie. The pretty woman with dark curls and a heart shaped face leans across a table, chin in her hand as she moons over the composed man who is smirking at her casually.

Nope. You think. No romance.

Next channel is the news.

“-sure what to make of what we’re seeing. It’s like nothing we have witnessed before. Veronica, can you tell us what’s happening?” The news anchor presses his hand to his ear, eyes squinted as he stares ahead.

The screen shifts and Veronica—a pretty woman with flowing red hair and deep blue eyes fills your screen.

“Miguel, it looks as if all of the ocean’s water is being pulled away from our coastline and out towards the ocean. Where the water is going, we aren’t sure. There is no way to know what this means or what can be causing it. And although we’ve seen this phenomenon happen in films, doomsday blockbusters where a tidal wave the height of a skyscraper builds up before the subsequent flood, experts are sure this is not at all what’s going on.

There are dozens of meteorologists, marine biologists, oceanographers, and astronomers still searching for the cause. The only thing that they all can agree on for certain is that the oceans are not withdrawing, but rather, they are draining, leaving sea life, coral reefs, and the ocean floor exposed.

“Something is pulling this water away. Whatever is causing this, is not natural.”

Sitting up, you place your elbows on your knees as the video changes to that of a helicopter shot as it circles the ever-decreasing ocean line. A humpback whale and her calf attempt to outswim the retreat, but they fail and as the water falls away, the creatures are beached between two sheer ocean cliffs.

“What the hell…” Reaching up, you cover your mouth, watching as the video moves back to Veronica.

“If we can’t figure out why the ocean is draining, we will have hundreds if not thousands of species left without chance of survival. This is not only a loss of a life for many endangered species, but also leaves us to face the consequences within our fishing industries and the millions of people it not only feeds but employs as well. If we cannot stop-”

Veronica suddenly stops speaking, holding her hand to her ear as she listens for a moment.

“Sorry, Miguel, it looks as if Doctor Rashda has found a source point for the draining. Doctor Rashda can you hear me?” Veronica asks, waiting for a moment before the video splits vertically.

The second frame of video sits empty, a sloping sandbank visible in the distance. It curves around in a semi-circle at the center of which is a growing swirl of dark blue water.

“Doctor Rashda?” Veronica asks again, her eyes frantic as they search a monitor out of view.

“Surrender.” A voice says, high pitched. Female. “Surrender and you will not suffer. Surrender your planet, and I shall make your end quick.”

Veronica is silent as the column of swirling water parts a little, just enough so that a pale face is visible.

“Surrender.” The voice says again, the pale face’s lips moving as it speaks. “And you will die quickly.”

Frowning, you move to the edge of your seat, your anger doubling.

“M-Miguel are you seeing this?” Veronica asks, voice small with fear.

Miguel doesn’t answer.

The figure in the water holds out its hand and from the swirl comes a smaller sphere. In this sphere something moves. As the camera zooms in, you can make out the distinct shape of a body, thrashing within its bubble.

Veronica screams just as you and everyone else that must be watching realizes that within the bubble is Doctor Rashda, struggling and gasping for breath.

You’re up on your feet, racing to pull your suit back on when a commotion pulls your eyes back to the TV, legs already in but with one shoulder exposed as you freeze mid-dress.

“He’s back!” Veronica is shouting gleefully. Relief and reverence painting her voice. “Superman is back!”

You move two steps closer to the TV, not intending to take the word of a panicked reporter. Until you can lay your own eyes on him then it isn’t real.

A few seconds pass. Then, a blur of blue and red streaks through the center of the bubble and when the water stops rippling, Doctor Rashda isn’t there.

“Motherfucker.”

You pull your suit on roughly, ignoring the way the movement tugs at your side as you zip up and launch out your open window.

You fall fast, plummeting towards the ground in a streak of teal and gray. When you’re only three feet away, you feel a surge of power as your arms, and legs burn with white hot energy.

It pushes you upwards and propels you higher and higher until you’re soaring across the sky at incredible speeds, leaving a silver trail of light behind you.

It only takes you minutes to reach the coast but sometime between you jumping out of your living room window and arriving here by the Golden Gate, the fight has moved cityside.

You hear a deafening crunch as blue and red goes slamming into black, gray, and brown ocean floor, disappearing into the subsequent rubble.

Heart pounding, you propel yourself towards a thin figure, long stringy black hair, sallow skin, arm still stretched out from her hit. She turns to look at you just as you reach her, but you throw your own fist out in a powerful uppercut. It throws the strange woman high into the air.

You follow for a few feet, hovering in there as you watch her skyrocket out of sight into dark clouds overhead.

Behind you the heap of ocean floor rubble begins to shift.

Coming to rest on the cliffside above, six feet below he breaks through the rock and it falls around him, a flurry of fine sediment saturating the air.

Chest heaving, side burning, heart clenched so tight you think it might truly be shredding, you watch as the fucker stands up and does a quick scan of the area looking just as perfect as he did when he left.

His eyes are focused, searching the sky for sight of his attacker but instead he finds you.

His eyes soften and you’re still so angry you glare. You turn on your heel and walk away, staring up at the sky as you wait for the woman to fall.

“Y/N…” You hear him say, but you don’t turn to look at him.

You can feel the swirling of wind as he flies up to you, the soft pats as his feet hit the ground. He circles around your right, leaning forward to get a better look at your face.

In your peripherals you can see the gentle curl of his dark hair, falling along his forehead and a hundred memories of your hand gently sweeping it aside make your body tremble.

The pleasure that the memory brings makes your blood boil and you roll your eyes, ignoring the puppy eyes he gives you.

“Let’s just get this over and done with. I’m tired.” You assert and watch as the strange woman careens towards the two of you, an inhuman screech growing louder as she falls.

Moving forward a few steps you aim yourself, bend your knees and launch yourself up towards her. As you collide, she grabs hold of your shoulders, and the two of you twist and spin in the air, struggling to get the upper hand.

Shifting quickly, you pull her over you, grab hold of her shirt front and with all the force in your body, you spin and chuck her down as Clark flies towards you to finish the job.

~~~~~~~~~~

A tattered white dress is all that remains of the ocean thief.

“Who was she?” Clark wonders, moving to stand beside you as you watch the stain of saltwater grow as her body dissolves to nothing.

“You don’t know?” You ask him, turning to look at him and hating how much it pleases you to finally see him again.

His broad body, thick with muscle and stupidly accentuated by his damn blue skintight suit, feels larger than before he left though you know that’s silly. He’s as God like as ever, though he’s only an alien. To the world, he’s a savior. Invincible.

Superman.

What really hurts to look at are his eyes.

It chokes you, those baby blues, full of unspoken questions and expectation. For you. For the future. For the present. He wants to know you again.

You tear your gaze back down to the woman as Clark shakes his head.

“No. I was flying home when I saw the ocean empty and followed the trail to the spout she was in.” Clark explains.

“Well, it’s too late to find out now.” You point out. “The water will come back soon. You’ll need to make sure people stay away from the coastline.”

Turning towards him, you wait, your rage evened out and layered with betrayal.

That painful gaze of his so piercing it nearly steals your breath away.

“Where were you, Clark?” You ask quietly, your anger outweighing the hurt.

The apologetic look he gives you, the tilt of his head, the step he takes towards you grates your nerves.

“Y/N-”

“It’s been months. Almost a year.” You sigh, unwilling to give in.

He takes your hand and the impulse to pull away nearly overwhelms you.

His hands are rough, only in that masculine way. His skin is unblemished. Perfect.

The strength of his movements are carefully calculated. A natural habit he’s developed after a lifetime of having to be gentle to keep from breaking those he touches. The heat from his hands is familiar and it envelops yours easily.

“I was coming home.” He tells you.

“Home? How do you know that it’s still your home? Maybe someone else has moved in.” You threaten and there’s a visible fall in his eyes.

It nearly breaks your icy exterior. But you have every right to be angry and hurt that he left you. Out of the blue, no word as to where he was going or when he’d come back.

“I have to go.” He’d said, and left you sitting on the couch, wondering when he’d come home.

He looks down at your hand in his, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand.

“You went to see her first, didn’t you?” You accuse and he quickly meets your gaze.

“No.” He assures you passionately, moving a little closer. “No, I was going straight home.”

“She’s been looking for you.” You tell him, tempted to confess how useless you’d been in those first few weeks he was gone. “All of them have been. Where is Superman? Is the million-dollar question. And now here you are.”

He’s back just as randomly as he’d left. Just as sudden. Just as quiet.

“There he is!” A familiar voice shouts. On the bank across the large ravine you both stand in Veronica appears looking dazzled and excited, her camera man hoisting up his camera to begin what will be the first clear footage of Superman finally back. Earth’s hero returned.

Quickly you pull your hand from his and turn to walk away.

“Where are you going?” He asks, following for a few steps.

“Home. I’ve been in Australia for the last month dismantling a new crime syndicate with Bruce. He and I are both very tired. He stayed behind.”

“Oh.” Clark says.

“Superman!” Someone calls. “Superman is back!”

Civilians have begun to gather along the empty waterway, all of them eager for a glance at the Man of Steel.

You know how you made it sound and maybe it’s your annoyance making you push him away now that he’s home, but all you can think about is getting back home and being alone.

“The water will be back, Kal.” You shift to his birthname with so many ears nearby. “Get these people away.”

You leave him standing there, watching you fly away, with those baby blues full of quiet yearning.

~~~~~~~~~~

The apartment…your home…it’s a void.

You sit on the arm of your sofa still in full uniform, hand gently resting on your thigh—palm up. You’re a mess again. Dirty with blood and dirt and sweat.

Needing a shower doesn’t do much to deter your silly brooding. Silly because you did this to yourself. You made it seem like you had someone new waiting for you here when really the bleak emptiness is in need of a six-foot, three-inch tall Kryptonian.

His presence is here. Loud and white hot. His coffee cup burns you from across the kitchen—asking where its owner is. His drawer still full of clothes. Comfy sweatshirts and crisp white t-shirts. Blues and grays and reds too.

There’s one you’d set aside. The last he’d worn. Only once. It had sat on the end of your bed night after night until you’d caved and pulled it on. Now it probably smells more like you than him.

The place is silent. Only the drip, drip, drip of the bathroom sink breaks the quiet.

Your gaze wanders to his shoes by the door, shoelaces left undone, a small speck of mud on the side of the left heel.

Shutting them, your eyes water.

No. You shake your head. I won’t cry.

You take a shaky breath and release it slowly, sighing as your body slumps forward.

The movement reminds you of your earlier wound and you gasp in pain as you sit up straight again, leaning to the side to look at the spot growing increasingly wet on your side.

“Shit.” Stitches are probably torn open. “Fuck.”

Maybe it’s your frustration with this whole situation or maybe your wound really just hurts a lot, but as you reach over to feel the bloody spot, your voice finally breaks. Though there are no tears, they really want to fall.

“Fucking, stupid, fucking…” You sigh again, this time faster, angry.

“That’s a lot of French.” Clark says, his voice smooth and even and excruciatingly beautiful to your ears.

You stand up, startled, and spin to watch him pull his left leg in through your open window, following his torso.

He’s still in his suit, cape and all. Once again, the sight of him reminds you of his Godlike status. His perfection unreachable and yet, here he is. In your home. Where he’d given himself to you openly and without reservation.

He stands there, his hands clenched into nervous fists. Skin just as dirty as yours but not sweaty. Not bloody. His hair is a little disheveled. The tresses normally so carefully tempered are free to curl and wave.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, voice still weak from your raw emotional outburst.

“I went to see Bruce.” He explains, and you might just kick yourself for implying Bruce would be waiting for you. “Why-?”

“Because I wanted to hurt you.” You admit, cutting him off before he can word the question. “Because I wanted you to regret leaving me the way you did.”

“I do regret it.” He sighs. “I-I only left because I thought I heard…”

He hesitates and you’re tempted to kick him out. You turn away from him and move into the kitchen, trying to ignore the wound that needs tending.

With your own coffee cup in hand, you pop a k-cup in your Keurig and punch the power button, waiting for it to power on before you select the largest cup option and listen to the whirr of the motors instead of Clark’s silence.

“I went to Krypton, or what’s left of it.” Clark finally says, this time from the mouth of your kitchen archway, hands still clamped tight.

You shut your eyes tight, hands clinging to the edge of your counter. Squeezing ever tighter until they begin to ache, and you still only keep squeezing.

“I wish I could be as impressed by that answer as I was the first time you told me that.” You shake your head.

“It was different this time, Y/N.” He shakes his head, then takes a step closer.

The movement draws your eyes and you watch the intense focus on his face, the uncertainty to speak.

“What is it?” You ask, still a little bitter.

Even though he looks as if he means it and this trip to Krypton is more serious, he’s not speaking. He’s keeping this from you. Holding it back.

“Jesus fucking Christ Clark, I guess you don’t trust me.”

“No.” He insists, moving another step closer which still leaves him a ways away from you in the kitchen. “It’s not that. I do trust you. More than anyone. But…”

You want to scream at him. You want to tell him to go to hell and to stay away from you and to shove his excuses up his ass, but your curiosity is growing.

There’s a small panic in his baby blue eyes. A fear.

So, you wait. You hold your tongue. You’re patient for now. You give him a familiar silence that tells him you will wait until he’s ready.

He recognizes it and meets your quizzical gaze as your coffee finishes brewing.

You don’t even realize it’s done as you stare into Clark’s eyes and he stares into yours.

The moment he decides, his shoulders relax. His jaw drops a fraction of an inch as he stops clenching his teeth.

As the weight on his shoulders is visibly lifted, you feel yourself relax too. Nearly a year of being without him and you’re still so attuned to his moods.

“I found someone.” He tells you. “On another planet, in a Kryptonian ship that had been sent only days after my own.”

“Another Kryptonian?” You ask, curious but also fearful.

You remember very clearly the last Kyrptonian that had come to Earth. Zod and his minions had torn Metropolis to shreds. They’d killed so many people and Clark had made the hardest decision in his life.

Not that you’d been there. She’d been there. But Clark had let you in on the weight of that moment. The choice that he hated to make but would gladly do so again.

He must see the fear in your eyes because he shakes his head and takes yet another step towards you.

“No. Don’t be scared. Really. She’s-”

She?!

“-she’s harmless.” You frown at him because that’s the stupidest fucking thing he’s said since getting back. Maybe the stupidest thing ever.

“Okay,” He amends. “Maybe not harmless, exactly. She’s my cousin, Y/N. And she needed help.”

“Your cousin?” You ask, voice low and full of questions.

“From what I can tell, she was sent here after me, but when her ship was knocked off course, she was trapped in form of hypersleep for a long time. She was older than me, but now she’s a lot younger.” Clark continues to explain, speaking with some gusto now that you’ve allowed him to pick up some momentum.

“Where is she?” You wonder.

“I left her with a family that can take care of her. Someone that I trust. Far away from me. She’s still very young and I think it would be best if she remained hidden for a while. Just until she learns how to control her abilities here on Earth and to give the world time to get used to the idea of another Kryptonian.” He takes one more step.

“After Zod, I don’t know that there is any amount of time that would prepare the world for a Supergirl.” You frown.

With your defenses lowered, Clark takes the opportunity to step even closer, finally stopping beside you.

He hesitates again, this time as he reaches to take hold of your elbow. His fingers press against your arm gently like he’s stroking piano keys. Testing to see if you’ll pull away.

You don’t.

He lifts your arm a little and doesn’t break eye contact with you until your arm is lifted enough that he can get a clear look at the red on your side. Head tilted to the right as he assess the injury.

Straightening his head, he slides his hand down to your hand, taking it before gently pulling you away from the kitchen, through your bedroom, and into your bathroom, switching on lights as he goes.

Watching him be like this has always been your favorite. He moves with a purpose, eyes trained on what he’s looking for without a glance spared your way.

You stand beside him as he holds your hand, hunched over to look under the sink for your first aid kit.

After he retrieves it, he pulls you back out into the kitchen. There’s more room there for both your bodies, especially with his taking up so much space.

He places the kit on the floor before he pulls you in front of him. Both of his hands find your waist and he lifts you up onto the edge of the counter to sit.

Slightly surprised, you gasp and place your hands on his shoulders, tracing the muscle while you can do so discreetly until you must remove them and place them at your sides.

Clark steps towards you, his hard abdomen pressed up against your legs as he wraps both arms around you, hands searching for the zipper on your back. Leaning over your shoulder to get a look at it, he’s almost hugging you.

And you can’t stand the tease of it.

The movement is quick, and he leans back again once he’s got the suit undone.

“What happened?” He asks as he hooks his thumbs into the top of your suit and pulls it down over your shoulders, your biceps—then holds the arms still as he waits for you to pull them out—then bunches it down along your waist to expose your injured side. “Lift your arm.”

You do as he ass, wincing as it tugs on the reopened cut.

“This is deep.” He disapproves.

“Bruce and I really were in Australia. One of the guys caught me with a knife just as we were getting them rounded up.” You explain.

“This is gonna hurt.” He tells you as he pulls the kit onto the counter beside you and pulls out a pair of small scissors and tweezers.

It takes him almost no time at all to snip away the broken threads and clean the wound again.

He waits, thinking for a moment, then meeting your gaze.

“Do you want something for the pain?” He checks, eyebrows raised in worry.

“Just do it, Clark.” You sigh, frustrated because this is all too familiar. This proximity, the smells, the heat, the way his hands poke and prod at the edges of your cut.

His eyebrows gather together as his jaw flexes with a frown, staring at the cut as he threads the needle quickly.

A proper needle this time, sanitized and threaded properly.

Taking your lifted arm, he pulls it over his head onto the opposite shoulder and places your hand there where his cape meets his suit.

“It’s gonna hurt.” He says again, and you realize he’s giving you something to squeeze.

And he’s right. Without the adrenaline from before, you feel every stitch and you’d thin you would get used to this sensation. But it hurts like fuck all and you squeeze his cape tight until you can’t help but give a small yell in annoyance.

“Why is it always the little wounds that hurt the most?” You sigh as he sips the thread and moves to clean his work area.

“You should go shower.” Clark says as he sanitizes the counter. “Be careful with your stitches.”

You don’t fight him on this because you desperately need another shower. Maybe if you’d been fine, you would have argued, but you’re dirty and aching.

When you emerge from the bathroom, you find that the sky outside has darkened. You dress quickly, just a pair of black old cutoff sweats and one of Clark’s gray hoodies.

You’re absolutely swimming in it, but it’s so soft and comfortable. Loose so that it doesn’t add any pressure to your stitches.

The apartment is so quiet you stand there, pulling the sweatshirt down as you listen intently for any kind of movement.

“Clark?” You call, just a little insecure after months of his absence.

You move out into the living room. The floorboards creak and moan as they settle beneath your feet. The large carpet in your living room silences your steps but you also stop walking, staring at the empty kitchen, then the empty living room.

Had you dreamt him?

Maybe he really isn’t back?

What if you’ve finally gone crazy?

What if he’s never coming back and you’d passed out after you got back from Australia and everything with the ocean had been a dream?

Are you really going nuts?

There’s a soft thud from your bedroom and with eager footsteps you rush back in.

Sitting on his side of the bed with his bare feet planted on the ground, Clark is hunched over. Elbows on his knees. Hands resting relaxed at the wrist while he stares at the floorboard underneath your bedroom window.

“Clark…” You sigh, not realizing how relieved you sound.

He’s changed, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a plain white t-shirt.

He looks good. Showered. His curls just barely damp.

“Am I welcome here?” He asks, staring ahead.

You move to the bed and climb on, walking on your knees towards him until you stop just a foot away and sit back on your legs.

It’s a good question. One you think on for a moment.

“You didn’t come back for ten months, Clark.” You sigh, hating that fact. “I didn’t know if something had happened to you or maybe you’d decided to leave me and Earth behind altogether? Mostly I just thought you were dead. I spent most of my time convincing myself that you’re so close to invincible that killing you might be impossible but-”

“I’ve died before.” Clark says, hating the idea that people think him a God. He turns towards you and frowns.

His words, however true they may be, send painful clenches into your chest.

Your face does something that makes his demeanor shift. Suddenly he’s sitting beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as he reaches up to push your hair back and away from your face.

His fingers graze the skin of your neck and he hooks it there, squeezing gently.

“I’m not dead.” He says, maybe guessing your thoughts of madness? “I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t.” You shake your head. “And I was so angry at you. I hated you. I cursed your name. Fuck that guy. Stupid fucker. I hate him.”

Clark simply watches you, his eyes moving side to side as he looks at your face and every expression that crosses your features.

The one thing that you’ve always loved about Clark, is the way that you can tell he’s really listening. Not once have you felt as if you weren’t being heard. Even if he doesn’t agree with whatever you’re saying, he listens so intently, trying to understand your point of view before he poses his own.

And you love him for it.

Shit. You still love him. Of course, you do. Of course, he’s always been yours.

Even in his absence, you were his and he was yours.

“I said that almost every night, hoping that you would hear me and come back. But you didn’t.”

“But I did.” Clark says. “I’m here. And I’m sorry I left without explanation. I’m sorry that I put you through that. And I know that you can’t forgive me for it. That I’ll be trying to earn your trust again every day that we’re together. But, please can I stay?”

He rubs your lower back, his large hand sending heat into every inch of your heart. Restarting it after he killed it ten months ago.

“Please?” He begs. “All I’ve thought about is getting back here. To you. To our home and our life together.”

You shut your eyes, relishing in the way his arms feel around you, his hands large and hot. His breath is sweet and warm. His scent is clean and so him that it makes your stomach flutter.

You won’t need that shirt of his anymore. Now you have him back, here with you. Where you can touch and feel and love and laugh and just be with him.

“Or should I leave?” He asks.

Your eyes pop open, red fury raging through them. “You do and I’ll hunt you down, Kent.”

He smiles, softly at first. But when your hand begins to trace the taut sinew of his muscly forearm, his smile grows wider. It grows and grows until it’s blinding and beautiful.

You trace the curve of his shoulder, tickle his neck before reaching up to smooth the curls that fall against his forehead gently.

He shuts his eyes, enjoying the affection before you push yourself forward between his legs and settle on your side.

You cuddle into the center of his chest, tucking yourself between his arms, head on his chest, under his chin, arms grabbing tight to the soft cotton of his shirt.

“I missed you.” He whispers against your hair.

You smile, shutting your eyes as you let yourself finally be at ease. Clark is home.

[nerd2614]

April's Fall - Part 5

Lost Memories

@write-it-motherfuckers original prompt

Part 1 // Part 4

“Run away with me!” The young teen exclaimed as he twirled away from my blade.

I laughed and parried his returning blow. He was joking about it more often these days.

“I can’t, Raph. You know we’re needed here.” A smirk crossed my face as he fell to the ground with a grunt.

“Oh my April, my Autumn moon! How could you wound me so?” Raph threw his head back with all the pompous royal arrogance he could muster. I rolled my eyes and held my hand out for him to grasp. Raphael’s hand in my own was warm.

“We’re only using wooden swords now because someone got scared.” I teased.

His grip tightened and I braced to help him to his feet. He winked and swept his legs under my own. With a thud, I fell on top of Raphael and was flipped to the ground. I felt the cold bite of his dagger at my throat.

“We’re using wooden swords because you spilled my blood.” He reminded me with a wicked grin.

“You are both using wooden swords because we can’t trust either of you not to lob each other’s heads off accidentally.” A firm voice reminded us.

“Hello Father, Mother.” I greeted them politely, brushing the dust off my training pants. Raphael inclined his head and murmured his acknowledgement.

“Are you training like you’re meant to, children?” Mother inquired with a teasing lilt.

“Yes, m’lady.”

“Yes mother.”

“Carry on then.” Father waved his hand to reset the match. Raphael and I turned to face the centre of the ring, swords poised at the ready.

“I’m getting better!” Raphael exclaimed as he knocked the gilded blade from my hand. Practising to fight in ceremonial garb was always a pain. The weapons were too heavy and the material too restrictive.

I huffed and crossed my arms. I would never tell him, but the last round hand jarred my wrist badly. “Only because I let you win!”

“Oh, come on, April -” Raphael boasted as he passed my sword back, “- it is I who lets you win!”

I growled and brought my blade to attention, ignoring the twinge of pain. “Wanna bet?” Instead of retorting, Raphael nodded to someone behind me. I turned to see one of the younger messengers from the court. We had all celebrated his centenary not two moons ago.

“Lady April, there’s been terrible news from The Twisted. They’ve captured your parents.”

Suddenly my wrist didn’t hurt so much.

I was informed to wear the gown of spider silk as we were meeting someone important today. Standing next to Raphael, I could not figure out what was so important about the toad in front of us. He had beady eyes that reeked of betrayal. His hair was weird too, more like matted fur.

“This is James,” Raphael’s mother introduced when it became clear that I would not inquire, “he will help protect the both of you. You can trust him.” The last sentence was directed to me. She then left us to get acquainted, as was the custom.

“Hi, James, I’m Raphael! It’s about time there’s another guy around!” My friend grinned and held his hand out. He nudged me to encourage me to introduce myself.

“I don’t like you.”

“April!”

James licked his lips. “Don’t worry, Raphael. April and I will be close before you know it.”

I was aiming the arrows with vicious accuracy. Raphael had requested James accompany him today so he could learn the ropes. So when a throat cleared behind me I launched into an attack.

“Your training is coming along nicely, April.” The guardian almost smiled as he halted the arrows with a flick of his wrist.

“Guardian Sebastian.” I bowed my head in deference. “I apologise.”

“There is no need to apologise, child. It is I who should extend my apologies. We found your parents bodies at sunrise.”

Walking around in the forest was never peaceful anymore.

"She's only young." The people whispered.

"Who would take care of her?" Those of the court gossiped.

Even the trees were not silent. "Evil witches." they hissed as I passed them.

“You’ve been feeding information to the witch.” Raphael's demeanor was calm, but his eyes were filled with contempt.

"No, I haven't! How could -" With a flick of my wrist, the ceremonial sword that had been dangling uselessly on the wall bit into James' fleshy neck. His tearful protests stopped almost immediately, replaced with a smug grin.

"I see you have progressed far more than you let on, April." He spat my name with a venom that only fueled my disdain.

"Answer the question." The only reason he was alive was because Raphael desperately wanted it to be untrue.

"How did you know, Elf?" I sighed at James' futile attempt at prolonging the inevitable.

"I may look young, but I’m much older than you, mutt." Raphael snarled. I smiled and forced the sword deeper into his neck, making James stumble backwards to avoid being beheaded.

"That may be." James mocked. "I just can't wait for the day you get what you deserve. The war is just beginning… and I'll take everything from you. Just wait." With that he stormed out of the room into the arms of the guardians. His yells echoed through the corridor as he was dragged to his new home.

"I never did like him." I pointed out smugly. Raphael rolled his eyes before sinking into a pensive state.

Only mere seconds had passed between you swallowing the potion and waking up. You were still trying to warn your not-so-stranger against fighting the hellhound that held you captive. “Run!” You croaked weakly. “Run, Raphael”

James cackled with his hand still gripping your throat. “How does it feel to have lost, Raph?” He taunted.

“Get your hands off her!” Raphael snarled dangerously, "I shall not tell you again."

"What will you do, lover boy? Once I discard you it won't take long for April to forget all about you again!"

"What have you done!?" The one you'd been calling Grandmother screeched as she stormed out of the front door. "All of my hard work! Wasted!"

In her anger, the witch sent James flying through the air towards herself. She flung his body into the ground and proceeded to send sharp pebbles to collide with his skin.

“Idiot!” She bellowed.

Before you could process what was happening, Raphael had hoisted you to your feet and the two of you stumbled into the woods. Your vision was still faulty. The trees started to blur together.

“April, my love, please hang on just a bit longer.” Raphael knelt next to you and stroked your cheek lovingly. Blood smeared across your cheek.

“It’s really you.” A happy sigh escaped you as you returned the gesture. His face was battered and his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

“Yes.” Raphael took in a deep, laboured breath. His hands clasped both of yours, squeezed them gently and let them go. “Now run. Stay off the path. The others are coming. I will distract her.”

“But-”

“Go.” His voice was firm. “You will see me again.”

You glared at Raphael without malice. It was not a vow that you would see him again alive. He always had a way with words, manipulating the person to think the outcome would be in their favour if they followed his words. You were always more direct - sometimes forgoing words altogether.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Raphael’s lips. He knew you would escape and be safe. Only because it was he who asked you. You limped further into the trees. Away from James’ howls of pain.

Birds fluttered in the trees above you. Small game hopped, ran, and bounded around you, creating a path for you to follow. The leaves crunched under your feet. One foot in front of the other, you concentrated on moving forward as fast as you could. You stumbled and fell to your knees. Tears welled in your eyes but you blinked them away. A doe tip-toed out from behind the trees. She knelt beside you in order to nuzzle you up. Her nose was velvety soft as you stroked it.

It took all the strength you had, but you managed to drag yourself to your feet. The doe stood with you. Placing a hand on her back, you allowed yourself to be led through the thicket. The howls faded until there was nothing but the sounds of running water and the whispering of trees.

You made it to a river before you fell again. The cold water was refreshing against the bruises and cuts on your skin. You wept into the water. Nothing made sense. Memories were still whirling in your head. Disgust at James. Betrayal at your Grandmother - no, the witch. Your bruised ribs made it hard to breathe which exacerbated your rising panic.

Movement further up the river caught your attention.

“Lady April!” A voice called out. He was wearing light armour that changed colours with the trees. “You’re back!” The young elf grinned as he placed a hand on your shoulder. You flinched away instinctively. His grin dropped.

“Where’s the Prince?” He asked, voice curious and stern.

“The Prince…”

“Oh, my Prince!” I swooned into Raphael’s arms. He promptly dropped me onto the soft clovers we were practising on.

“That’s no way to win!” Raphael laughed, pinning me to the ground. His grip was cumbered by the poofy skirts that made up my dress. I used it to my advantage to flip him over.

“I say it is.” I giggled. “Use every element to my advantage, right?”

“That’s why you’re my knight, my protector.” Raphael breathed out.

“A great job I’m doing.” I rolled off him to lay beside him in the grass.

“You are.” The Prince of the Autumn court stroked my hand with his thumb. “You know, one day I’ll rescue you.”

"And, one day, I'll be a Princess." I snorted.

Raphael smiled softly. "One day."

You clamped onto the elf’s hand. “The Prince, you have to help him. He’s fighting with-”

“APRIL!” His scream echoed over the water.

“- her.”

The witch cackled as she levitated Raphael behind her.

Tags: @scuzmunkie, @wordsaremylife, @luarinne, @inuhuffclaw, @wayward-demigod

[interrogatormentors]

BOOK TWO, EVENT 1: FLASHBULB MEMORY

While the Interrogatormentors as a whole lacked any sense of humor, Sollux found taking command of the BC Starskimmer Arisen after his graduation ironic as all hell. The ship upon which he’d served as helmsman hadn’t changed much in his absence apart from a few personnel changes, and Sollux had to stop himself from heading down the corridor to the helmsblock on more than one occasion. He couldn’t help but wonder if the assignment was just another test from Rapard or another one of the higher ups, giving him a ship to which he had such a fraught history with. He never voiced this suspicion of course and no one ever confirmed it, or so much as admitted Sollux had ever served aboard the ship in the first place. An echo of vindictive pleasure surged through Sollux every time a helming tech scurried away from him, or when Captain Pilthe had to tip his scarred chin upwards in deference to the interrogatormentor he’d once viewed as subtroll.

Sollux woke to a soft buzzing from his palmhusk, and he fished it out from where he kept it under his pillow. The Starskimmer came with two recuperacoons waiting for Sollux and Ophlia, but both had elected for platforms instead. They needed to keep alert, and Sollux felt sharp as anything as he answered the call without slime clinging to his frame. Ophlia sat up from her platform as he did so, looking over at him with vague disinterest. Sollux had to suppress a groan as he saw the caller ID, but answered the message all the same.

Gamzee Makara, the ship’s security officer, grinned all lopsided at him. “Got some motherfucking work for you two,” he said, drawling.

“Next prisoner transfer isn’t until midnight, Makara, tell me why you really called,” Sollux said.

“Nah, nah, I wouldn’t motherfucking dare lie to you.” Gamzee’s smile didn’t shift, and Sollux took a slow breath to enforce calm. He never could get a read on the purple with how all over the place his body language was on a good day. Gamzee kept talking, eyes half-lidded as he bobbed his head as if to some imaginary beat. “Them’s the prisoners yesterday brought in through our doors. I was sorting through their files and wouldn’t you motherfucking know it, clean and clear as a midmorning dewdrop, we got some rebellion criminal records blazing hot on my desk. Dunno how they motherfucking slipped through, but thought you might wanna take a motherfucking gander before they’re transferred away tonight.”

Sollux’s left eyelid twitched. “Get them in isolation rooms and halt their transfer until we perform an interrogation,” he said, and hung up the call. He pinched the bridge of his nose as Ophlia began to get dressed. “Pilthe fucked us over again.” Ophlia raised an eyebrow as she buttoned up her uniform, and cocked her head to the side. Sollux snorted. “Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t expect competency from a tenured seadweller. Wish the news didn’t have to come from Makara.”

Ophlia shrugged, waving a hand. “Serving his time,” she said, voice low.

“He’s treating forced conscription like a fucking vacation, is what he’s doing,” Sollux said. He threw off his sleep shirt, donning his uniform as well. “I don’t know how he passed through an interrogation from Rapard with his head intact, not if the rumors about his rebel ties were true.” Ophlia cocked her head to the side. She didn’t say anything, not really needing to, and Sollux growled as he shoved his feet into his boots. “This entire ship is comprised of weak links ready to snap.”

Ophlia snapped her fingers at him as she approached, right under Sollux’s nose. He inhaled through his nose and out through his mouth, clenching his hands into fists. He stopped only when he left his claws pierce his skin from the force, and blessed numbness flooded him as the pain reminded him to draw back, school his emotions back into a practiced plateau of calm. “Right. Sounded like there were at least two rebels that slipped through the net. One for each of us, at least, so we’ll be done by midnight anyways.” He picked up his earpiece as he headed for the door, putting it on and clicking it once to make sure the channel was clear. Ophlia put her own on, depressing the call button and tapping it once with a nail. Sollux heard the nail tapping loud and clear, and nodded.

Ophlia followed Sollux as they left their shared room and headed down the deserted halls, tall and resolute as ever. Sollux relaxed as they walked, squaring his shoulders and posture straightening to mirror his partner’s as they walked. He always felt better with a job to do, and the long stretch between any fruitful interrogations had put him on edge. Now he had something to focus on, to sink his teeth into, and he couldn’t wait to see the rebel unlucky enough to meet him on the other side of the isolation chamber’s door.

Gamzee waited for them outside the isolation blocks, scrolling on his palmhusk. He glanced up as Sollux and Ophlia approached, not even bothering to uncurl his spine from the terrible slouch he constantly bent himself into. He leaned against the wall, gesturing to the door on his left. “Got a motherfuckin’ rust and a cocktail olive for you, all wrapped up and special. Olive’s on the other end of the motherfucking wing, needed t’grab some motherfucking special shackles. She’s motherfucking feisty. Sent their files out to you like, motherfucking...two minutes ago.”

“Shackles or no, they’re not difficult to install, Makara,” Sollux said. He pulled out his own palmhusk, glancing through. The files didn’t have much apart from age range and names, but their files were flagged with their exact hex codes linked to rebellion activity. “You take the olive then, considering you’ll have to do wrangling, Davrot. I’ll take AA.”

Ophlia and Gamzee both stared at him, and Sollux blinked twice as he registered the error. Aradia Megido. His pan flipped right over in his skull as a memory clamored to be seen, acknowledged, something nostalgic and peaceful and mournful. Both his helming programming and interrogatormentor training fought against the surfacing thoughts, emotions too much to control. So Sollux forced himself to not think, his mind doing the work and blocking the memory off before it could surface and break his calm.

“A stutter,” he said. “I’ll visit the medbay following this interrogation. Aradia Megido.” Ophlia looked him up and down, eyes narrowing an increment in that same analytical way she’d looked at him back when the Reichenbach’s Head Admin had dropped Sollux’s wigglerhood trollhandle. Sollux returned her gaze without faltering even as a headache built behind his left eye at the strain of repressing his own memories, and after a few moments Ophlia bowed her head slightly.

Sollux let out a soft breath as his fellow interrogatormentor retreated down the lengthy hall to the far end of the isolation block wing. Gamzee cocked his head. “You gonna be motherfucking peachy keen in there, motherfucker?” Sollux narrowed his eyes and he laughed, low and rumbling. “Sir Motherfucker, excuse my motherfucking cheek.”

“There is nothing the matter,” Sollux said as his head throbbed. “More lip and I will have you reporting to reeducation in a few hours.” He didn’t have the energy to correct Gamzee on his manners right now. He could almost hear the remaining metal in his pan rattling around from the force. He pricked his own thumb with a sharpened claw, pressing the small smear of blood to the reader next to the isolation block’s door. He entered, and the world faded into nothingness as the soundproofed door slammed shut behind him.

The rustblood sat on the dingy sleeping platform of the cell, crosslegged and alert with her arms propped on her knees. Her face fell when she saw Sollux enter, but her eyebrows knitted together in something akin to pity rather than fear. She wore psionic-suppression cuffs on both wrists that weren’t shackled together by any sort of chain, but her arms looked too thin to possess any threatening amount of muscle.

Her arms. Something about her arms were wrong, they didn’t quite match the soft curves of the rest of her, and Sollux sank his nails into his palm again. He needed to remember, it seemed important, but the emotions roiling just below the thin veneer of trained calm threatened his professionalism.

He took a breath, raising his hand to the thermostat and sinking the temperature down. As a rust, this troll would feel uncomfortable long before he did. “Aradia Megido, hex code A10000?”

“Yes,” the rustblood said. She opened her mouth to say something, chest swelling to fuel some sort of tirade or threats perhaps, but she closed her mouth again and settled.

“They only call me in if you have something to hide.” Sollux folded his arms behind his back, keeping his posture straight and digging his nails into his own wrist where this Aradia could not see. “So make it easier for both of us and explain now why your blood code is linked to rebellion activity.”

“Well, because I’m a rebel,” Aradia said.

“You admit this?”

“I wouldn’t be saying it if it weren’t true. Would I lie to you, Sollux?”

Sollux felt his psionics burning at his own skin, his fingers acting as conductors for the pain that grounded him. He wanted, he needed to remember, but he couldn’t or he’d crack. He hadn’t felt this unstable since his training days, every moment a threat that could shatter his emotionless facade at any moment with Rapard’s voice snarling in his skull. Just turn your emotions off, like a husktop. You’re a piece of equipment, the right hand of the Empire. Act like it, cullbait. “You know of me, then.”

“Sollux, I know you.” Aradia stood then, and Sollux lowered an arm sparking with psionics. Aradia noticed and stopped, although she still lifted her hands up to him as if soothing a fussy lusus. “You look like a daywalker-- Are they even feeding you? Do you remember me?”

“I’m receiving the appropriate amount of calories for my weight and activity level and I don't need pity from a mudblooded excuse of filth.” The words came out of Sollux before he could stop them, harsh and angry and emotional. He gritted his teeth as Aradia inhaled sharply, raising a hand to his earpiece. “Davrot. Switch me.”

“Just reached the cell,” Ophlia said. “Just got the name.” “I don’t care,” Sollux said. “Switch to the rust. She is provoking an emotional response.”

“You--” Ophlia’s voice faded into static, harsh in Sollux’s ear.

Sollux turned away from Aradia an increment, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Interrogatormentor Davrot. Is your equipment faulty? Repeat your last message.”

The static faded, and Ophlia’s voice returned with the exact same words and tone he’d heard a thousand times before. “All is fine.”

“Are you coming, then?”

A pause. “All is fine,” Ophlia said again, a little louder this time.

Sollux pursed his lips, looking back to Aradia. She took another step forward, and Sollux bared his teeth at her. “Sollux, please,” she said. “You were my best friend.” She held firm even as Sollux’s hand sparked again, his hand balling up into fists. She only spoke louder, faster. “I’d always make you come outside and you complained so much you finicky brat, but you did it anyways. For me. Even after Vriska happened, you still came.”

Vriska. The arms. Everything snapped back into focus for Sollux in one crystalline moment, and he lashed out with his psionics in a wave of force. Aradia braced herself, arms crossed in front of her with an inorganic clank as she sent up a shimmering shield of her own psionics that whispered of the dead. The arms weren’t real. Zahhak had made them after Vriska had bent Sollux's mind into putty, gorging him on mind honey and sending him after Aradia and crushing her limbs under heaps of rubble. His best friend. His moirail. The arms weren’t real. The cuffs weren’t working.

“Davrot!” Sollux gathered his psionics around his arm, sending them out in a solid beam that Aradia ducked under. “Ophlia, come in!”

“All is fine,” came Ophlia’s voice again.

Sollux swore under his breath as Aradia lowered an arm and a hatch opened along the side, and she pulled something out of it. She depressed a button along the side of the slender object and a whip unfurled, and she snapped it against the ground once before slinging it out towards him. The whip curled around his wrist and Sollux grabbed onto it, sending scorching psionics along its length. Aradia pulled the whip back just before the psionics reached her hand.

“Come on, Sollux, are you really surprised it’s a trap?” Aradia threw an arm back and then forward again, the whip snapping and lashing against Sollux’s cheek as he flung himself into the air to avoid the brunt of the attack. “It was super obvious! We didn’t even make fake names or anything. This doesn’t have to be so hard.”

Sollux landed back to the ground on the balls of his feet before lowering himself into a practiced fighter’s stance, clapping his hands together to blow back the whip as it came towards him again. “It doesn’t, you’re correct. Surrender now and you might live.”

He charged forward, coming well within her range to limit her usage of the whip. Aradia closed the gap, head lowered before tossing it back. Sollux sidestepped the horn-gouging attempt, throwing a right hook only for Aradia to dodge again. She threw a punch of her own. Sollux caught the clumsy fist with ease, nails digging into the false skin. Aradia grinned at him. “Surprise!”

The cuff clicked around his wrist from where Aradia had removed one of her own while he wasn’t looking, the light along its side glowing a soft green as Sollux’s psionics winked out of existence. Sollux stared a moment too long at the cuff and Aradia headbutted him again, hard. Sollux felt his nose crack and he stumbled back. Aradia readied her whip as Sollux turned and bolted. He yelled as the whip curled around his ankle as the door opened, sweeping his foot out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. The whip slid back and away and Sollux scrambled to his feet, shooting out of the room and slamming the button outside it to close the door behind him. The whip cracked against the metal.

Sollux ran his fingers along the psionic cuff as he heard the muffled sound of psionics blasting against the door. He found no purchase, no groove, only a small numpad which he had no time to attempt to crack. He cursed again, looking down the hallway that Ophlia had gone down. He let out a soft breath as he spotted Gamzee jogging towards him. He had his clubs out, a welcome sign considering the whole situation. “Makara, status report on Interrogatormentor Davrot. The rustblood isn’t properly restrained.”

Gamzee slowed down, lips curling into a lazy smirk as he lifted his palmhusk. He pressed on the screen. “All is fine,” said Ophlia’s voice from Sollux’s earpiece.

“Surprise, motherfucker, you just got yourself motehrfuckin’ bamboozled,” Gamzee said, pocketing his palmhusk. “Welcome to your motherfucking rescue mission.” He spun his clubs around in his hands before swinging with frightening speed, and Sollux only just got out of the way in time. The club slammed into the wall, which dented from the force of the highblood’s swing.

“I knew it. I knew something was off about you,” Sollux said. He gritted his teeth as he avoided another strike aimed at his head.

Gamzee laughed, his whole body a dizzying blur that had Sollux’s head spinning. The voices of the doomed were quiet with his currently repressed psionics but something else whispered in his pan, something dark and ancient and hypnotic that made Gamzee’s form hard to track. Of course this fucker had chucklevoodoos. Of course.

Sollux backed up but Gamzee moved faster, slipping past him despite his massive bulk and blocking the corridor to the main ship. The door to Aradia’s cell blew open, still sparking with maroon light as she stepped out. Sollux wasn’t stupid. Without his psionics his limbs were tissue paper. He could fight without them, he’d sparred with Ophlia plenty of times, but the odds were stacking against him more and more. He turned and ran further into the cellblock wing, throwing his earpiece down onto the ground as Gamzee started mocking him with Ophlia’s voice as he fled. The pair followed him, keeping on his heels.

He almost barreled a troll over in his haste, but had the mental fortitude to jump to the side as the olive clawed at his face with knives jutting out from her gauntlets. He saw Ophlia lying on the floor halfway out of the cell, bleeding from a nasty head wound.

Sollux whirled around, and a club met him in the face. He took the blow at full force and flew back a few feet, slamming into the wall. Sollux pushed off from the wall despite the way his whole face throbbed from the blow, using the momentum to twist his whole body and roundhouse kicking another club away from his face. The olive to his side crouched and then sprang up into the air, swinging down with her clawlike knives. Sollux dodged the obvious attack, catching Aradia’s whip again. He tugged her forward, punching her in the jaw before she could react. She fell against the wall with a thud. Gamzee kept swinging his clubs at near-lethal speeds, and Sollux felt sweat dripping down his nose at the effort of bouncing away from them and ducking as the olive charged him again.

Finally Aradia’s whip cracked in the air and then wrapped around his neck, and Sollux fell backwards as she yanked the whip tight. Sollux tried to find purchase in the whip as it cut off his airways, tucking his chin in a futile attempt to find air. “Sorry, Sollux,” Aradia said, and her voice came to Sollux from the end of a tunnel as his vision went black. “Get well soon!”

Sollux snarled, but even with his interrogatormentor training he couldn’t hold his breath forever. His eyes rolled back as he gasped and choked, vision blurring. He gripped onto the whip, trying to tug Aradia down and forward, only for Gamzee to scoff. Another club smashed against the side of his head, and Sollux saw no more.

[sxfterhearts]

17. [2:01 am]

“Bam, thank you for finally picking up the phone.” Jaebeom shouted into the phone over the horrendous music blasting from the club’s speakers. “Listen, you need to come over, we may have a slight problem on our hands…”

Less than fifteen minutes and two red lights later, Bambam found you slumped against the countertop of the bar, eyes closed and head resting against your arm. With a flick of your wrist, you waved the empty glass towards Jaebeom, who was observing you from a distance with a cautious gaze.

“One more, Beomie,” You slurred slightly, attempting to push yourself into an upright position. You failed. “Please, last one.”

“That’s enough for tonight, Y/N.” Bambam answered on behalf of Jaebeom, sending an apologetic look towards the elder before taking the shot glass out of your hand.

You cracked open your eyes and rubbed them with both hands, an action Bambam thought was cute if not for your current intoxicated state. “Bam, what are you-? You’re here?”

Instead of answering, the blonde boy pulled out a few bills from his wallet and handed them to a reluctant Jaebeom. The bartender insisted that drinks were on him the next time they had a boys’ night out and bid them good luck and good night, after being called away by another customer. Bambam hauled you up on your feet by wrapping an arm around your shoulder and supporting you by the waist – a technique he practiced and perfected over the past three years of being your next-door-neighbour-slash-best-friend.

Your friendship was sealed the moment you answered the door and came face to face with a panicked and pale Bambam, asking to borrow a roll of toilet paper for his toilet emergencies. The sudden, overpowering scent of Tiger Balm, a traditional ointment used to relieve aches and pains, invaded your nose and you were immediately brought back to your childhood days. You obliged, like any good neighbour would, and had even left him a Thermos of rice porridge and a box of Panadol by his doorstep that evening. He was around your age, a university student, and spoke Korean with a foreign accent, so you figured he probably moved away from his family for his education. The least you could do was help the boy feel welcome in a country that wasn’t his own. Bambam would later go on to tell you over greasy takeaways and an old Mission Impossible movie that you were his guardian angel for looking out for him when he got food poisoning after moving in.

It worked both ways, though. While you were there to lend him eggs and milk during finals season when he was too busy for grocery shopping, or bring him a big bowl of Pad Thai that you tried to replicate from an online recipe, Bambam was always ready to fix any broken electronic appliances, or on rare occasions, pick you up from clubs when you had too much to drink.

It started when you had your first fight with your boyfriend. After that, he picked you up once every two months. Then, it was once a month. Eventually, he found himself speeding through the streets of Seoul past midnight nearly every week. It came as a surprise to both of you that he hadn’t been caught speeding yet.

“Watch your step.” Bambam said as he guided you off the pavement and towards the passenger seat. He sat you down and buckled your seatbelt for you. “Here, sit tight.”

You flashed him a silly smile in response, all crinkly eyes and upturned lips. For a moment, Bambam’s heart skipped a beat. Even under the dim, yellow glow of the streetlights, he could clearly make out your angelic features and the prominent curve of your cupid’s bow. It made him want to touch your lips with his.

He quickly pulled back and shut your door. Bambam shook his head and shoved his clenched fists deep into his pockets as he walked around to the driver’s side. He shouldn’t, no, couldn’t think about you in that way. You were still attached to that douchebag of a boyfriend.

“Bammie,” You called out to him as he drove out of the carpark and towards the direction of your apartment. “Takeaway.”

“I know, we’ll go for drive through.” Bambam was all too familiar with your drunk midnight cravings, especially after a nasty fight with the boyfriend. Small fights called for French fries, medium fights equalled French fries and a strawberry sundae. “Just rest your eyes and drink some water, you got to stay hydrated.” He removed the cap from the mineral water bottle at a red light and handed it to you, concerned eyes watching on as you took small sips.

By the time Bambam got to the drive through, you had knocked yourself out from all the singing you did and had your head lolled to the side with your mouth slightly agape. He took the liberty of ordering for you. Judging from the number of shot glasses he recalled seeing at the bar and Jaebeom’s words, he figured the fight was definitely more than just a small fight.

“Hi, can I please get the large fries and a strawberry sundae?”

“Sure, is there anything else, sir?”

“Wait,” You tugged Bambam’s sleeve to get his attention, suddenly awoken by the conversation. “More food, I’m hungry. Get the nuggets or the burger or something.”

Bambam eyed you carefully. You never ordered more than a light snack on the way home from a night out, so your request struck him as odd. “I can get the twenty nuggets deal?”

“Yeah, sure.” Your hand went to rest against your forehead, continuing with your shuteye.

“Twenty nuggets, please.”

“No problem, please drive forwards and pay at the next window.”

After paying for the food, Bambam parked the car nearby and turned towards you. “Y/N,” He called gently. “You know I care about you right?”

You hummed in reply, slowly opening your eyes as the smell of greasy, unhealthy fast food filled your senses.

“Can you please tell me what happened?” He pleaded, voice laced with utmost concern. Bambam passed you the strawberry sundae and a few fries, knowing that you liked to dip them into the ice cream.

Huffing, you aggressively peeled open the lid and took a huge scoop of ice cream, shoving it into your mouth. Just thinking about tonight’s fight made your blood boil in anger. “He said,” You paused to swallow. “He said he wanted to take a break.”

The nugget in Bambam’s fingers paused midway to his mouth. He was shocked to hear this. “What did you tell him?”

“This was after I caught him with his hands on his ‘lab partner’s’ thigh in the library. I sent him a message, which he ignored, and continued flirting with her. He couldn’t keep his hands off her, Bam! And yet he has the nerve to tell me that he feels suffocated by our relationship and that he wants to take a break?!” You took a deep breath to calm yourself down, already feeling hot tears prickling at the edges of your eyes.

Bambam couldn’t believe his ears. Sure, your boyfriend was a bit of a delinquent – he drank too much, partied too hard, did a bit of weed, but he never knew he was such a-

“Why do I even try so hard, Bam? I really tried to be a good girlfriend, I tried to be understanding and give him space, but he just… Is it me? Is there something wrong with me?” You munched on a nugget, your mind spiralling into a cycle of self-doubt.

“No.” Bambam replied firmly, releasing his tight grip on the steering wheel to hold your shoulders reassuringly. “Listen to me, Y/N. This guy, he’s not worth it. He’s not worth your efforts to change yourself, not worth you getting drunk every time you fight and definitely not worth your tears. Over the past six months of your relationship, this piece of trash, he’s just been screwing you over. God, I hate it, Y/N. I hate watching you like this.”

“Is it… Wait, am I annoying you? Bam… I-I’m so sorry. It’s just so selfish and terrible of me to call you-”

“What? No, no. I mean I hate watching you get hurt, time and time again. I don’t mind picking you up and buying you fries but I just… It hurts me to see you hurting like this.” He admitted, his finger catching a fallen tear on your rosy cheeks. His heart breaks a little at the sight of your watery eyes.

“Bam,” You sniffled. Crying oddly made you feel way more sober. “Thank you, Bam. I’m so grateful for you. And I’m sorry for troubling you all the time with my problems, I-”

Bambam hushed you by placing a nugget on your lips, urging you to eat instead of talking and putting yourself down. “Stop all this negative self-talk and eat your nuggets, lady. I don’t want to hear another word come out of your mouth, it should be used for chewing and drinking only.”

You obliged happily. The only sounds in the car were the low hum of the engine, the lo-fi tunes from Bambam’s late-night drives playlist and a surprised shriek when the boy smeared a barbecue sauce-covered fry on your cheek. You got him back by pretending to feed him a scoop of strawberry sundae and missing his mouth entirely, staining his nose with white and red.

Bambam made a promise to himself later that night as he carried you into your apartment and tucked you in. He promised that he wouldn’t stand on the sidelines any longer. He won’t let you get hurt anymore. Once you officially broke it off with your boyfriend, he would stay by your side and nurse you through the breakup. Then, when the time is right and the wounds have healed, he will ask you to do the honour of being his girlfriend.

[fandomanxiety-fa]

"Fluffy February" - Day Four

The Outerworlds

Maximillian Desoto X Captain Dottie

Summary: On Roseway they met the nervous Anton Crane, and now are on the search for the diet toothpaste! The Captain along with her ship's Vicar and newly adopted orphan, Felix Millstone are heading to the secret lab. Along the way, the Captain and her team experience trouble, and now are fighting for their lives against mauraders!

Note: I am really craving angst, my fellow spacers. To be honest, I am thinking of making My Captain's story on here or maybe AO3. I am not sure which, but I'm slightly leaning towards AO3. If you have any thoughts on it, I'd like to hear them! Because this is Fluffy February, and I don't know if you guys will appreciate angst. Plus, I have been wanting to do her story for a bit. Anyway, I'll get on with this now!

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This is ridiculous.

Max had never thought in a million years he'd be fighting rapts and mauraders for toothpaste. (Toothpaste! Amongst other things, but toothpaste!) He trudged behind the Captain out of the building watching the ungrateful idiot they just saved scramble off to Roseway.

He'd be dead if it had been up to me, not this Captain that I am beginning to think hit her head to hard. Who goes out if their way like this? Who seriously, goes on some big trip for diet toothpaste?! Toothpaste?! Law, she must be an idiot! It's a Law-forsaken joke!

"Captain, are we really doing this?" He asked with a sigh, and she kept walking forward.

"Yes. Why?"

"Because we are risking our lives for some toothpaste and rapt musk. It's well, not to put to sharp of a point in it, but absolutely ridiculous," Max huffed, he tried to not growl out the words.

"This is this man's job, Max. If he, along with others, don't get their "projects" in...well, who knows what could happen to them?" She spoke, and Felix butted in.

"We are just feeding the corporate, Dot! We might as well be lackeys too!" Felix stated, and Max saw his point, even though the kid was an idiot.

"Sure, but we'll likely be saving lives in the process. And that's what we do."

"What about Gladys then?" Felix asked, and she sighed.

"I will tell her there was nothing. Because there is. This isn't ours, or hers. No matter how much she wants it," she spoke, and Max noticed she has distaste in her voice.

"Do you not like our black market friend, Captain?" Max asked with curiosity as he stepped over a dead body.

"I do...but she's going to be expecting something. Anything. I have a feeling about it. She's probably going to make me pay for this key, and I don't want to," she replied, and Max noticed she was frustrated.

We should be the ones frustrated! Going around doing other people's jobs, because we are "good people". Not that I am not a good person, I just draw the line at this. I am a good person, that's what I've strived to be. A good person. The Plan has helped make me a good person.

"It's getting late. Which isn't ideal right now. We'll have to stop traveling," she sighed, and she removed her helmet to wipe sweat from her face.

She glanced around and her hair was slicked down on her forehead with sweat. Her lips dry from the heat inside her helmet, and he also noticed they had a pink tint to them. In times like this, he was thankful for his helmet, because she couldn't see him staring like a moonstruck idiot.

Law, look away...just try to. You are just making it harder for yourself.

He watched her plop down on a rock in frustration. This was the most aggravated he'd seen her in his time with her.

"We need to find some building, but I'm not seeing any. What do you guys think?" She sighed, and he watched her drag a hand down her face.

Blood from their previous fight smeared on her face, and she didn't even care.

"I think we should keep going. I'm not tired," Felix stated, and Max rolled his eyes.

"Captain, we can stop if you'd like. But the side of the road is not preferable, we're out in the open," Max stated, and she looked at him like he was stupid.

"Captain Obvious, I know that. Let's go up in the hills. Find a cave. I've seen a few on my way here," she huffed getting up, and grabbing her helmet she had tossed on the ground.

Captain Obvious?! It's not his fault she was plopped on the side here like an idiot! She can be insufferable!

They padded through the incoming nightfall in the mountains, and it took well after nightfall for them to finally find this cave. She pulled off her bag, and opened it where she pulled out a sleeping bag.

"Max honey, could you start a fire?" She asked, and he nearly tripped over his own feet.

"Do what?" He asked, and she began rolling out her sleeping bag on a tarp she had placed down.

"Make a fire, hun," she stated, and again used the nickname.

Felix had noticed too, and Max swore he saw a glare from him. Was Millstone...

He's is jealous? Hah! What a laugh!

Max began making the fire with a sense of pride. Knowing that Felix was jealous of him made him-.

"Felix darlin', bring me Max's pack."

Nevermind.

Felix walked over to him with the biggest smirk, and reached out his hand.

I could knock that smirk off his face!

Max roughly handed Felix his bag, and Felix took it with bounce in his step to the Captain. She took it and pulled out his sleeping bag and rolled it out. She took Felix's out of his bag doing the same.

The fire was started. She retrieved canned food from her pack, and she opened the cans. Sitting them on rocks near the fire, she hopped it would warm the food.

"Alright, that should be it," she said, and she smiled tiredly at him.

Max felt uneasy. Something didn't feel right about something. Everything ran to smoothly on their way up here.

"I am worn out," the Captain spoke, and suddenly he watched her eyes dart to the mouth of the cave.

Does she feel uneasy as well? Is it just me?

"But, before I rest I am gonna do a look-over. Check outside," she spoke, getting up to head for the cave's opening.

When she reaches it there is silence, only the sound of the crackling fire to bid her farewell. It was ominous.

Maybe I should go with her? But I can't leave the cave only manned by this idiot. He'd let mauraders in, or wo-.

Not a second later there was a loud sound of a bullet hitting something, and then the sound of something hitting the ground with a loud, armored thud.

Glancing at the Captain, he saw her on the ground. She was face-first in the dirt, and it didn't take long for Felix to scramble to his feet. Max yanked him back.

"What is wrong with you?! Let me go!" He shouted, and Max tightened his grip.

"Stop! They want us to go out there! Then they'll pick us off!" Max growled lowly, and Felix squirmed.

"She's hurt!"

"Or dead. And we could be next. If we really want to help her we'll pick them off here," Max stated, and Felix stopped squirming.

Max's heart was pounding out if his chest while he glanced back at her limp form. He let Felix go and reached for her weapon. Max used it to look down the hill, and there he spotted three mauraders trudging up the hill. Getting in position behind a rock in the cave he motioned for Felix to look down the scope of the gun.

Felix looked, and Max was right. They wanted them to come out.

How long where they following us? Did they just find us?

Felix unholstered his weapon, and glanced at Max for a plan.

The Plan. Was this the end? No. It couldn't be. The Plan is still yet to be deciphered, and I am going to do it. The Captain is fine. Dottie is fine. She has to be. This can't be her end either. She didn't live all this time to die! No. She's fine.

"Felix you take the one on the left. I'll take the right. Then we both get the middle one," Max stated, and Felix nodded in return.

"Don't miss, okay? For Dottie," Felix spoke.

For Dottie.

Felix felt like he was going to throw up, and Max kept looking at Dottie. But Max and Felix didn't miss. Both killing the two crazed mauraders, and then the middle one came running up the hill.

Well, at least he made himself an easy target. Law-forsaken idiot.

Max shot him in the head, while Felix put a bullet in his leg. Max wondered which came first, and hoped the bullet in it's leg hit first because the maurader deserved pain.

Felix didn't wait to scramble over to Dottie, in fact he tripped over his own feet, landing him infront of her.

"Felix! We should check the perimeter first!"

But it was to late, Felix was rolling her over and saw no blood. Max jogged over to see the damage, the bullet didn't tear through her armor.

Thank the Law.

"Let's get the Captain in the cave," Max said, while hauling her over his soldier.

His heart was still pounding. He put her up against the cave wall and began removing her armor. He started at her feet, removing her boots. He wouldn't admit it, but he was nervous to see her chest- that's why he started by removing her boots. When it was time to remove the chest piece he examined the damage to her armor. It was buried in the metal, and around the bullet there was cracks that spidered out from there.

It might fall apart on me when I remove it, but it must be done.

Max began to pull the armor off, and like he predicted, it began falling apart. He undone some of the armor straps, and then managed to get it off. Throwing it aside he began unbuttoning her shirt.

"Max! What are you doing?!"

"Don't be so juvenile! I have to examine the damage!" Max scolded, and he glanced back at Felix.

Felix crouched next to him, wanting to see if it hurt her. Max pulled open the shirt and right in the middle of her chest was turning an awful, sickly purple.

Just as I thought. It didn't leave her unscathed, I wonder it it broke a bone?

Max put his hand on it, and he began to press down to see if any damage was done to her bone.

A cry came from her and he felt it rumble in her chest. His hand drew back and saw she was squirming away.

"Captain! Your awake." Max sighed, and it was releif.

"I wish I wasn't...what...what happened?" She asked, her voice was weak.

"You where shot. Luckily, it didn't go through your armor," he replied.

"Dot! Your okay! You scared us!" Felix exclaimed, while grabbing her hand.

Suddenly she began to cry, but laughed in the process. She grabbed Max's hand and squeezed both his and Felix's.

"Dottie?" Felix asked, looking at Max for an explanation.

"I am so glad you guys are okay!" She giggled through the tears.

Max looked at their hands joined together and squeezed back. Felix had removed his helmet, and Max noticed his own was still on. He removed it and looked at her wildly.

"Why are you laughing?" He asked, and she laughed harder.

"I'm just glad you okay! Both of you!"

"We hope your okay, Bo-Dottie. Did you hit your head?" Felix asked, and she smiled at him.

"I don't know..."

"We need to get you to a doctor, maybe Dr. Crane cane help you. I assume so," Max spoke, and she leaned against the cool wall.

"I'm sleepy," she yawned.

"Here, let me help you to your bag," Felix said, and helped her up.

He helped her over to her bag, and she managed to squirm inside. She lied down and Felix sat near by watching her until she drifted to sleep.

Max eyed the forgotten, wasted food at the fire. No one was hungry now, and it'd go to waste. He began removing his armor, until he was left in his clothes.

"Take your armor of, son," Max told Felix, being kinder than he had ever been to him.

"No. I'm gonna be prepared this time," Felix spoke, and Max sighed.

"We would have never known."

"It should've been me. Not her," Felix spoke, and Max eyed him.

"Don't say that. She'd be distraught," Max spoke, and Felix shook his head.

"Nobody needs me Max. She'd get over it. It wouldn't effect anyone if I was gone."

"She's not gone, Felix. And yes it would. Your family now," Max spoke.

A hand landed in Felix's shoulder, he hadn't even seen Max come over to him.

"And you shouldn't say that. We need you. Even though me and you may not be...close," Max said, and Felix stayed quiet.

Max plopped down next to the Captain, her now in-between him and Felix. She was fast asleep, and he looked at her hands. She had large, square fingernails that where caked with blood from the battles on Roseway. They where large, and one thing he knows now, is warm. They are warm and kind.

Gently he took her hand in his, lacing his fingers between her motionless ones. They weren't like his, which where calloused and cold from years of work. They where still soft, dare he say, baby-like to the touch. He supposed it was from being in cryo-sleep, and not having to condition hard, labor work on Earth. That or she must care for them with different ointments and lotions.

He felt her fingers curl up to lace with his, and he saw her tiredly looking at him.

"You should sleep, Maximillian," she croaked, and he felt his ears burn again.

"Did I wake you, Captain?" He queried, and she smiled.

"I'm fine. It wasn't you. It was the pain," she softly spoke, and he squeezed her hand.

"Does it hurt to talk?" He asked her, and she peered at him with her emerald eyes.

She nodded.

"Don't talk then, alright?" He said, and she smiled in response.

She continued to look at him with those shinning eyes. It didn't take long for them to flutter closed as she began to drift asleep.

"Goodnight...Dottie."

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[vannahfanfics]

Before you read, here’s the previous chapter. New? Start from the beginning!

Crimson Butterflies

Ao3

Chapter 3: Gotten Lucky

Touya awoke with the sunrise, as he often did. He groaned as the spears of light flowing through the moth-eaten curtains played over his face, eyes fluttered as they tried to adjust to the sun. He leaned over the arm of the couch, inadvertently pushing the throw pillow to the ground, to see the light puddling across the dusty wood like slowly-spreading spilled milk. His back cracked as he arched it, and then he flopped back down against the couch, running his hand over his face. When he pulled it away, he found a smear of blood across his index finger that he’d apparently missed when showering last night. 

He’d given Moe the one bed in the apartment, because he wasn’t a dick. She’d passed out as soon as her head hit the pillow, filling his bedroom with quiet, peaceful snores. As he stood over her, marveling at how young and innocent she looked while she slept, he wondered yet again how she’d ended up beaten and bloodied in an alleyway. It was a question only she could answer, and if Touya had learned anything in his years on the streets, it was that you didn’t exactly gain much information trying to force people to talk. 

He’d just have to wait and see, if she stuck around long enough. 

Touya scrolled through the news feed on his phone, then, after finding nothing of interest, tossed it on the coffee table and reclined his arms behind his head. Damn, that was a sweet ass Porsche. That dickwad definitely didn’t deserve it, nor the drunk honeys he was sweet-talking into it. Touya’s mouth soured at the thought of how much money he could have made off the car. The worst part wasn’t the loss, really, it was that with Moe here, he couldn’t go out and make up for it. There was no way he was leaving a stranger alone in his apartment unsupervised, especially one with some sketchy past. 

Ugh. I don’t want to have to borrow money from Tomura again, he thought with disgust. There was no telling the amount of interest he would charge, and Touya hated being in the guy’s debt. Last time, he’d made him transport something he was ninety percent sure was a dead body, and Touya wasn’t keen on repeating the most stressful two hours of his life. Unfortunately, the creep was pretty well-off, probably from pawning all the shit he nabbed off dead people. 

Touya had some questionable acquaintances, okay? That shit came with being a deadbeat. 

Touya looked up when he heard the tentative pitter-patter of feet. Moe came creeping down the hallway, looking furtively around the room, but she couldn’t see that Touya was awake from her vantage point. He remained still, a smirk playing over his lips. After a second, the girl tip-toed across the room into the kitchen, disappearing from sight. As quietly as he could, Touya slowly sat up to peer over the back of the couch, where he found her sitting on her knees on his counter to rummage through his cabinets. 

“Yellow polka-dot panties? Cute,” he called, and Moe nearly fell off the counter in surprise. Scowling over her shoulder at him, she jerked the back of the tee-shirt over her rump, holding it there with one hand while she continued to rifle through his stores. Touya just crossed his arms over the back of the couch and watched her, amused. She’s a little feistier today.

“How do you live like this?” she huffed, throwing up her hands in defeat when she found nothing to suit her tastes. “You don’t have shit.” 

“Beggars can’t be choosers, honey.” 

“Well, it looks like you didn’t choose anything,” she countered, turning to hop off the counter. The tee-shirt swished around her legs as she stomped towards him, stopping at the back of the couch to glare at him with her hands pushed primly into her hips. “I’m starving! Don’t you have anything to eat?” 

“Well, I’m afraid I didn’t have time to do my grocery run because I was tending to your sweet ass,” he replied matter-of-factly, and her cheeks darkened, probably with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. She snorted and crossed her arms, looking away with a dour pout. Touya languidly rose from the couch, flicking a bit of her blonde hair from her face and causing Moe to gasp in affront. “Don’t be mad, sweets,” he purred. “Let me getcha somethin’ halfway-decent to wear, and then we’ll go out and get some food, okay?” 

“And just where am I supposed to get clothes?” she shouted after him as he walked to his door, and he just gave her a dismissive wave before stepping out. He walked across the hall and knocked on his neighbor’s door, and he wasn’t two raps of his knuckles in before Himiko was swinging it open, causing him to nearly knock on his forehead. 

“Hiya, neighbor! What can I do ya for?” she grinned brightly, and she could almost be mistaken for a cute, nice next-door neighbor if Touya didn’t know that she practiced arcane rituals and summoning spells on the weekends. To each their own, he always said, and Himiko always assured him that no bad spirits would find their way into his apartment. 

“Hey, Himiko. I got a lady friend who’s in need of some clothes.” 

With wide eyes, Himiko peered around his tall, lanky form to find Moe standing in the doorway, blushing while she fisted the hem of the tee-shirt. Himiko gave him a sly look, and with a blush, he hurriedly lied, “Look, she lost her luggage at the airport and I had to make do. Until they find it, she’s shit out of luck and I don’t got the money for a shoppin’ spree, so can you just loan her a few outfits for the time being?” 

Either Himiko bought the fib, or she wasn’t in the mood to pry for once. Dabi didn’t care as long as she didn’t look at him like he had just gotten lucky with Moe. 

“Sure thing, Dabi, dear <3 I just so happen to have a bag of goodies I was about to give to donation. She can help herself!~” Himiko grabbed a garbage bag from the entryway and passed it to him, and he grunted a “thanks” while he turned to pass it to Moe. Himiko giggled and blew them a kiss before flouncing back into her apartment, and Touya planked against the opposite wall with a groan. Even just a five-minute conversation with the girl was exhausting. 

“She’s a bit weird, but she has good fashion sense,” Moe commented, and he peered through his bangs to see her holding up a tube top. “Lost luggage, huh?” she then sneered, and Touya scowled. “How long do you think that cover story will hold up?” 

“Long enough. Now get dressed, I thought you were starving?” 

Her stomach growling answered that question and sent her skittering back into the apartment with a shy squeal. Touya remained outside, smiling despite it all. At least she livened up the place. 

There was a spring in Moe’s step as they walked out of the apartment together. A pair of dark blue skinnies hugged her legs, and her white cardigan ruffled in the breeze, along with her hair, which was piled into a bun atop her head. She flitted about, commenting about how nice the sunshine was, while Touya just strode along behind her in silence. It was nice to see her in good spirits, at least, but it was a little migraine-inducing for her to be so cheery at eight in the morning. He needed at least another four hours before he was ready to consort with such an optimist. 

They walked to the supermarket, and Moe’s demeanor instantly underwent a change. As they strolled through the aisles piling TV dinners, chips, cereal, and other things into the cart, she clung to Touya like glue. Literally, she had her hands curled into the back of his shirt while she peered around him, hiding behind his frame whenever somebody walked by. It was pretty obvious that Moe didn’t want to be seen, but by whom? Well, probably whoever beat her ass in the alley and anyone associated with them. 

Sensing her anxieties growing, Touya shoved a lollipop in her face. 

“Eh?” she blinked, looking up at him in confusion. 

“Stop worryin’,” he huffed. “I’m not gonna let anythin’ happen to you while you’re with me.” She blinked, then smiled shyly, her posture melting like butter in a pan. She popped the plastic off the lollipop, keeping it so the cashier could scan it when they finished, and began sucking on it happily. Just like a kid, Touya thought, but more endearingly than irritatedly. She even climbed in the basket, sitting among the food items sucking her lollipop and demanding to be wheeled around. 

Touya wasn’t sure why it was so easy to give into her childish demands. Perhaps it was her smile, the first genuine smile he’d seen grace her lips since he’d come across her in the alleyway, as she stuck out her arms while he pushed her around the supermarket. 

Once they’d gotten home with their haul, Moe smashed two bowls of cereal before crashing on his couch, laying on her belly with her heels kicked up over her back. Bored, Touya booted up his old Nintendo to play Super Mario World, and Moe watched him for about half an hour before piping up. 

“So what’s your story, Dabi?” 

Without looking away from the screen, Touya offered her a smirk. 

“We all got secrets, toots, and my ‘story’ is one of them,” he quipped. Out of the corners of his eyes, he watched her lay her cheek on her arms, her expression thoughtful while she watched the pixelated Mario run around the screen stomping Goombas. 

“Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to offend.” 

“You didn’t,” he reassured her, moving the character with one hand while he leaned down to grab a beer from his cooler. He popped it open and took a swig, then continued, “Don’t sweat it.” 

“Mm,” was all she said, and they fell back into silence, the only noises being the clacks of the controller and the audio of the videogame. She probably didn’t mean anything by it, but he did just meet her, after all. Maybe she’d stick around, and maybe she’d catch him in a divulging mood one day. But today was not one of those days; today was one of those days where Touya pretended his life wasn’t the shit pile it was and he beat the only game he owned for the hundredth time. 

“Hey, um,” she spoke up again sometime later, and from her tone of voice, he thought she was going to apologize again. He turned around, mouth open to tell her not to worry about it, but she cut him off with a shy, “Thank you.” He clamped his mouth shut, the viable skin on his face turning a bit pink. “I never thanked you, you know, for saving me.” Her red-orange eyes stared at the floor as she traced patterns into the dust. “So… Thank you. I’m sure it was a pain.” 

He blinked, then smiled wanly. 

“Most things in life are, toots. You just gotta roll with it.” She looked up at that, smiling slightly, and he gave her a kind look. “Don’t worry about it. It wouldn’t been a dick move for me to leave you like that. Contrary to what I look like, I’m not a monster.” She laughed, genuinely, and it made him feel kind of floaty and light inside, like maybe things weren’t all bad. 

Maybe he’d gotten lucky with this girl after all, fluttering into his life like a butterfly on the breeze. He supposed he’d just have to stick with her and find out.

Enjoy this story? Here’s the next chapter! Please consider perusing my Table of Contents.

[shotsbyshae]

Kill of The Night

Warnings: Language, Murder, Bloody, Little Smut-ish

Words: 2k

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader

A/N: Monster of the Week. Steve can’t quite figure out the new recruit, but he knows there’s something different about you. 

Song: Kill of The Night by Gin Wigmore

Hunter Steve Series List

The danger is I’m dangerous and I might just tear you apart.

“I don’t trust a guy without a dark side.”

Tony had said those words to him once and they echo in back of Steve’s mind everytime he looks at you. The two of you are sparring in the gym and he blocks your right hook, it’s obvious you’re holding back.

“Stop pulling your punches,” Steve says flatly, his eyes watching you closely.

You take a step back, tilting your head in confusion, “I’m not.”

“You are,” he rests his hands on his hips.

“I’m really not that strong,” you look at him innocently, knowing he’s not buying it. You shake your head with a little laugh. “Why don’t you like me Rogers?”

“Because I haven’t figured you out yet?”

You’ve only been on the team a little over three months now. Fury had recruited you. Another assassin like Barton and Romanoff, someone who could easily blend in and be stealthy, whose face hadn’t been plastered all over the news for saving the world.

Everyone thinks you’re amazing, which frustrates him, because Steve doesn’t understand why he can’t shake the feeling you’re hiding something.

Chicago

You had asked Tony for a couple days off because you needed to take care of some family business in Chicago. It hadn’t been a complete lie.

You land a hard kick to the vampire’s chest, knocking him back and into the wall of the dark warehouse. The headless body of another vamp lying close by. You have missed this feeling – control – the pure adrenaline rush of being the strongest person in the room. You twirl the machete in your hand expertly with a malicious smile.

“Fucking traitor,” the man seethes through his fangs. “Hunter bitch.”

“Should have kept those fangs clean Hank,” you say as you approach him menacingly. “You think I like having to come in and clean house?” A low snarl escapes his bloodied mouth and you smirk. “Okay – maybe a little, but I do have a day job now, so as much as I’d love to drag this out –”

You raise the blade in your hand as you spin swiftly, slicing through this neck. The sickening sound of the metal ripping through the flesh and bone echoes through the warehouse as does the thud of Hank’s head as it lands hard on the floor, followed by his collapsing body.

The low rumble of a car engine catches your attention and you head for the door of the building with an all-knowing smile, stopping to drag the machete across the back of the other dead vampire, wiping the blood from the blade.

You exit the building smiling at the man who walks around the front of the black car, “You’re late to the party.”

“I wasn’t invited,” he remarks, before opening the rear passenger door, revealing a cooler in the seat.

“You’re always invited, but where’s my favorite Winchester?”

The green-eyed man gives you an unimpressed look, “He’s busy. How’s your little side mission going? Do you have a lame superhero name yet?”

It’s your turn to give him a look as you lean against the rear panel of the Impala, “Nothing out of the ordinary so far, everything’s above board. I think they could be useful once they know about – this stuff.” You point your machete toward the warehouse.

“It’s not a bad idea having them in our corner,” Dean states pulling a beer from the cooler.

“I’m just not sure if they’re ready to know about everything that goes bump in the night,” you respond with a sigh.

“Come on, they fought aliens.”

“Yea,” you begin, and he can see the touch of sadness in your eyes, “but this – this is different. It’s dark and twisted. Not exactly a world you want to introduce people to.”

Dean stares at you for a moment, “Hey, you okay?”

You give him a small smile at his concern, “Yea, I’m starving though.”

He reaches into the cooler, “This is why I’m your favorite.” He tosses the blood bag to you with a smirk as you begin to drink from it hungrily. “Why haven’t you been feeding?”

“Someone’s always there,” you take another long sip from the bag. “It’s hard to sneak off to a blood bank.”

“Just be careful,” the hunter responds. “You’re still new to this.”

“Always,” you smile at him.

New York

You make your way into your room at the compound and flip the light on, your whole body jerks in surprise at the man sitting at your desk.

“Shit!” You shriek at him. “What the fuck Rogers?”

His face is tense, and you can’t help but feel as if he’s about to lecture you on something, probably your abuse of the word fuck. You look away as you move to drop your bag on the bed to unpack it.

“I followed you,” Steve says and you stop unpacking your bag as he continues. “To Chicago. I saw what you did in the warehouse. Overheard you and the guy talking by the car.”

You turn around slowly, gritting your teeth as you try to keep your anger in check, “You were spying on me?”

“I wanted to figure you out,” he states.

“Well, you happy now?” You pop off at him. “Did you figure me out Captain? Like what you saw?”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he leans back in the chair, arms folded across his chest. “I actually want to make you deal.”

“A deal?” Your brows furrow in uncertainty.

“I’ll help with the blood bags, making sure you can get those without being noticed, as long as you do something for me,” he begins, his eyes following you as you sit slowing on the edge of your bed.

“What’s that?” You ask hesitantly.

“You can start by telling me about the things that go bump in the night – other than you,” he states, leaning forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. “And next time, you take me.”

“On a hunt?” You raise an eyebrow curiously and he nods as a slow smile crosses his face.

“Deal.”

2 Months Later

“We won’t have an extraction for at least an hour,” Stark’s voice comes across the coms. “Barton do a perimeter sweep. Everyone else – get comfy.”

A small Hydra facility was supposed to be an easy take down and it was except for one of the Hydra agents had blown up the quinjet before Clint had a chance to take him out. Leaving you all stranded for the moment. No big deal, except your duffel had been on the quinjet, in it was a change of clothes and a couple blood bags in case of emergencies.

You stand against the wall, clutching the gunshot wound below your ribcage as blood oozes through your fingers. Four dead Hydra agents are scattered about the floor of the room and for once you wish you’d left at least one of them breathing. Dead man’s blood is toxic to you, so the agents in the floor are useless to you as long as they aren’t breathing.

“Stark,” Steve’s voice echoes in the room, as well as the comm in your ear and you glance over to see him striding towards you. “We’re going to do one last sweep up here. We’ll meet you outside in ten.” He pulls his helmet from his head, tossing it onto the desk beside you, and jerks the device from his ear, powering it down. You slowly do the same with your comm.

“Are you okay?” He asks quickly.

“Just peachy,” you joke as he pulls your hand away to look at the wound.

“Why aren’t you healing?”

“I haven’t fed in over twenty-four hours,” you comment. “My – uh – in case of this supply was on the jet.” The pain shoots through you as Steve applies pressure to the wound and you double over, letting out a small cry. “Sonofabitch!”

“Keep pressure on it,” he orders you as he takes your hands and places them back over hole, the warmth of the blood is oddly comforting against them. “You know.” Steve begins, trying to keep your mind off of it as he removes the glove from his right hand. “For a vampire, you’re kind of a wuss.”

“I hate you Rogers,” you say through clenched teeth as he pulls the sleeve up on his arm.

“No you don’t,” Steve says extending his bare wrist to you. “Here.”

“What?” You look up at him in shock. “No.”

“Do you have a better idea?” The look he gives you is smug, and it makes you want to slap him. Ever since he’s started hunting with you on the side Steve Rogers’ has become bolder – cocky. Captain America isn’t a killer like the rest of you, he doesn’t have a dark side he shows to the world.

Except when he’s hunting monsters and only you get to see that side of him.

It’s a good side.

You take his wrist slowly, your blood smearing across his skin as you stare at the blue pulsing vein just below the surface of his skin. The fangs extend instinctively, your body in survival mode and Steve’s eyes widen at the action. You can hear his heart rate increase as you lean forward gently putting your mouth on his wrist, running your tongue lighting along the pulse point before you tighten your grip on his arm. You bite into the vein softly before retracting the fangs as the warm, thick blood flows into you.

Steve Rogers may be a walking sex and righteousness, but he fucking tastes orgasmic.

Maybe it’s him or maybe it’s the serum running through his veins, but you’ve never had blood like this before. You clutch at his forearm, feeling the fire coursing through your body and the wound on your side healing in record time.

In a flash of movement, you spin him around, slamming Steve so hard against the wall it cracks around him in spiderweb-like tendrils and he releases a groan as the air is knocked from his lungs. Your mouth never leaves his wrist as you continue to drink from him in long, slow pulls, savoring every last drop. You press your body into his – no inhibitions – drunk off euphoria.

Steve is watching you with surprise, he wasn’t sure what to expect, but hungrily going at him like a feral animal was one thought. Instead, the control you’re showing and obvious pleasure you’re taking from it, drives him wild. With your body pressing against his there’s no hiding his arousal at this situation and he clenches his jaw when you finally pull your lips from his wrist. You reach up to innocently wipe the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

“Thanks,” you look up to meet his gaze, lips twisting up in a knowing smile.

You watch his eyes flick to your lips for a moment before his hand flies to the back of your head, grabbing you roughly before his lips crash against yours. His tongue explores your mouth, writhing with yours, tasting the metallic remnants of the blood you crave. Knowing it’s his blood twists something inside him and he clutches you harder. His mouth is harsh and domineering and you allow it.

Not everyone is accepting of the dark, most people run from.

Steve Rogers isn’t afraid of the darkness.

He thrives there.

A voice from the doorway is like a shot of lightning separating the two of you, “Holy shit.”

You both look at Tony, wild-eyed in embarrassment and confusion. Steve manages to speak first, “How long were you standing there?”

“Oh,” Stark glances over at you in curiosity. “Long enough to see True Blood over there.”

“I can explain,” you say quietly.

“And you will,” Stark replies sharply, then shakes his head in disbelief. “A vampire – really?” He turns to walk out of the room muttering to himself. “I swear if Barton’s a werewolf, I fucking quit.”