#and there she is going out of her mind batshit crazy because it’s the middle of nowhere

[outer-edges]

JASKGKFKKSKS OH MY GOD UNCOVERED THE CURSED SPIDERSONA X TWILIGHT CROSSOVER I WROTE IN HIGH SCHOOL. LOSING MY MINDDDDD. BEING A TEENAGE GIRL DURING THE PANDEMIC WAS QUITE A TIME.

[crypticreid]

KINKTOBER DAY FOUR

October 13 -- Virginity

masterlist

author's note: happy friday the 13th!! this is a behemoth, but it feels right to celebrate this day with a little bit of fireworks lol!! thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, I might do more of those throughout the month. thank you for reading and let me know if you want to be tagged! (also, because this took me so long, it isn't as tightly edited as my other work)

summary: To be completely honest, you're struggling a little bit with you new job at the BAU. Spencer is there to help. Oh, and maybe he can help you with a few other things too.

warnings: female reader, losing virginity, fingering, oral (female receiving), grinding, discussion about masturbation and mention of sex toys

word count: 6.9k (sorry? lol)

this is adut content. 18+ plus only. minors do not interact!

Morgan smiles up at you from his desk as you scramble into the bullpen. Garcia is leaning against his desk as she raises her eyebrows. You toss your go bag under your own desk and push your hair out of your face, trying to ignore the pair. 

“Rough night?” Morgan giggles, as he pushes the pencil he’s holding through his circled fingers suggestively. Garcia guffaws, but at least has the decency to playfully hit Morgan on the shoulder. 

“Can you two behave for like five minutes?” You groan and try to find your ID badge. You literally just had it to get into the BAU department, but now it has mysteriously disappeared. It isn’t on your desk or in any of your pockets, but you do find a couple crumpled up dollar bills that you toss onto your desk without thinking. 

The appearance of the bills causes Morgan to whistle. Emily walks over and sees the offending currency. “Damn, invite me next time!” She laughs. 

You roll your eyes and don’t reply. Instead, you pull up your go bag and start to empty it. Maybe you accidentally put your badge in one of the pockets, you rationalize.

“What is going on?” JJ asks with a small laugh, gesturing to the contents of your go bag now completely strewn across the desk. Clothing and toiletries clutter the surface and you know you look like a crazy person. And maybe you are crazy. No, you definitely are crazy. Anyone who does this job is absolutely batshit crazy. 

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them away. You are absolutely not going to have a mental breakdown at eight in the morning in the bullpen, and definitely not in front of fucking Derek Morgan. “I can’t find my badge.” You mutter and drop down to your knees to look under your chair and desk. 

You palm the dirty floor, but don’t find anything. Your friends stifle their laughter. “I would help you but this is not a crawl around on the floor kind of dress.” Penelope offers. 

“Gee, thanks.” You say to yourself. 

“Hey, has anyone seen –” Spencer stops in both his tracks and his sentence when he notices you on the floor. He swallows. “I found your ID badge. Over by the door. I think you dropped it.” 

“Wonder boy saves the day!” Morgan exclaims. 

Spencer finishes his trek over to you and offers a hand to help you up. You glance up at him, blushing slightly at the angle. Who would’ve thought you’d be on your knees in front of Dr. Reid? Okay, you’ve definitely thought about it, but your imagination didn’t normally make it happen inside Quantico and it absolutely never in front of your coworkers. 

“Sorry, my hands are kind of dirty. Uh, from the floor.” You confess and take his hand as you stand up. His hand is warm and soft, like really soft. Like you could easily fall asleep to him rubbing your back in mindless patterns. As soon as you’re on your feet you slip your hand out of his to avoid your mind adding more ammunition to your middle of the night imaginations about Spencer. 

“It’s okay.” 

“Thanks. For the badge… and –” you take the badge from his other hand and gesture meaninglessly between the two of you. 

“You’re welcome.” He smiles at you and you feel yourself redden deeper. 

“Alright, alright! Time for kiss and tell!” Penelope exclaims and you blink away from your eye contact with Reid. 

“What?” You whip your head around to her. 

Emily makes kissing noises and musses her hair. “You. And some mystery person. Last night. Clearly.” 

You turn toward her. “No. I wasn’t…” you start, your eyes flick over to Spencer as he walks toward his desk. “There’s no one.” 

JJ leans on your desk and raises her brows. “Then what were you doing last night?” 

You could not tell them the truth, but it was also impossible to lie to the best profilers in the country, so you give them a half truth. “Nothing. I just had a bad night.” You shrug and start to put your clothing back in your go bag, not bothering to fold it. 

The truth is that it had been a bad night because you were struggling with the job. You’d been hired ten months ago and the lack of sleep, the neverending cases, and having to constantly deal with the horrific things humans can do to one another was taking its toll on you. Yesterday had been a day off and you wanted to use it to catch up on sleep, but everytime you closed your eyes, the faces of the people you couldn’t save filtered in. You hadn’t been able to get a good night’s sleep since you started and it had caused a complete breakdown last night. You had pulled up Hotch’s contact information four times ready to quit, but you knew you couldn’t do it. You were here for a reason, you’d stick it out.  

Penelope hums. “Well, if it wasn’t a person… then it must’ve been alcohol.” 

“Or gambling.” Emily adds. 

You roll your eyes. “I don’t gamble.” 

“You should. It’s a lot of fun. I’ll play you in Blackjack.” Emily smiles. 

“Don’t play with her, she counts cards.” Reid murmurs absentmindedly as he reads over a file at his desk. 

“I do not!” 

Everyone laughs, but then the laughter dies away when Hotch comes out of his office. “Looks like no one gets to have fun for a couple of days.” Emily groans. 

On the flight home after the case, you’re seated across from Spencer. Everyone else is asleep or has headphones in, even Hotch is passed out on the couch, which is rare. You still can’t sleep, so you stare out the window into the darkness as you fly over Virgina. Spencer clears his throat and you roll your head to look at him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

You allow a small smile to form on your lips. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

He swallows and puts the book in his hand down in his lap as he leans forward slightly. “I know we don’t know each other that well yet, but you don’t really seem like yourself lately. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

The sore achy feeling of wanting to cry but holding it in burns your throat. You cough softly.  “I’m okay, really. Just – having trouble sleeping.” You give just a little bit of information, hoping it assuages his curiosity. 

“Is it that mystery person keeping you up at night?” He asks point-blankly. 

Your mouth is agape and you snap it shut, “did you just make a joke?” 

“I tried to.” He smiles and you match his smile with your own. 

“There really isn’t anyone.” You shake your head. “I’ve never –” you almost let the rest of the sentence slip out, but stop yourself just in time. The lack of sleep is obviously affecting you more than you thought. 

“You’ve never what?” The way he moves his body forward in his seat makes your heart thrum in your chest. His body language is clear, even a rookie behavioral analyst could tell, he was prepared to listen to what you have to say. Not only that, but he actually cared. 

You bite the inside of your cheek before letting out a sigh. Before you answer, you lean closer toward him, “I’ve never had sex, actually.” 

His eyes widen and he clears his throat, “you’re a –” 

“Virgin,” you finish for him. “I’m not ashamed or embarrassed by it. And it isn’t like I’m saving it or anything. It just hasn’t happened yet.” You shrug. “In all honesty, part of me just wants to pick some random person and get it over with.” You let out a small breathy laugh in an attempt to make you feel less awkward. 

“Why haven’t you?” You meet his eyes. “I mean, just found a random person to get it over with?” 

One of your shoulders lifts in a half-hearted shrug. “I don’t know. Like when I think about it, I realize that I’d rather have someone I trust, you know. Someone who would take care of me and not just see me as another notch on their bedpost. At least for the first time. And then after that, I’d feel more comfortable just going out and… you know.” 

“Notching up some bed posts.” He nods knowingly and you giggle. He smiles, you notice that he enjoys making you laugh. A lot of the time it seems like people are maybe laughing at him or about him, but not you. He’s never the butt of the joke for you. 

“Sure, Spencer.” You can’t help, but trail your eyes over him and contemplate the question that’s on the tip of your tongue. “How did you lose your virginity?” 

He doesn’t seem offended or shocked by your question. “In college.” 

You scoff, “weren’t you like twelve?” 

“During my undergrad, yes. But I have multiple PhDs.” 

“Of course, Doctor Reid.” 

He shifts in his seat. “I was twenty. She was, uh, we worked in the same lab. And had the same research advisor.” 

“So you two experimented on each other.” You joked. 

Spencer’s face flushed and you felt a pang deep in your stomach. “In a way, yes.” 

“I’m joking, Spencer.” He nods in understanding. “Were you like her boyfriend?” 

“No, we just –” 

“Hooked up.” You finish for him. 

“For a couple months, yeah.” 

Your mouth drops and you whisper, “you had a fuck buddy?” 

His blush deepens. “I don’t think we ever called each other that.” 

“What did you call her?” 

“I don’t know. We never talked about it. I finished my doctoral thesis before her.” He shrugs. 

“Wow, who knew.” 

“What?” 

“Morgan isn’t the only playa on the team.” You giggle and scrunch your nose, feeling the stress of the last few weeks dissipate from your shoulders. 

“I’m not…” he laughs and shakes his head. He glances out the window. “We’re landing soon.” He swallows and leans back in his seat. It was terrible, but you had a strong urge to step across to his seat and straddle his lap and kiss him until you were both breathless. You turn your gaze back to the window and try to force the image away. 

Your car wouldn’t start. You forcefully turned the key in the ignition again, and it sputtered and died. As you hit your steering wheel, you let out a frustrated noise and hit it again. You turn to grab your cell phone from your bag to call a tow truck and jump when you hear a knock on your driver’s side window. Spencer stands there apologetically, waving his hand with his closed mouth smile. 

He steps aside when you open the car door and get out. “Is everything okay?” 

“No.” You laugh bitterly. “My car won’t start and I need to get a tow.” You bite your lip, but can’t stop the tears that bubble over. 

Spencer freezes, but then reaches out and touches your shoulder lightly. “It’s okay.” For some reason his comfort makes you cry harder. “Oh, uh, here,” he mutters and pulls you into a full hug. He squeezes you tight against him and rubs your back as you cry into his chest. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” You blubber into his shirt. 

“No, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” 

“Is it?” You pull away from his chest to look in his eyes. “I’m failing at this job and –” 

“Woah, failing at this job?” He interrupts. “Who said that?” His brows furrow angrily. 

“No one.” You blink away the tears stuck in your eyelashes and Spencer reaches up and swipes away one that trails down your cheek. 

“You’re not failing. You’re excelling. You’re incredible. Truly, I mean that. I wouldn’t lie to you. I promise.” He swallows and you realize how close to his face you are, his hands wrapped around your back. 

You don’t stop yourself, even though you know you should, as you lean into him. His eyes flutter down to your lips, but he doesn’t pull away, so you keep going. Your lips touch his lightly, barely there before you back away. 

His hands tighten on you and pull you closer to him. He chases your lips with his and kisses you back, your own hands are on his chest and they twist into his shirt. You kiss him fervently, his hands traveling to your lower back, arching you into him. A moan escapes from the back of your throat and it breaks the spell. Spencer pulls away from the kiss. 

His lips are pink and shimmery and you want to kiss him again. Desperately. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs, his tongue slipping out and swiping across his bottom lip. 

“What for?” You blink. 

“Kissing you.” 

“I kissed you.” 

“I kissed you back.” 

“And you should do it again.” 

His eyes dart to your lips. He wants to, you can tell, but he stops himself. “We shouldn’t.” 

“Not here, at least.” You glance behind him and pray that the parking garage is completely empty. If your coworkers acted the way they did this morning about a nonexistent mystery person, you can only imagine their reactions if they saw you making out with Spencer. 

“It’s inappropriate.” 

“I don’t care.” 

“There’s paperwork.” 

“Not if we don’t tell anyone.” 

“That’s not how that works.” He laughs, you can feel the vibrations of the sound against his chest. 

“Do you always play by the rules, Dr. Reid?” 

He swallows harshly, you watch the movement of his Adam’s apple bob against the tight skin of his neck. “I’ll drive you home.” He deflects. 

You reach up on your toes and kiss him again. His hands spread on your back and press you against him and your hands pull him tighter to you, wrinkling his shirt. You hear footsteps and both of you step away from each other instantly, putting distance between your bodies. You turn your head to see a person you don’t recognize come into view from the other side of the parking garage. They don’t even glance in your direction. The hammering in your chest slows and you turn back to Spencer. He runs a hand through his hair. 

“Grab your bag.” He says with an authority that makes you spring into action quickly. Neither of you say anything as you follow him down the rows of agents’ cars to his car. He opens the passenger side for you, the vintage car creaks in protest. He closes the door and you watch from the rearview mirror as he walks around the back of the car toward the driver’s side, his hands in his pocket. 

He slides into the car seat and starts the car, it rumbles to life loudly. “I normally don’t even drive to work, just take public transportation. But I had an errand the other day.” He explains absentmindedly as he checks the rearview mirror and slowly backs out of the park spot. 

“It’s kismet.” 

“I always thought it was interesting that the English pilfered that word from the Turkish language. Considering words like fate and destiny already existed. Some etymologists attribute it to the rampant orientalism at the time. You know, like kismet was more mysterious or mystical or exciting than just simple fate.” He rambles and drives you out of the parking garage. A heady want begins to grow in your lower stomach. “And of course, the Turkish developed the word from an Arabic word meaning portion or lot. Which is fascinating.” 

“It is.” You say earnestly. 

He glances over at you sheepishly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to ramble.” 

“Don’t apologize. I like it.” 

His eyes are already back on the road, but you can see his cheeks redden in a slight blush. “Where do you live?” He asks and you tell him. It isn’t a long drive, well it isn’t this late at night. Your morning commute is a nightmare. He gives you a brief look, “why did you join the BAU?” 

You exhale a long breath before you answer. “I wanted to help people I guess. Which is so cliche, but it’s the truth. Like it isn’t even about putting bad guys away or whatever. I just want to make the world safer. For everyone.” You look over at him and he meets your gaze for a split second. 

“You are doing a good job.” He states. You shake your head. “I mean it. You are. You’re making a difference. You’re helping people.” 

“But how do you keep your head above water? I mean… how do you not let it beat you down?” 

“We have each other. And you focus on the good.” 

You sit in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, letting his words sink in. “Thanks, Spencer. For everything today.” 

He pulls into a parking spot in front of your apartment building. “I’ll walk you up.” 

You go to unbuckle your seatbelt, but it doesn’t budge. You try again, but again, nothing. 

“Oh, sometimes it sticks. Here,” he leans across the middle and reaches for your seatbelt buckle. His fingers graze the outside of your thigh and inhale sharply, electricity buzzing from the simplest of touches. He unbuckles you and you let the seat belt slide across your body, he doesn’t move away from you. He’s close enough that you can feel his breath on your skin, it enflames you. 

“Spencer,” you whisper and turn your head toward him. His eyes slowly trail down your face toward your lips and then back up to your eyes. You can’t take it, so you lean forward and kiss him again. Tentative at first, waiting for him to respond. He does, his hands pulling your face closer to his, deepening the kiss. When you feel his tongue swipe across your bottom lip you open for him, let him explore and learn. You sigh into his mouth, your hands find their way to the back of his neck. 

He slips away from you, breathless, but starts to kiss down your jaw. He mutters your name against your skin. You feel the warmth of his kisses travel down your spine toward your core. 

“Come upstairs.” You sigh, when he bites lightly on a sensitive spot on your neck. 

“I can’t. I shouldn’t.” He pants against your skin. 

“I want you.” 

He groans, deep and frustrated, and moves to lean his forehead against yours, both of your heavy breathing intermingling and becoming one. “You shouldn’t want me.” 

“Why not? And don’t say the bullshit about us working together. I don’t care, Spencer. I trust you. I want you.” 

He backs his head away from your forehead so that he can look into your eyes, his thumb against your cheek brushes back and forth. “You trust me?” 

“With everything in me.” He kisses you again, softly, tenderly. 

“I’ll take care of you.” 

“I know.” You kiss him back and then pull away. He nods and you return it with a nod of your own. 

His tongue glides across his lip and he swallows. You blink and he’s moving out of his seat and already at the passenger side door before you can reach for the handle. He opens it quickly and helps you out. It’s old school, but it makes your heart stutter and start. When he takes your hand in his, it feels like two magnets being drawn together. He slams the car door shut and you lead him up to your apartment. 

Once you unlock your front door and guide him in, you shut the door and turn to look at him. You flick on the light. He stares at you and asks, “you’re sure?” 

“Positive.” You step toward him and reach out to slide your hands across his stomach and then land on his waist. “Do I have to kiss you first again, or –” you don’t have to finish your question before his lips are on yours. His kisses are not tentative or searching, they’re needy and impassioned. Before long, you’re clawing at his shirt, untucking it from his pants and then reaching up to undo his tie. 

He stops you as he breathes laboriously. “Wait, we should slow down.” 

You continue to work on his tie, perpetually crooked, but now just an obstacle to what you need desperately.  “I don’t wanna go slow.” 

He moans and you finally get his tie undone and whip it off. “No, we should.” 

Your fingers work deftly against his buttons, one at a time, and you look up at him. “I’m a virgin, but I’m not inexperienced. I’m not a delicate flower.” 

His expression changes, his eyes grow heavy and he quirks his jaw. “Not inexperienced?” 

“I’m not.” You almost sound like a petulant teenager. 

“How far?” 

“What?” 

“How far have you gotten?” Your hands stop almost halfway through the third to last button. You don’t answer. His voice deepens, gravely and sexy, “you’ve clearly kissed before.” You nod. “Have you had someone feel your breasts?” As he asks the question, his hand reaches up and caresses your breast. You lean into the touch. “Has anyone put their mouth on your breasts, marking you as theirs? Rolling your nipple between their teeth?” He inclines his head into the crook of your neck and presses a hot kiss there. “Have you ever had somebody's mouth on your clit?” 

Your breathing is sharp and jagged, but Spencer simply continues. “Would you let someone use their tongue to make you come? Or maybe even their fingers? Pump their fingers into until you're squirming?” 

“Spencer,” you plead. 

He continues to massage your breast as his other hand slips under your shirt and trails across your hips and stomach. “Or do you just mean that you’ve touched yourself? You’ve laid in bed and explored this beautiful body. Know just exactly how to make yourself shiver from your own fingers.” 

You’re almost overwhelmed by his touch, his lips on your skin, and his words, your head is spinning, but you’re also desperate for more. 

“We’re going to take it slow.” He informs you and it isn’t up for discussion. “Not because I think you’re a delicate flower.” He throws your own words back at you. “But because I want to take my time with you. I want to learn everything about your body. I want to touch every single inch of you with my hands. I want to make you come, I want to feel you come. Over and over again.” You’re practically shaking in his hands when his lips and teeth scrap across your jaw and to your lips. He takes them with his and you’re like clay on a potter’s wheel, malleable and completely at his will, waiting to be crafted into his masterpiece. 

“Do you want that?” He breathes on your lips. 

You somehow know instinctively that he wants a verbal confirmation, so you answer, “yes.” 

He continues to kiss you, deeply, almost like a starved man tasting his first bit of sustenance. You answer with your own fervency. His hand at your hip squeezes and pulls you tight against him and you feel his want against you. It makes you moan. You grind your body against him and his grip tights even more. 

“Bedroom. Where’s your bedroom?” He stutters, but doesn’t stop kissing you and you don’t stop either. Your hands are in his hair, pulling and twisting, holding him impossibly close to you. You didn’t know kissing could make you feel this way, simultaneously feverish and desperate, but also insatiable. You felt like you could kiss Spencer for a lifetime and never tire of it. He wasn’t close enough even though your bodies were pressed together, you needed more. The only thought in your brain is simply, more, more, more. 

He pulls away from you, both of you taking heaving breaths. His lips were perfectly pink, your body thrummed with the knowledge that you caused such a change in him. 

“Bedroom.” The single word went straight to your core. You take his hand and guide him to your bedroom. 

Once you turn on the light, he’s behind you, pressing into you. You can feel every part of him, and he kisses the back of your neck. He’s back to being soft and gentle. He brings his hands to your stomach and inches them under your shirt until he has your breasts in his hands. 

Your breasts feel heavy and logically you know why. Blood has rushed to them, just as it has rushed to your other erogenous zones, and it is sending a signal to your brain to release oxytocin. But you’re realizing that logic has no place in your head when Spencer’s hands and mouth are on you. Logic means nothing to you at this moment. 

“You’re so beautiful.” He compliments as he fondles your breasts, your head lolls back against his chest. He angles his head so he can kiss your cheek. “You distracted me that very first case you were on. Did you know that?” 

“No,” your eyes flutter shut when he moves down to kiss your jaw. 

“I thought you were so gorgeous. After the case, I went home to my apartment and touched myself as I imagined you. I felt so ashamed, I couldn’t even look you in the eyes the next morning.” 

Your mind wanders back to all those months ago. “I thought I had done something wrong,” you remember. 

“No, it was me. I was wrong. But I couldn’t stop. I mean you can feel what you do to me.” He was right, you could distinctly feel the effect you had on him. 

“I thought of you too.” You confess. 

“You did?” His voice is low and breathy and you nod. “In that bed.” He ticks his head to gesture toward it. “Tell me.” 

You feel yourself heat with blush. His thumbs brush across your nipples through your bra and your breath gets caught in your throat. You swallow and answer. “I would lie there, normally because I couldn’t sleep. And then I’d think about you. Your hands, I’d think about your hands.” 

“My hands?” He squeezes your breasts. 

You nod and answer simultaneously, “yes. I’d imagine them on my body, touching me.” He brushes your nipples again and you shiver. “And I’d slip my hand into my underwear, and rub my clit. Pretend it was you.” His hands abandon your breasts and slide around to your back. You step forward as he takes off your shirt and then unhooks your bra and helps you out of it. His hands on your hips turn you to face him. 

“I knew you were beautiful. But you’re perfect.” Your instinct is to feel self conscious under his gaze, but you push it away when you notice the admiration in his eyes.  

You reach for him and finish the job of unbuttoning his shirt and then peeling it off of him. “Fair is fair.” You say. He laughs, but his laugh dies in his throat when your nails scratch down his chest. 

Your hands explore his exposed chest and back, feeling the muscle move underneath soft skin, and he works to rid you of your pants. You use him for balance as you step out of your pants, but as soon as you're standing on two feet again, he backs you toward your bed. 

When the back of your legs hit the bed, you allow yourself to fall back onto it. He leans over you, your legs open for him and he kisses you again. Your hands continue their previous tour of his back, now feeling how his shoulder blades move when he grinds against you. 

The first time he does it, you throw your head back in a moan. Even though you have multiple layers of fabric between you, you can still feel the heat radiating through you. He does it again and you arch up to meet his movement. When he does it a third time your nails scratch down his back. 

He makes a low noise from the back of his throat and you know that your panties are soaked. His lips take a journey down your body, kissing and nipping at your clavicle, your chest, spending a significant amount of time on both of your breasts, and down your stomach. Your clawing at his back by the time his mouth meets the band of your underwear. 

“Look at you,” he whispers. His thumb rubs lightly at your clit over the fabric. Your thighs clench and he laughs. “Keep them open for me, baby.” You mewl at the pet name. “You like that? Being called baby?” 

“Yes.” You groan out when his thumb repeats his earlier action. 

He does it again, almost unbearably slow. “I want to taste you so bad. I’ve wanted to know how good you taste for so long.” His voice is strained. 

“You can. I want you to.” 

His hands skate up to the hem of your underwear and you lift your hips slightly as he pulls them down. You open your legs for him again and he swallows. “Stunning.” His mouth is on you before you have time to process the word. 

Almost instantly, he moans against you, the vibrations causing your toes to curl. Your hands clench your duvet and he pulls away for a split second, “touch me.” You do what he asks, coiling your fingers into his hair. He laps at your clit, creating a pattern and rhythm that makes your buck up to meet him. His hands grip at your hips and hold you in place. 

“Spencer, oh fuck,” you ramble. He answers by moaning against you again and then sucking your clit into his lips. You bite down a scream. The heat at the base of your spine spreads across your body. “Oh my god. Oh god.” 

He alternates between lapping and sucking at your sensitive bud, your nails practically digging into his scalp, your toes curling, as you try to catch your breath. Just at the moment where it feels like too much, your body clenches and crashes over the edge of your ecstacy, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. 

He continues to lap at you softly until your muscles relax in his arms and then he looks up at you, smiling and his lips glistening, “you’re incredible.” You pull him up, so that you can kiss him. You kiss the taste of you off his lips. He brings his head up to look at you, pushes away the stray hairs stuck to your forehead. “Are you going to get sick of me calling you beautiful?” He smiles. 

“No, I don’t think I could.” He smiles into another kiss. His hands travel down your body and as soon as one of his fingers slides across your folds, the flames reignite. 

“Is this okay?” He asks. “I want all of you.” One of his fingers slips inside of you and then he pulls it out. He slides it back in and then repeats his action, starting slow and building up to a comfortable tempo, as he continues to kiss you. Nothing about his movements is frantic, but rather languid and relaxed, gently stoking the growing fire inside of you. You grind your hips against his finger and he smoothly adds a second finger. The feeling is different, but not bad as you feel yourself accommodating the extra digit. 

“Alright?” He checks in with you, looking into your eyes. 

“It feels good.” It’s not like the times you’ve laid here in this bed with your fingers inside you. It’s an entirely divergent sensation that you don’t think your imagination would have been able to conjure. “Really good.” 

“Yeah?” He stops sliding his fingers in and out and instead leaves them inside as he pumps them, almost as if he’s searching. He finds what he’s looking for when you gasp and cling to his shoulder. 

“Yeah.” You nod furiously, biting down on your lip. He’s no longer building the tension within you. Instead, it’s like he’s playing with a taut rubber band, waiting for it to snap. 

You feel your eyes start to close, wanting to roll to the back of your head. “Keep your eyes on me, baby. I want to see. Want to see you come apart for me.” 

You force your eyes open. “Spencer…” 

“I know, relax into it.” His thumb starts to rub your clit. “You’re doing so good.”  

“Oh my god,” you start to mutter and ramble again, a mixture of curses and Spencer’s name. You never break eye contact with him. It’s intense, but also intimate. 

“Are you gonna come for me, baby?” 

You let out a whine in answer and feel a muscle in your thigh twitch. Your core clenching on his fingers, the wet sounds of his fingers inside of you filling the room. The grip on his shoulders is tight and you hope it isn’t painful, but he barely seems to notice, all of his attention is on you. The mixture of admiration and lust on his features is almost too much. But you’re realizing that Spencer Reid never does anything part way or half-assed. Once Spencer puts his mind to something, he’s going to accomplish it. Not only that, but he’s going to put an almost Herculean effort into it. And somehow, you’ve become something he’s put his mind to. The thought makes you lean up and kiss him. 

You kiss him until a gasp separates your lips from him. “So perfect,” he muses. Your core constricts and contracts on his fingers. Your breathing is short and your legs feel like they’re shaking, but you can’t really tell. “Come for me.” 

One more shaky breath and then you do, the rubber band snaps. Your body arcs up into him and he swallows your shout with his lips, kissing you deeply. Again, he slows down but doesn’t stop, guiding you down from your high. When he does pull his fingers from you, you watch as he brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean. 

This time you don’t need him to rekindle the flame of need inside of you, it's already there. You reach between your bodies for his belt. Together, the two of you make quick work of the last of his clothing. And then he’s kissing you again, both his hands and your own caress, rub, and grab at each other. You reach down lower and lower, until you meet his hardened length with your hand. You grip the base and he falters. 

“I’d love that. Really, I want it so bad. But I won’t last, baby.” You squeeze him again and smile up at him, fluttering your eyelashes. “You’re a vixen.” He laughs, kissing you. 

“I want you.” 

“Fuck. I don’t have a condom.” You blink, it’s the first time you’ve ever heard Spencer drop the f-bomb. You giggle. 

“I have some.” One of his eyebrows raises in question and you shrug. “I like to be prepared. They’re over there.” You gesture toward your nightstand and he stretches over to open it. 

“Oh,” he lets out a surprised gasp and just then you remember what else is in your top drawer. “I guess you don’t just use your fingers to masturbate, do you?” He laughs. 

You reach up behind you and grab a pillow and toss it at him. He dodges it and it falls to the floor. “Like I said, I’m a virgin, not inexperienced.” 

Spencer grabs the box of unopened condoms, opens it and pulls one out. He carefully places the box back, his eyes lingering on your menagerie of sex toys. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. 

“I have an eidetic memory. I’m remembering… for later.” He smiles and you feel your heart speed up, pounding against your ribcage. You hadn’t had time to discuss anything past tonight. His smile falters. “I mean – I don’t mean to presume anything. Only if you want.” 

You reach over to him and pull him back toward you, kissing him. “I do. I want there to be a next time. Other times.” 

He looks down at you, searching. “Good, I do too.” He kisses you and only pulls away to put on the condom. He continues his kisses as he moves to position himself, spreading your legs for him. He brushes his thumb over your clit again and you moan. When he lifts his head from yours and glances up at you. You nod your head. 

You feel the tip of him at your entrance, pressing against you, but not fully in. That’s all he does at first, until you move on him and allow him to slip into you. He works himself into you, allowing you to stretch around him. It isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s definitely a new sensation. None of your toys feel like him. Both of you watch as his penis slowly disappears inside of you. He pushes in the last inch with a thrust. There’s a flash of a pinch and you let out a breath. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

“Yeah, just give me a second.” He nods, licks his bottom lip and then resumes his circles on your clit. It only takes a few seconds for you to relax on him. You grind your hips, somehow taking him deeper. He groans. “Move, Spencer. Please.” 

He inches out of you and then pushes back in without any urgency or force. He starts the same pattern and rhythm his fingers had used earlier that night. The feeling of him moving inside of you is incredible, you can feel him dragging against your walls. His body against yours, skin to skin, more connected than you’ve ever been with anyone else. Between the feeling of him pumping into and his movement against your clit, it doesn’t take long until you’re clawing at his back, wordlessly asking him for more. He answers, creating a relentless rhythm that you grind your hips to match. 

At some point, your eyes had shut and you hadn’t realized and so you force them open again, wanting to watch Spencer come apart just like he watched you. “You feel so good. Better than I could have imagined.” He starts to ramble. “I can’t believe I get to feel you like this. So good.” 

His eyes shoot down to watch himself slip in and out of you. “Fuck.” He cusses again. You decide you like when he curses, especially if you’re the reason. He moves his hips and his cock finds the same spot his fingers found earlier and you clench around him as you let out a deep groan. 

You lose track of time, it moves at a snail’s pace, but also at the speed of light. Time ceases to exist to you, your world shrinks down to only the two of you, everything else falls away. And then you’re falling again, diving headfirst into an orgasm. 

“Yes, yes. I love feeling you like this. Oh my god… oh fuck. I’m gonna –” he sputters. 

You reach up and pull his lips to yours, kissing him through his own orgasm. He shakes above you as he pumps into you with a final harsh push. And then when he peaks, he slowly fucks into you through his orgasm. He continues to kiss you until both of your breathing returns to normal and then he lifts his head to look at you. 

He smiles and you can’t help it when a huge toothy smile appears on your own face. 

“Are you okay?” He inquires. 

“I’m perfect.” 

His hand reaches up and caresses the side of your face. “You are.” 

The next morning you walk into the office still smiling. Everyone is around the desks, including Spencer. He glances over at you and nods in greeting, as if you hadn’t just said goodbye to him a few hours ago, the first golden rays of dawn streaming through your bedroom window. 

“Good morning.” You say to everyone. You set your go bag down at your desk and Emily smiles over at you, a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

“Oh, Morgan. You had it all wrong.” She teases. 

Morgan looks at Emily and then over to you. “What?” 

“That is the look of a woman who got it real good last night.” Emily laughs, loud and brash. You smile with her and Penelope gasps. 

“Tell. Me. Everything.” She runs over to you and grabs onto your arm. 

“I have no idea what you mean.” You reply innocently. 

JJ smirks. “Oh, she got it real good last night.” 

“Is sex all you guys think about?” You joke. The girls laugh and Morgan still seems confused. Spencer is focused on the file on his desk, but his finger isn’t moving down it and you know he isn’t reading it. “I had a good night last night.” You give a small inch, just to stave them off. Penelope squeals. You grab her hand. “And that’s all I’ll say about it.” 

“Boo!” Emily exclaims. 

Penelope almost pouts. “Oh, you are the worst!” 

“I know!” You laugh gleefully. Spencer looks up for only a split second, but you catch it and he smiles at you. 

“I’ll find out eventually. You do know that, right?” Penelope warns. 

“You are terrifying.” You squeeze her arm and turn away from the group to start on your mountain of files. It’s true that eventually everyone would probably find out about you and Spencer, but for now the two of you get to live in your own personal world. You smile to yourself.

tag list: @spenciesprincess @catalinasroom @tylevx @alicentswife @ingrid69rs @sobbingcryingattsizzles @infinitegalaxiesworld

[koostarcandy]

nonsense, it's l-o-v-e!

summary: "she's a, oh my god, she's like a taylor swift song!"

pairing: student!jungkook x student!fem!reader

genre: fluff, mentions of smut, koo is a music major here hence the banner :)

wc: 1.8k

a/n: there was an anonie who wanted a song fic based on into you so i combined that and my new playlist i've been obsessed with! also im abit obsessed with writing a whipped male lead ;)) oktyilybye <3

"are you out of your mind? it's not nausea, you fool, it's called being in love."

"love? like l-o-v-e love or what you and taehyungie hyung do everyday?"

jimin has half a mind to punch the innocent doe-eyed face infront of him, who's slightly trembling because of a text he got a few moments back. and left it on read.

"you idiot, reply to her quickly or she's gonna think you fainted again!"

jungkook scrambles for his phone, tossing aside the controller to goodness knows where. "i will see you, no, i will pick you up and we will go for boba together tomorrow. with a heart, duh." he says what he types out loud, a habit he developed along with your blossoming relationship. either his namjoon hyung would be there to correct his grammar which he would've made a ton of mistakes in his eagerness to reply to you or he would be batshit scared if he sent something which may or may not upset you, very slightly. hence why jimin is there, who is nursing his empty can of beer, wishing he had something stronger, because he doesn't remember signing up for this clownery, just for dance club.

"jungkookie?" jimin calls him sweetly, a fond expression growing on his face when he looks at his best friend's lovesick smile.

"yes, hyung? is it my hair again? i didn't put too much serum this time, right?" jungkook has registered that tone of voice in his head under the category of "uh-oh. something isn't right."

"when you and your, uh, lover move in, do you expect me to do the same with you both?"

"why are you moving? did the landlord raise the rent here too? do you want me to knock some sense into him? people are acting crazy now, don't they know broke college students actually exist?"

"no, kookie," jimin giggles, "you always need one of us around when you're doing anything remotely concerning her. like what we were talking about before, maybe you should tell her, no? save yourself the heartbreak and whatnot."

jungkook's thighs which were shaking in excitement slowly cease. he's way too familiar with that concept, always hoping and praying and wishing that isn't the case with you. he likes you too much that he can't imagine his future without you. somewhere, in his rose-tinted dreams and in a perfect house, you're growing old with him, laughing at something silly he said. in the 2 years he's known you, he was lucky enough for you to like him back, getting giddy again when he remembers you asking him on a date quietly in the middle of class, fingers intertwined with his tightly when he whispered an excited "yes!", not caring if he garnered a few concerned and judgemental looks.

"don't think about it too much, little one," jimin pats his head and pecs, throwing the can into the bin. "go home and worry about the outfit you're wearing tomorrow 'cause lord knows you've pulled all-nighters for that one."

"you look so pretty right now, i'm actually jealous, koo."

jungkook thinks you're more beautiful and more pretty but he's too tired to argue now. the golden rays are hitting the both of you just right, golden hour living upto it's name. your warm skin against his cold one raises goosebumps, wondering if you can hear his heartbeat from the close proximity. you shift from your position on his chest to propping yourself up on your elbows, the duvet slipping from your bare shoulders.

"your hand goes down any further and i'm yeeting you out of this bed, my love." you threaten jungkook half-heartedly, referring to the wandering hand on the small of your back, inching towards your hip chain.

"you couldn't get one more out of me even if you tried your very best, darling." he says, leaning his head back on the new pillow you bought with an infatuated smile, throwing a tattooed hand over his eyes.

"is that a challenge, jeon?" you tease, fingers playing with the thing string of sliver around his neck, matching pendants with your bracelet. you let the magnetic pendants do it's job, looking at the pretty heart stuck together with a solicitous gaze. "looks adorable, doesn't it?" you praise his choice, reluctantly pulling away to place an indulgent kiss on his sternum.

you had all but jumped on him when he had come early to pick you up, in your favourite jacket and his ripped jeans, kissing him all over his face, claiming you missed his cute dumbass. that compliment ensued scattered clothes on the floor, needy lips trying to convey so many emotions fervently.

you're now tracing impatient shapes on his chest, your quickly shifting mood and pouty lips hinting that you're hungry. it's currently 2.45 pm on a sunday, but honestly, who cares? jungkook has the love of his life wrapped around him and is practically on cloud 9. he could literally-

"did you just say love of your life?"

jungkook shoots up, suddenly sitting up and looking at your blinking face, rubbing your eyes for some reason.

"what did you say?"

"i thought you were sleep talking again but it seems like it wasn't," you mumble, looking away from him. this is it, this is where the sky comes falling, pigs are flying, hell is freezing and-

"you're so annoying, i wanted to tell you that first!"

you're close to tears, frustrated for some reason. he takes in your messy hair and swollen lips, courtesy of him of course. you're glaring at him, like he just stuck his tongue out at you and he told you that he finished the last of the raspberry cheesecake in your fridge. "oh thank god," jungkook lets out a sigh of relief, strong arms pulling you to his lap and kissing your lips repeatedly. he's acting like he's come back from war, holding you so close and so tight.

"what? why would you say that? is this some big set up so you can finally ask me to move in with you so you can quote, unquote save money and electricity?" you ask, eyebrows furrowed cutely that he can't help but place the sweetest of kisses on your forehead, smoothing the creased lines.

"let's save money and electricity, i've had enough of you complaining of inflation along with jiminie hyung."

"you're just ditching your hyungie, my precious roommate, just like that?"

ah, so that's why jimin asked. so much for him being concerned about his love life. "we'll think about the technicalities later," jungkook says cheekily, chasing your lips and holding your face between his large hands.

"that's cool and all but can i get off you now? koo junior seems to want attention now."

"you know, some of us are very painfully single here," yoongi comments, staring at jungkook over his simple lunch of kimbap and iced americano. "so, the lyrics sound good?" jungkook smiles, stealing a bite of veggie kimbap.

"you're whipped, man, you've written these lyrics in record time. the last time this happened you were crying on our shoulders, telling us you love us all so, so, so, so-"

"okay, i think the point has come across, hyung." jungkook shudders at the thought, vividly recollecting the time he got drunk with his friends for the first time, dragging them all to their shared studio so he could showcase his latest assignment.

"you must really like her alot, huh?" yoongi comments off-handedly, secretly trying out a theory that taehyung had put out. one mention of you had jungkook's irises turn into pink hearts, his hands quickly taking his phone to show pictures of your latest date.

"i'm sure like is a understatement at this point, hyung," the said whipped man says sagely, like he's preaching to an attentive crowd of 100.

"oh god, here we go-"

an elmo-like laugh resonates in the small spaced studio, jungkook anyway going on a joyful rant about you. it can be seen in his lyrics, the way his eyes light up like you're his most precious person (and you are, no doubt), how he sincerely writes love poems for you and how he loves seeing your face light up when it shows randomly in one of your notebooks, happily tucking it away in a file you've saved especially for his letters.

"its like I can finally relate to those poems namjoon hyung reads to us sometimes you know?"

"mhmm.."

"and every one of iu's love songs is suddenly right and the universe finally makes sense and-"

"uh huh?"

"she's like a, oh my god, she's like a taylor swift song!"

"wow."

"whatcha upto, handsome? too busy to spare some time for your hungry roommate?"

jungkook glances at the time from the digital clock, glaring 12.30 am. he stretches and breaks his finger knuckles, legs moving towards you on a mind of it's own. you're wearing one of his many oversized shirts, a white one this time, big but it seems to fit you just right.

"why are you still up, baby?" he asks, arms around you immediately. "i'm hungry, koo," you say again, "was waiting for you so we can order some snacks and watch hotel del luna again," you mumble against his chest, your hands rubbing his tense back. "let's go then," he grabs his phone and throws you over his shoulder effortlessly, nonchalantly saying it's been awhile since you've had spicy tteokbokki and bingsu. you stumble when he puts you down, unfazed when you're voicing out that you both can't eat spicy food at night anymore, as if the last time that happened wasn't scarring enough.

you kiss his cheek, reminding him to save his work and that you'll get everything ready in a jiffy. jungkook all but zooms to the bedroom, already eager to get back to you. he chuckles at the title on his screen, knowing that "nonsense, it's l-o-v-e!" is going to be the best birthday gift you've ever gotten.

he finds you sipping away on a cranberry breezer, can of chilled beer waiting for him. your eyes are enraptured by jang manwol and her beauty, instinctively leaning on him when he's settled next to you.

it's like a satisfying puzzle, feeling all the pieces click easy when he's with you. in your shared abode, huddled up and in your own cosy bubble, away from the world. hands easily finding their way around your bodies. synchronized laughing at a clever comment passed by the male lead. jungkook feels like this is one of those moments he would write about in a song later or write in one of your weekly love letters. you're the definition of right person at the right time, knowing that if you both were in a rundown apartment or in one of the biggest bungalows ever, you'll still love him the same.

pt time: @armys-dna ; @junsai-tree ; @soobhyun ; @shatzkrinslinzki ; @astronaut-jin-moon ; @cherishoshi ; @fragmentof-indifference

[aneenasevla]

Red Velvet - Chapter 1 (part 1)

MasterList / Akane’s profile / Art by @aneenasevla

TIMELINE: this story begins after Cookies'n'Cream and at the same time as Devil's Food. If you haven't read those, I recommend you check them out. This is part 4 of an ongoing series.

Chapter 1 - Hopeless (part 1)

"Huh? Girl, what the hell!", Akane almost screamed into her phone, while talking with her old high school friend. "I was just joking around!"

Her face turned very red. That stupid comment she made on Instagram under a photo her friend had posted was still there and she wouldn't take it back, but hey, people were always saying stupid shit on social media, right?

Yes, the men in that photo caught her attention, and she really liked that hot tanned guy too, but there were at least seven or eight girls asking for his DMs, so as a second option, she turned her attention to the other two, who were as big as gorillas. Apparently the bald one was a famous MMA fighter and she was well aware of how utterly thirsty her friend was for that type of man, so she decided to look at the other one. Blonde, his hair clearly bleached, and a face so dumb-looking that she felt a little sorry for him. Of course, as a joke, she asked for his DMs...

She just didn't expect that her damn comment would be taken seriously.

"Well... that's the problem, Akane. He didn't take it as a joke," Tomori sighs on the other end of the line, sounding a little tired. "Rihito is a very literal guy. Especially when it comes to women. It's been four months and he won't fucking drop it..."

"For fuck's sake… Giiiiirl…," she rubs her face, exasperated. It was her lunch break, so she was eating at a nearby convenience store. "I even forgot about that dude's face, can you believe it? I already have too much on my plate. But is he really bothering you? Tell your pet gorilla to tell him to knock that shit off! Isn't he a badass fighter or something like that?"

"No chance, sis, he’s one of Naoh’s best friends. The most he can do is tell him to leave me alone while I'm in the middle of work. But as soon as I go to sit with them during lunch break, he resumes with his bullshit", She snorts, and Akane can imagine her rolling her eyes. He goes like 'What about your friend, Tomori? Has she made up her mind? Did you give her my number?', and so on. Seriously, I like him, but it's getting really annoying. That's why I decided to end this once and for all and tell you what's going on."

"Holy shit, that sucks", Akane sighs. "It's just that I... I just dumped an idiot, you know who... dipshit wanted something more serious and I really, really didn't, he's a bum and has nothing going on for him, you know... ?," She remembers the fight they had. "Sorry, I don't know if I want an encore for a while. You were lucky, but you know I'm not... and I really doubt that the blonde gorilla can handle a Gyaru..."

"Shit, girl…," Tomori says sympathetically. She remains silent for about two seconds before saying, more quietly, as if she had brought the phone closer to her mouth "Look, if you don't want to, just say so, and I'll tell him to drop it. But...," She hesitates a little. "I don't believe he wouldn't know how to deal with you. He... well, he's a pretty intense guy. Not to say batshit crazy. You had to hear about all the crazy things that Naoh and he were up to, it even involved the police..."

"Oh, hell no… didn’t you hear what I just said?!," She whimpers. "I don't want an idiot who has a history with the damn dogs, Tomori..."

"I know, relax. They've straightened up, I swear," She sighs. "What I'm trying to say is that your lifestyle wouldn't be a shock to this guy, because he's seen and experienced a lot of crazy shit that I can't even name properly, you know?"

"Damn…," she sighs again. In truth, she didn't want to say that it had been a few months since she had kicked her stupid, good-for-nothing fuck-buddy to the curb, but she was still too upset to start anything new... The problem was that she was already feeling the urge, and Papa Satan knew very well the type of woman she was. Hiro, her brother in arms on nights out, knew very well what she was like. "Okay, here's the thing... do you have his Instagram so I can check it out? I want to see if he can make me wanna take off my panties… but hey!," she almost shouts into the phone, as a warning. "I'm not doing this for him, didja hear me? It's only to make him leave you alone, and if you said he can handle me, I'll go all out. I won't hold back on the Gyaru gear. I want to see if he can handle the heat."

"He doesn't have an Instagram account, but I have some photos that I took with them over the months, and others that Naoh sent me. I'll send them to you. And I appreciate it, but seriously, you don't need to force yourself. If you don't want to, just say so, and I'll tell him to knock it off. Rihito is insistent as hell, but he also knows when to throw in the towel," She assures, her voice becoming a little more urgent.

"Wait, what kind of dumbass caveman-wannabe doesn’t have an Instagram account these days? And seriously, what kind of name is Rihito? That's either a really stupid name or a nom de guerre or something. If it's a nom de guerre, I understand, I even think it's cool..." 

A straight man having a nom de guerre... that was news to her. But why "Rihito”? Why a name that literally meant “beyond human reason”?

"He says it's 'social media for sissies’. Yeah, I'll let you know that he's that kind of guy. And he's got a bit better over the last few months," Tomori grunts a little. "And Rihito is his nickname. Or his public identity, as he likes to say. He likes to act like he's a comic book superhero or something. It's cute and kinda ridiculous at the same time..."

"Fuckin' hell, woman, look what you got me into…," Akane lets out a grunt.

"Sorry! I swear I wouldn't even be bothering you if I weren't sick of this. I'm doing this more out of conscience, to make it clear to him that I at least tried, because again, you don't have to accept it," Tomori guarantees, her tone now softer. "I really didn't know about your situation with your fuck-buddy. We've been so out of touch lately, now I'm feeling guilty."

"Relax, honey, I’m also to blame. I've been busy at the beauty salon too. I've also been a little down and I'm not even going out with my friends from the Izakayas anymore. They're all kinda settling down too, since they're all in their late twenties or early thirties. They're becoming like the ladies whose hair I cut and dye in the most boring colors," she makes a theatrical sound of nausea. "Nothing against your hair color, Tomoh, but it's sorta like when you're making your cookies, y'know? Eventually you get tired of seeing them every day... speaking of which, I want a box of 'em. I'll pay you the next time we meet."

"I understand, Kane. I got sick of sweet stuff for a reason, after all," Tomori laughs a little. "And of course, I'll make you a pretty fancy box. I can even offer a discount, to compensate for the trouble... oh, shit, me talking like that makes it seem like going out with him would be fuckin' torture," She laughs more.

"I'm a warrior, my dear. You know about my battles and my scars'', which were almost metaphorical, of course. She prided herself on having very good skin, thank you very much. "I endured gaslighters and even stalker threats... what's a gorilla compared to that?"

She laughs loudly. "Yeah, ​​I know all about your struggles, hahaha! And yes, he is a gorilla. A gorilla plush, in this case. He's pushy and very inconvenient, but a really nice guy once you get to know him better. He wouldn't be one of my boyfriend's best friends if that weren't the case," Akane could almost hear her smiling fondly.

"Hnf… I can only believe it when I see it, so send me those damn pics. Don't say anything to him yet, I don't promise anything either. If there's one that shows his pants, I want it too. Gotta check it out to see if it's worth it...," she laughs quietly. "My lunch break is almost over, so I'll see it later. Then I'll give you an answer, okay?"

"Okay, I'll send it as soon as I hang up. The first one will give you a good idea of ​​the quality of this specimen. The four of them took it on a day when they decided to go fishing, so clothes were a bit unnecessary, haha. The others were on nights I went out with them, casual things... and...," She now hesitates a little. "Please, don't think that this is me trying to pressure you, but... send your answer as quickly as possible, please. If I have to hear one more "what about your friend, Tomori?", I'll be forced to commit murder, which will really harm my criminal record and probably cost me a relationship, haha."

"I'm an expert on this matter and I can say that you can claim self-defense in court!," she laughs loudly, snoring a little. "Okay, I got back to the salon and my boss is already glaring at me, so I'm going to hang up. Send those pics and I'll make my decision. A punch in your eye and a kiss on your check, honey! Bye!," She hangs up.

It doesn't take long for her to hear the sound of notifications coming in, indicating that Tomori had wasted no time and was already sending her the photos. The poor thing must have been really desperate to get rid of that Rihito guy. She takes advantage of the fact that she didn't have any clients at that time and opens the photos Tomori sent her, making a discredited pout. The Gorilla type was a kind of bodybuilder who worked out to get strong, on any and every body part that there was to work on, and they ended up looking like a Hulk wannabe. The Okubo guy, who her friend menaged to put in a leg lock, was that type of man, and with excellence. He was easily almost seven feet tall, which made her wonder, with some hilarity, how they managed to fuck without him having to contort himself like a pretzel. The second one in the right corner of the photo was the hot tanned guy who had made every single woman in their social circle wet their panties. He wasn't a mountain of muscles like Tomori's boyfriend, but he had his own defined biceps, triceps, chest and abdomen to show off, accompanied by a tanned skin that would make most of her Gyaru friends jealous. The third, on the far left, was the smallest of the four, and despite appearing to be pretty fit, he was nowhere near as large as his fishing companions. His straight black hair, his affable expression and his fox-like eyes gave him a somewhat intellectual air; most likely the brains of that group. And the last one, right next to Okubo…

"Gorilla" was certainly an appropriate definition. He was huge. Really huge, with a broad chest where you could bury your face in and stay there until you suffocated, and if you tried to escape, the absurdly muscular arms wouldn't allow it. His six-pack would give Tomori's boyfriend's a run for its money. His face at first glance wasn't anything special (the tanned guy was by far the most handsome of the group, there wasn't any doubt), but his eyes were big, green and very expressive. They showed a somewhat smug happiness as he lifted the huge fish by the fishing line, which seemed to weigh nothing to him.

"Hnmm…," she licks a little of the lollipop she had bought to accompany the tedious afternoon that would be the second half of her working day. She zooms in on the photo, wanting to see a specific part better…

And those stupid baggy swimming trunks didn't show much. Damn it. Normally she was good at figuring these things out. But it seemed proportionate, which left her giving it the benefit of doubt. Yeah... he seemed like her type. He could even become a nice fuck-buddy... she checked the other photos. They didn't have much focus, but they confirmed that she needed to see it in person to know... he had a nice ass too; apparently someone also worked well on that. She looked at a photo with another guy with wavy black hair, and she got a little interested, but she looked away as soon as she saw him sitting with his arm around the shoulders of another friend of hers. Oh, so Kanami the Butch got herself a boyfriend too? Attagirl! And a hot one too… she nodded in approval. Okay, back to the blonde guy.

After a thorough analysis, she shrugged. Yes, he was her type, in addition to having a nice body. He also seemed kinda cute and practically had “idiot” written all over his face. Just the way she liked it. She starts to tip a response.

Panther:

Verdict: he'll do

hey wolfie, tell this guy I wanna test him

but if he complains about my style, I'll kick him to the fuckin curb

also, you said rihito isn't his real name, right? 

what's this specimen called?

Wolfie:

you're completely within your rights, panther! 

but I don't believe he'll do that, he likes women who aren't afraid to show their bodies

naoh almost punched him once when he caught him looking at my legs lmao

and his name's ichiro 

nakata ichiro

but he prefers the nickname

again, superhero with a secret identity

kinda cringe xD

Panther:

I told ya, if it's a nom de guerre, I'm cool with it

I have one after all

still, don't send him my number yet

from what I know about this guy, he'll probably keep sending me dick pics 

no matter how much I wanna see it, it's still gross, c'mon

Wolfie:

I didn't give him your number for that very reason 

he'd definitely call you a hundred times and send you some gross stuff

but he calmed down when I suggested he make an instagram account to talk to you 

fragile masculinity, imma right?

Panther:

oh boy... I foresee some debates, and not the good kind...

sheesh, here comes a old hag for us to salvage

sort everything out for me and I'll give you a really nice trim as a thanks 

what do you say? 

afterall you now have a human king kong to impress

Wolfie:

girl, I love you so much! 

I'm in! 

and yes, he loves to run his hands through my hair, so it's good to keep it nice and smooth hahaha

they're coming back from their trip in a couple of days, so I'll give them the news 

you can choose the best day for the date

Panther:

any weekend is fine

I have nothing scheduled, not even for the holidays, so it's up to you

just remember that it’s almost winter, so I wanna go somewhere warm, for god’s sake.

Wolfie:

leave it to me!

now I'm gonna let you do your thing

 I know that's a lot of work hahaha

I'll send you a message when I sort everything out with him

I just have to let you know

I wasn't exaggerating when I said he's intense

he's the clingy type, and is kinda difficult to push him away

so, if you need to, put your foot down 

he's a bit clueless but he understands what ‘no’ means

Panther:

sweetheart, you're talking to a professional

get a grip

and I'm in the mood for a physical dude

mama’s gonna eat good 🍑🍑

Wolfie:

LMAO 

yeah, I know you

but I'm warning you for a reason

he's really strong

like, REALLY strong

so you better lay your boundaries from the beginning

cause if he grabs you, it will be difficult to get out of his hug lol

Panther:

bitch you're scaring me a little here

do you want me to fuck him or not?

"Tomori, I need help at table three...," Kanami's voice echoes from the counter, arriving in the kitchen and turning down the volume "There's a group of teenagers here and a young Gyaru here who eats like a freakin' pig... Sounds like my boyfriend, I swear…"

Tomori laughs loudly "Okay, Kanny, I'm gonna help you with Ohma's clone!," She calls over her shoulder before finishing typing her answer on the phone.

Wolfie:

go ahead, I said he's nice, and he is

it's just that I worry about how you'll feel, considering you just came out of a bad situationship

and he may not understand that at first

he's a nice guy but he's not the sharpest tool in the shed

Panther:

girl, don't rain on my parade 

let me have a taste first

I'm a pro, I'll fold him like a napkin, trust me

now bye, go find something else to do

And her icon went offline.

Tomori sets her phone aside and gets up from the table with a sigh. Well, her part was already done. Rihito was going to owe her a big one. She worries for a few seconds, wondering if that was a good idea. But she didn't fear so much for her friend. She feared more for her boyfriend's friend. He had no idea who he was messing with... but perhaps an experience with the fierce predator that was Agata Akane was what that dumbass needed.

…

"Wait, really, babe?," Okubo blinks, while they were returning home, after he sent the other three idiots away and picked her up from work. "You really convinced your friend to go on a date with him?"

"I did. Even I'm finding it hard to believe that it worked!," She widens her eyes at him, an arm around his waist while he rests his on her shoulders. "Do you remember that post I made on Instagram, a few months ago, with that photo we took that Saturday? The five of us, after we left the market."

"Yeah, I remember. And I also remember what happened a few weeks later. Rihito spent fuckin' forever talking non-stop, and on the second weekend we beat his ass because we were fed up. I even left him limping, so he got the message, hahahaha! But yeah, he even said this chick's name, Akane. He kept bothering Himuro to look at her profile and everything. That was the last straw, dipshit refuses to make a profile and wants to invade her DMs with other people's accounts. Can you believe it?"

"That's so mean, Naoh, hahaha!," She laughs loudly, resting the side of her head on his chest. "But yeah, he deserved it. Akane thought that his beef with Instagram was stupid, but she overlooked the rest. Lucky him," She shakes her head. "I swear to you, love, I only did it because he wouldn't stop bothering me. Every single day! All I had to do was sit down to have lunch with you guys and he would start talking his ass off! I was almost beating him myself, sorry about that."

"No, relax. I was actually hoping that next time you would bring your baseball bat because I’m fed up too. But the hardest part will fall on your friend's shoulders, you know, he could do something stupid and she would run away from him like the devil runs from a cross."

"Oh, you don’t have to worry about that…," She smiled at him, and that smile was sharp, almost dangerous. "Akane isn’t the type to run away like that. It's the others who run away from her. Rihito is going to be in for a real surprise, trust me."

"Hnmmm...," he didn't seemed very convinced. "Look Tomori, I don't know... I've seen Rihito go after lots of women, in all shapes and sizes, and... it's kinda sad, actually. He really doesn't know how to behave around women. I mean, he was even worse than me, he only behaved a little when we were all together and...," his eyes widened, and his face lit up. "I have an idea! Tomoh, how about a double date?"

"Huh?," She blinks at him, her mouth opening in surprise. "A double date? Like, you, me and the two of them?"

"Yeah! This way I can hold the idiot back. I mean... with us together, he'll hold his tongue and he won't feel obligated to impress her, you know? Not to mention that if you need to, you can take her to the bathroom and have a chat, then you can give me a hint as to whether everything's going well or not. I... I feel like I owe him this one,  y'know..."

"... Oh. You still feel indebted to him, don't you? For what he did after our disastrous first date...," That was now a distant memory that no longer affected her, so she could remember the humiliation of having to deal with a completely drunk Okubo in a public place without it upsetting her. "I understand. I think I would feel the same way. It was because of what he was willing to do that I concluded he was a nice guy after all."

"Yeah… so… do you think it'll work? And...," he pulls her closer to him, smiling mischievously. "I miss you, y'know... after we've both left, we can have some quality time for ourselves too. What do you say?"

She smiles sweetly at him, hugging him sideways, snuggling the side of her head against that broad chest that she loved to use as a pillow. "I was thinking the same. I miss you too... our last outings were to my parents' house, and there I can't cuddle with you the way I like, haha. So yes, it was a great idea!"

"See? From time to time I have some good ideas, I'm not that stupid…," he jokes, smiling at her.

"You're not stupid. You just have a simpler and more direct mentality, and a lot of good things can come out of that. Like now," She jokes too, taking his hand in hers and placing a small kiss on its back.

At that moment they arrive at his car. He opens the door for her, closes it when she gets in and walks around to get on the other side.

NEXT CHAPTER HERE

[nexusnyx]

ultraviolet | steddie x you imagine

PAIRING: Eddie Munson x F!Sinclair!Reader x Steve Harrington

WC: 7K

SUMMARY: A piece of garment leads Eddie to your room, then deeper into your life.

Consequently, Steve comes too. Although crazier things like the Upside Down happened, dealing with the two of them feels like an out of body experience.

OR; Eddie heard what you had to say about his clothing choices and ends up in your room. Then ends up taking you to one, two, several dates. That surprises him, but not as much as figuring out that you thought Steve Harrington liked him. And that you were okay with that. What world is he living in?

WARNING(s): Smut. Minors, DNI. I do not give permission for my work to be copied, uploaded, or distributed elsewhere.

A/N: Canon divergent from S4. I just sort of... shoved Reader in the middle of Hawkins somewhat and threw her in the Fruity Four. She's as fruity as them. Trust me.

☄️ PART TWO - PART THREE

Eddie shouldn't be at the Sinclair at this hour of the night, but curiosity was eating him alive.

His mind kept playing your words over and over again like a song stuck in his brain—after agonizing weeks of catching your gaze fixed on it, overhearing you tell your best friend "almost snatched that thing from his hand and set it on fire. why would he wave it at my face like that? stupid thing—i'm so glad he wears it sometimes. that shit drove me insane those first couple of weeks; you remember. thinkin' about if he knew all the damn time. i bet i look better than him in that thing. why does he have to look so good in it? ughhhh.... anyway, let's get out of here before one 'em asks for a ride. let's go."

The way Cassie laughed as you spoke, open and vibrantly, interjecting with 'I know, I know. God, you were embarrassing, girl. I bet you do! Why don't you ask him to wear it, huh?' , it got Eddie thinking that he wasn't so crazy after all.

He'd seen your eyes on his arms. Tattoos. Rings.

Lips.

He's seen the way something burns behind your eyes when you challenge him at the table—the way you leaned in before saying your next move—Eddie wanted to think he was going batshit crazy for these past couple of months because a) Sinclair was right fucking there, and he's trying not to be a dick and hit on his friend's sister but most importantly b) Eddie had a thing about you back in high school and wanting to admit that maybe just going forth and talking to you instead of watching from afar might've worked, and you two might have been friends if he hadn't just convinced himself everybody hated him.

So now here he was.

"What are you doing here?" the question is asked in a low tone at least, but the cadence in her voice doesn't lie.

"What are you doing here?" the question is asked in a low tone at least, but the cadence in her voice doesn't lie.

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck—"Milady," Eddie whispers, turning around to face a smug-looking thirteen-year-old. "What are you doing out of bed so late?" He asks Erica.

The youngest Sinclar tilts her hips, resting one hand on it with a face that could answer for itself. "I believe I asked you a question first," she smirks.

"That you did." Eddie straightens up. "I'm here... for a late-night visit."

"Is that so?"

"It is so." Eddie gives her a little bow. "Permission to enter?"

Erica scoffs at him, and drinks another sip of her juice before answering. "Just don't let Lucas see you." She starts walking back in direction of the stairs. "He's got the 'who are you and why are you talking to my sister' syndrome lately. It's pretty annoying." With one last look over her shoulder, Erica throws him a final smile. "The side of the garden's got a pretty good structure on the side and these stairs creak." A shrug of her shoulder. "Just thought you'd like to know."

Eddie watches Erica climbing up the stairs and avoiding a couple before the final steps and smiles to himself.

She must be a good sister for Lady Applejack to have her back like that, he thinks.

For a moment, Eddie stays a little frozen, wondering what the fuck he's doing here again. It's not the first or the twentieth time he overthinks this today, but after this afternoon, he kind of can't take it anymore.

The intense looks and teasing remarks had been bad.

Catching your look on his arms as you and his friends drank a beer had been enough to get his throat dry even as the drink went down.

Hearing that?

He sort of skip-runs to your room, making sure to miss the same steps Erica did and stepping as lightly as possible in his worn-out leather boots.

Stealth came to him when it mattered.

Eddie knows your door because he's been here a few times by now, both to hang with you as well as Lucas. He walks past his friend's room, purposely looking away. Past Erica's room, and stops in front of yours.

At the end of the corridor, he sees the space between the floor and the door in your parents' room is pitch black. His clock shines with the number 01:18. He knocks lightly.

"No thank you, Riri," comes your voice from inside, in a loud whisper. Eddie drinks in your voice. 

Eddie breathes in deep, closes his eyes, and opens the door, stepping inside and closing it behind him.

His throat's dry, but he manages a, "Not Erica," with his eyes still closed.

There's a heartbeat of silence where he just stands there waiting for your answer, and since Eddie can't breathe in the silence with you he asks, 

"Can I open my eyes?"

"You're here." That's... not an answer. "You can open your eyes," it comes out a little breathy, and he hears the nervousness in your chuckle.

When Eddie opens his eyes, he almost regrets his choice in time.

In location.

If he'd asked you to meet him at the arcade, this wouldn't be happening.

He swallows thickly and looks away from your frame sitting down on the floor with what like nothing but a worn-out dark grey Def Leppard shirt, surrounded by a bunch of magazines and journal things. "Sorry about the time," he looks around your room.

A lot of what he expected, but a lot of things he didn't.

"Uh... it's fine," you clear your throat and Eddie catches you getting up from the corner of his eye, and he's drawn back to you. "What's up?"

You have the cutest shorts on, and—fuck. Eddie snaps his eyes up, too distracted already because there's a lot more thigh than he expected on display and he had no idea what to do in the first place; came here all the way thinking about what the hell he'd say or even do, biking furiously just by the force of that feeling just crawling under his skin—

He sits on the far end of your bed, and looks up at you.

So damn pretty.

Eddie pats the bed, a smile slowly forming on his face.

Obediently, you sit, suddenly as quiet as him, with your eyes just searching every inch of his face.

Eddie's hand goes to his back where the handkerchief is tied in a knot to one of the straps in his jeans, and he releases the item in a couple of practiced movements.

Then, he awkwardly just... lays the thing on top of your bed, in the perfect distance of the middle space between your bodies.

It's wrinkly because it was in the washing machine after he wore it during practice, but at least it smells good and is clean like it always should be.

He looks up, and your body became stiff.

It's easy to see it in the shoulders and the set of your jaw.

"You said you bet you look better with it than I do, and I need to know now." He shrugs his shoulders, ignoring the way your eyes widen. "I bet you do too, but. Just making sure."

"You heard," you breathe out, cheeks burning. He can see it even in the low light of just your lamp.

"I heard.”

Another heartbeat of silence. Eddie wonders if he jumped the gun. Presumed the wrong thing. He’ll hate himself to the bones if that’s the case. If he lost—

"You came here. To my house. Right now, at... I don't know what time in the morning. To see if I... look better than you in your—bandana."

"Among other things, but—the main one is that, yeah." Why does she look even hotter when she's embarrassed? "I wanted to know what you were wondering that I may or may not know about it. If you really hate it when I wave it in your face or was that just euphemism." That one was really important. "'Cause if you really hate it I'll stop doing it—I know I can get overly excited running the table sometimes. Dustin still moans about the water gun thing, and while I like hyper-realism to hype you guys up, if it bothers or gets annoying you know I'll quit."

The courage to sit on your bed Eddie had no idea where it came from, but the rambling always got the best of him when he was with you.

With a lot of people—people he found close to, not judged by.

Unlike most people, you always hear everything he says. The first time he really spoke with you again after joining Hellfire, the day you stayed behind to help him clean up everything, Eddie laughed more that day than he had in a long time.

And he noticed you listened because, for the first time, someone answered all the questions he did, no matter how many topics he talked about at the same time;

"Alright," you say, smiling. You pick up the piece of fabric and wrap it around your head, securing it with a knot on the back, then drop your arms to your side. "I wanted to know if you knew this is—uh—more. Symbolic. To some people." The stiffness of saying those words is replaced by a carefree smile when you follow with: "And nah. It doesn't bother me. You just make me mad. That's all."

"Oh." Eddie's having a hard time processing all of it, though.

You look too good with his handkerchief. 

"So?" You ask.

It takes a moment, but he nods. "Yeah." So much better. He squirms in the bed a little, feeling the heat creeping on the back of his neck. He wants to be embarrassed by how quickly he's already feeling the flames licking up his inner thighs too, but it's you and—"Lots better," he adds.

Your smile is so soft and nervous that it makes him move.

Eddie inches closer to you on the bed, searching in your face for that fire he's familiar with by now. "You know..." you drive me crazy too. I felt a hurricane in my stomach when you stepped inside that garage. "You stare at my rings a lot."

With only a few palms separating your bodies, Eddie gets to see your blush from up closer.

"You wear a lot of them," you whisper back.

"It's fashion," he feels one corner of his mouth lifting, and his shoulders dropping further. How long had it been since he flirted so openly with someone? One of his hands goes to the back of his neck, trying to scratch away the prickly heat in there. His mouth is dry. Fuck it. "What about the bats and snake?"

The way your eyes flutter closed makes the bottom of his stomach squeeze.

"Yeah, I kinda fucked up that day, didn't I?" you chuckle to yourself, opening your eyes to look at him.

"Sinclair! You're gonna stare Munson's tattoos away."

"Shut up! She's not looking at his—oh my god, you are! Stop looking at Eddie's tattoos! Ew!"

"Stop screaming. This is a lake. He's got them... out. I'm not allowed to look? Shut up, Lulu."

"I will drown you."

"Come at me, stick boy."

"It feels nice to have them looked at," Eddie shrugs, feigning nonchalance. Inside, he can hear the sound of his heart beating in his ears. When you lick your lips, Eddie feels like the movement sinks a hook in his eyes and pulls. "Y/n."

"Yeah?"

Just ask. You could've been doing this for a long time. Stop wasting time. "I'm gonna kiss you. And then I'm gonna ask you on a date," he feels his voice is lower than it's ever been, but when you nod, Eddie knows he was heard at least. "Ok?" He asks, as if you hadn't just nodded.

His brain might need to hear it.

"Ok," you answer in the same second.

Right.

You're sitting on the left side while Eddie's on the right one, so he swings his legs over until he's mirroring you and closes the distance between your hips.

If this was daytime and his daylight-thoughts ran the wheel, Eddie might've done the romantic slow, step-by-step thing. Taken your face in his hands and sat there for moments just staring at you, drinking in your features and enjoying watching your eyes softly close before finally diving in slowly, taking a moment to appreciate how your lips came together.

Night-time Eddie has been running on half a pizza, two energy drinks and a beer—he has the sight of you in your pjs burned in the back of his eyelids, popping in neon frames every time he blinks.

He can smell your body that probably came out of the shower not long ago.

Feel your warmth.

Night-time Eddie also knows your features very well.

He grabs you with one hand on your face — his hand big enough to cover all of the ride side — and the other goes to your waist, gripping and pulling you closer.

He smashes your mouths together in a hard press of lips, but hearing the breathy moan you let out makes up for his lack of decorum.

Your lips are so soft he moves his immediately, wanting to feel more.

Eddie's kissing you. For a second, he can't believe what he's doing, what is happening.

He's kissing with and you're kissing back, tongue peaking to push for entrance as your body presses closer and closer until your chest is touching his, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck.

The hand on your face grabs your hair instead, and the way your move your tongue on his might be melting his brain.

Where did she learn to kiss? Fuck, that's good—His own grunts are swallowed by even more of your sinful tongue moving so languid, lazily, tasting every inch of him. You kiss him until there's no air left in your lungs and you have to pull back, but with one breath you dive right back in.

Eddie's not ashamed of the way he whimpers.

He's kissing you, and the hand on your waist travels on your lower back until his arm is wrapped around you. He can't believe he's here, but it's so good he can't care that his brain seems to be in overdrive.

It'd been a while since he's made out with someone who's wanted to kiss him like this, but on that trip it had been a sloppy, strangers-who-shared-looks desperate exchange of kisses in a suspicious bathroom.

Nothing had ever been like this.

There's nothing strange or casual about the way you two are kissing each other, and Eddie is overtaken by the desire to just tug on the fistful of hair he has.

Your whimper sounds better than his.

"Eddie."

Oh, fuck. "Fuck." He might be screwed. "Uhm." He swallows thickly, realizing just now how much his pants had become uncomfortable in the span of just a few minutes—just a bit of kissing. "This is the part where I ask you out."

Only inches apart from his face, Eddie can see your lips, redder than before, and they look edible when you bite on them. "No more kisses?"

Eddie whimpers again, eyebrows creasing. You laugh lightly. "That might not be the best idea."

"Why not?"

"Well. Number one—You're a really good kisser. Really good." Your smile widens, and Eddie is definitely screwed. "Number two..." gets lost.

You're leaning your face closer to his again and that eats the words right out of his throat.

This time, the press of lips is slow and sweet.

You pout your lips and touch them on his, closing his eyes involuntarily. Eddie likes how they feel, and forgets any reasons why he should stop.

Kissing you is a lot more fun than thinking, even if he can't believe it's happening.

And neither can you.

You can't believe you have Eddie Freaking Munson sitting in your bed, whimpering and groping your body like he's trying to memorize your measurements, and the thought is too much to stop you from doing what you do next.

You rise to your knees and one leg makes a swift motion over both of his until you straddle his lap, and his response is a hiss the moment your hips make contact with his, the answer why hard and obvious underneath you.

"Fuck. Fuck—" Eddie's hands hold onto your waist and grip tight, squeezing the flesh and keeping you in place with the strength. "Y/n," it's so whimpery and strained, which is just like him.

You hold his face in your hands, heart beating fast enough to crash through your ribs. "More kisses?" You phrase it as a question, trying to rid all thoughts and insecurities aside, pushing away anything that isn't trying to figure out how much of this hazy dream-like reality you can get.

Eddie noses along your jaw, kissing on your neck. "This..." on your jugular, with his tongue. "Is more..." under your earlobe, sucking some of the skin between his teeth. "Than me asking you out."

Your legs squeeze around his hips when he bites there, and your hips grind down despite his tight hold. "I know."

"You know?" so close to your ear, you can hear even the raspiness in his voice. "And want more kisses?"

"Yeah." You would demand them, as a matter of fact, if you knew he was into that, but Eddie putting his lips all over your skin takes away some of your ability to rationalize a whole question. "Please?"

To your luck, the answer to whether he's good at taking control or not is answered with the way he scoots both of your bodies further up on the bed, laying down his body and pulling you by the nape to lay on top of him as he gives you one more kiss.

The position is comfortable, but practical.

Even as you kiss him, it's easy to quickly realize what he's done by lying down and allowing you to stay on top of him: Eddie's given you the control to dictate how far this goes.

His hips stay still on the bed, and his tongue moves in filthy drags inside your mouth while his hand massages your scalp, and the other gets under your shirt, caressing all the skin on your back.

It's easy to see that unless you do something, Eddie's trying to be respectful.

Dreading that he might misinterpret this, you pull back abruptly from the kiss to say, "I'll say yes, by the way."

"Huh?"

You laugh. "When you ask me out." If this isn't a dream. "I'll say yes."

Realization dawns on his lustful eyes, and he nods. "Oh." A smile splits his face open. "Okay."

"Okay," you giggle. This time when you kiss him, you let your body do as it pleases.

It feels surreal to have his hands on you, but it feels even better when you let out your sighs and moans in his mouth and Eddie squeezes harder. When you grind your hips down on his, there's an intake of breath underneath you, and he pulls you back by your hair; he was hard before, but he's rock hard now, and there's nothing to hide how hot you are between your legs.

Eddie takes your grinding as permission, his hands slipping down further in your body until they're both cupping your ass, groping the skin and guiding your hips to do the motion again.

Both of you moan in each other's mouths, but it's him who smirks at you and goes, "Shhh."

"Don't shush me," you whimper. It'd been ages since you heard you voice come out this bratty.

Eddie enjoys it. He laughs in your mouth, kisses you shortly before using his body strength to flip you on your back, and then switches to be the one on top of you now. "I don't think you want us to be interrupted," he reasons.

His mouth starts dropping kisses on your face, and travels down to your neck slowly, leaving marks where his tongue sucked and leaving goosebumps where he nips on the skin.

The soft and breathy 'ah's that leave your mouth are not you trying to be blatantly disobedient—he's just so good with his mouth.

His hand underneath your shirt goes up until it finds one of your breasts and when he moans on your neck at getting his hand full of you, your legs come up to wrap around his waist a bit desperately.

The jeans hurt you, though.

When you seek friction against him again, desperate to release some of the tension building up inside you, the metal loops, belt and jeans prove not to be as comfortable as his pillowy lips, but Eddie's quick.

He realizes your next whimper is one of pain and not one of pleasure and pulls back, looking between your bodies.

"It's hurting you, right?" He asks.

You nod, panting. Part of you refuses the idea of letting your arms down and untangling your fingers from his hair — which is as soft as you imagined — but the other part wants... more.

And it wins.

Eddie gulps, still looking at how your bodies are joined, but when you say, "You can take it off," in a whisper, his gaze snaps to you.

He stares for a moment, smiling and breathing as hard as you are.

After adjusting his body more comfortably on top of yours and caging your head between his forearms, Eddie leans in for another kiss. "Should I, though?" He asks, kissing you again, running his nose on yours. "I..." He exhales sharply, lips pressing more roughly on yours. "Really don't wanna do this the wrong way."

The sentiment is beautiful. Truly, it is.

"Eddie." The thing is—wanting him is not new. "I've had a crush on you since sophomore year when you told me my ridiculous attempt of razor cutting my own hair looked 'metal. really. looks badass' and then just... walked away," you laugh, more at his wide and impressed eyes than at confessing to your stupid crush. "And now you're here. And you kinda asked me out. And you feel too good."

The last part comes off in a whine, with your body squirming underneath him.

Your point is proven when all the parts that connect you both can feel the heat shared between you both.

"If you wanna stop, we should stop now, but..." I don't want to.

"You're gonna kill me," Eddie whispers, mouth ghosting yours. "Dunno if I already died or this is some last-blink kinda dream, but fuck."

You laugh.

He grabs you by the waist and pushes you further up on the bed until your head is nearing the headboard, and the whole thing squeaks with the weight of you two on it.

Fucking old furniture.

Both of you stop at the same time, freezing with the sound, and taking note of how loud this would get if any more making out were to be done on this bed.

"Not gonna happen, right?" He asks.

"Uh—"

"Hold on." He looks down to both sides of your bed, then gets up, leaving you cold and making grabby hands at him. He smiles widely when he sees them, chuckling at himself. "Just a sec, sweetheart." Eddie grabs all three pillows on your bed and throws them on the right side of the bed where your fluffy rug is, then starts undoing his pants. With his eyes fixed on every inch of your legs, he whispers. "Get down there."

Your mouth dries at the sight of him taking off his pants, then it waters when his pale legs come in sight. The black briefs, strained by his cock, it makes your mouth water.

You get up, then get down on the floor just like he asked, removing your shirt in the process.

Eddie's mouth is gaping wide when you look up at him again.

"Fuck." He looks just like you must—in disbelief, and too turned on for many words. He makes quick work of his shirt too, but before he kneels in front of you, Eddie reaches on top of the bed and—

"What are you doing?" you ask when he places the handkerchief next to both of you on the floor.

He crawls on his knees until he's facing you, then organizes the pillows: one against the wall, and two next to you both. "Nothing," his smug smile makes you even wetter. It's ridiculous that you can feel more slick gushing out of you when he pulls you to his arms, guiding your legs to each side of his waist. "Just... precaution," he adds, lying you down on the pillows.

"Against wha—ah, oh, fuck," your words are eaten, then moaned. With nothing but your underwear on, when Eddie grinds his hips up and you feel the outline of his dick pressing between your wet folds, it feels heavenly.

He chuckles, right on your ear. Sucks your earlobe with his teeth. "Against that," his own moan is muffled by his lips biting and sucking on your neck again. There'll be marks tomorrow. "You gotta keep quiet, sweetheart."

"I can't," you cry. Feels too good. Your hips now make circular motions down, seeking the friction that his clothed cock provides shamelessly, and you hold onto his neck and hair for dear life because Eddie's not big, but he's thick, he's so thick it's making your head feel a bit foggy and your pussy to feel like a waterfall. "Eddie."

"I'll gag you if you can't," he says simply. "And I really don't wanna gag you. You got any idea how you sound saying my name?" With his voice dripping in lust and a few octaves lower, hearing him whisper like this in your ear is not helping. "I'm never gonna get a shut-eye ever again. My head's just gonna keep playing this."

Since he likes it so much, you do it again. "Eddie."

He pulls back from your neck to crash your mouths together, and this time, nothing can stop either one of you.

Eddie kisses you holding your legs wrapped around him, gripping your face with his hand, running them all over your body and squeezing the parts he seems to be enjoying the most.

It makes you feel a bit like a slut to be so open, yielding and mellow under his touch, but you're unsure it could be any different.

It's clear that Eddie's as desperate as you are—he sometimes holds your head in place just so he can grind harder between your legs, and his groans might be muffled by your mouth, but the desperation on your bodies moving together is quite loud.

When he eventually pulls back, Eddie grabs a handful of one of your tits and you're ruined to anyone else: the sight of him with his mouth gaping, leaning down to suck on your tit like his life depends on it—you bite on your bottom lip so hard that you taste blood.

His hair looks a mess. With open eyes, you can see his long, messy curls all over the place, and with you two lying right under the lamp, you can see the red on his cheeks and his chest, too, when he gets up again.

Eddie goes from one boob to another, sucking on the nipple, then nibbling on it, while his hips move in short thrusting motions.

It's not enough.

"E-Eddie," you whisper.

"Hm?" He's a bit busy now groping your ass and having a mouthful of your tits, but you still manage to answer.

"The rest. Take—oh—take it off. Please?"

That gets him to stop what he's doing to look up. "Right." He's the most beautiful mess you've ever seen. "Uhm. Where do you keep condoms?”

You shake your head at him. "I'm on the pill."

Eddie raises both eyebrows, licks and bites on his bottom lip and then comes up until your faces are on the same level again. "If I could smack your ass right now, I would."

You whimper, and squeeze your legs harder around him.

"Why would I be spanking you now if I could, hm?" He asks, grinding his dick right on top of where your clit is, just because he's mean. "Answer me. Where's the smartypants I know and adore? A few kisses and she's gone dumb already?"

"Fuck." If you keep talking like that, there won't be a braincell left. "Eddie."

"C'mon, sweetheart," he licks your lips and grinds down slower. "You know the answer."

Fucking hell. You're gonna kill him when you have the chance. "I—I don't know—"

"Yeah, you do." One of Eddie's hands reaches to the side and comes back with the black fabric in its grip. "Use that smart brain."

The voice of your friend Mina who introduced you to all things that lead to your own black handkerchief which sits somewhere in your closet comes from somewhere in the back of your mind, saying, "Wrap up to save a life?" you tell him, and Eddie laughs, his mouth inches away from yours.

"Good girl," he kisses you.

Eddie's chastising you for wanting to fuck without a condom because, and he's right about that, doing so would be wildly stupid.

"I've never—I always do," you tell him, not wanting him to think you go around letting anybody inside you raw. "I swear. It's just—I know you."

Eddie sees in your face why you're explaining yourself, and one of his hands cups your cheeks. "I know," he nods. "And I'll go to the doctor's tomorrow, take all my tests and bring them on a red bow on our date. Pinky promise. I just—I need you to know I've been safe, too."

You nod vehemently, suddenly drowning in what the hell this man is. You want to reach inside him and press every single button that makes him tick. Want to make him smile like he is right now every day and night if he'll let you.

"I'll do it too," you whisper. Right. Where do I keep condoms? You reach your left hand to pat your bedside table. "Here."

Eddie looks at it and gets up on his knees to open the drawers, to you take advantage of that to try and get your panties off, but still being sat between your legs, he catches the motion and looks back at you, slapping your hand away. "Ah. My job." He goes back to his search and you lay there with your panties as ruined as the rest of you, and watch as he retrieves a condom from the drawer at last with an, "Ha ha!"

He puts it down on the floor beside the handkerchief. There's a heartbeat of silence and still where you two just look at each other, and it dawns on you.

He's nervous, too.

Eddie visibly swallows before reaching down to remove his briefs, and you can see under the yellow dim-light that his blush spreads further on his chest.

He kicks off the briefs somewhere else, not bothering to look up at you and see your reaction.

Instead, he reaches to your panties, seeming much more interested in watching them come down.

Eddie pulls them down your legs slowly, and when your legs part just enough for him to get a glimpse of your core, his jaw drops again.

You can only imagine how much you must be glistening. Shining and dripping. Desperate for his touch.

Just like him, though, you can't bring yourself to look away—from him.

You were right about his length—Eddie's average-sized, but he's thicker than both partners you've had in life. It makes your mouth truly water.

He grabs the condom again, opens it and rolls it on his length, but then you think—"Wait," you say before he moves to lie on top of you again.

Eddie stills, looking up at you. "What?" The request sits under very slutty truths, and he must sense your hesitation because his features soften again and he covers your body with his. "Gone quiet on me now?" He's teasing you because the bastard knows it works. "You can ask me anything."

"Wanna feel you deeper," you whisper, and it's your mouth's turn to open wide.

One of Eddie's hands is cupping your face but the other—that one has founds its way between your legs, and Eddie's palming your entrance with all of his fingers and the heel of his palm, getting all of your slick all over his hand.

"Fucking hell," he mutters, lips ghosting over yours again. "You're so wet, sweetheart."

With his hand moving in slow circles against your cunt, you can feel the wetness amplifying again. "Eddie."

"Fuck, there it is—say it again." He punctuates the request by slipping a finger inside of you, and your next whimper is definitely too loud for blanket of silence that's draped over this hour of the night. "Sweetheart, I'm gonna have to gag you," he seems almost sad about it.

He's also right.

You nod, whimpering and hiding your face on the crook of his neck while he works now two fingers inside of you, and you know you're fucked in more than one way.

You can feel the edge of his cool metal rings brushing against your entrance when his fingers get close to the knuckles, and you want to scream for him to fuck you with his hand.

"Turn around," he says, taking his fingers out of you.

He takes his wet hand and licks one finger inside his mouth, closing his eyes in appreciation, but then uses the rest of the wetness shining all over his palm to pump his cock.

You turn around, head swimming now in gratitude that he'll stop you from traumatizing anyone in the house.

Sitting on your knees, you crawl until you're close to the wall. Eddie does the same until his body is pressed against yours again, his torso gluing to your sweaty back.

The handkerchief pops in your field of vision, held by both of his hands.

You open your mouth, and Eddie's face is hovering over your right shoulder, watching the whole thing. "Good girl," he mutters, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.

The handkerchief smells good.

He makes sure you can adjust it before tying it in a knot at the back. Then his right-hand grips you by the chin, looking at you as if he's admiring a piece of work.

"Good?" He asks you.

With a nod, you feel your mind slipping further and further, falling entirely in the care of his hands.

Eddie sits on the heel of his foot and you feel his arm reaching to guide himself to your entrance. His right-hand slides down your arm until it catches yours in his, and he intertwines your fingers together.

With his lips brushing your ear, he says. "If you need me to stop, squeeze twice," he squeezes your hand two times to demonstrate, then places your joined fists against the wall.

Then, Eddie starts teasing you.

He slides his cock between your folds, wetting himself in the process. Your pussy is clenching around nothing, wanting more, and he can tell.

There's a kiss under your ear before he asks, "You wanted me fucking you raw just so I could fill you up, right sweetheart?"

And... thank god for gags.

Your head drops, and your hips push back against him, desperate.

"I know, I know," he coos on your ear, teasing the head now against your clit. The position is favorable for anything, and the torture almost makes you regret asking to feel him deeper. "I'll give it to you one day, 'kay?"

You nod, desperately.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart, you're dripping," he whines. 

Eddie's such a whiner, and it got to you before, but it'll absolutely make a mess out of you now every time you hear it.

Then, the head is pressing upwards right against your cunt, and Eddie sucks hard right under your ear before whispering, "C'mon, baby. Let me in."

Your moan is muffled by the gag, but you still register the desperation behind it.

He slips in slowly. It would be torture if it didn't feel so fucking good.

Eddie's so thick that he needs a few tries before he's fully seated in, bottomed out. He does so in shallow, slow thrusts until your ass is sitting flushed against his hips and every inch of him is inside of you.

That's when he lets go of his cock and puts that arm around your waist.

"There you go," he praises, kissing along your neck. "God, you feel so good."

He starts moving slowly at first.

Eddie goes as slow as he wants, and it takes you a moment to calm down your desperate need for everything before you can enjoy it.

He starts whispering sweet nothings on your neck, kissing and marking it all the way up until you're sedated on his movements and every other thought is vacant from your brain.

Once the fire in your body has been tamed, you manage to start moving your hips in the same motion as him, and feeling him grunt because of your hips matching his thrusts is all you could've wanted.

The way he keeps kissing you would be more than enough to make you cum. The whispers of, "doing so good, sweetheart, you like how I feel inside you?' and the way he sighs so happily when you manage to nod or shake your head as an answer to his questions guarantees that you'll be having dreams about his voice in the near future, night after night.

Your hands, intertwined and pressed against the wall, feel as sweaty and as hot as the rest of you, but you catch Eddie looking at them from time to time.

You wonder if he's checking on you. If he's just lost in the sight of you two joined in more than one way.

When he feels your whimpers growing closer together, Eddie makes sure to look you in the eye when asking, "Want more?"

Your eyes roll back at the question, and you hear him laughing. Like this is funny somehow.

It must be. Eddie keeps whispering, "can't believe this—you're too perfect—too fucking perfect; must be a fucking dream," so you can imagine how amusing it all is.

He gives you more.

Eddie, bless his cotton socks, seems more aware of the sounds you two are making than you possibly could be, and he tells you as much. "Can't fuck you too hard or too fast, sweetheart. Wish I could. Wish I could hear how pretty you scream, but this—fuck—it'll do. Right? Does that feel good?"

His hips go from slow, and deep thrusts, to short, hard, and deep. 

Angled.

He's right, of course—if he fucked you into oblivion like both of you wanted to, the sounds would be more than telling even if you're gagged to keep your moans and screams at bay, but like this, you can feel him buried deep inside you, and Eddie knows he's found your spot when you squeal behind the gag and squeeze his hand, arching your back to him.

"That's it." He continues at that pace, coming up as close as he can be, gluing your bodies together while his hips fuck you like a bunny. "Fuck." He sounds so good. Wanna hear you scream too, Eddie. "Fuck, you're squeezing—you close, sweetheart? Hm?"

You nod.

The fire pooling at the pit of your stomach amplifies with each sharp thrust, and you bounce back against him, meeting him every time.

His whines are getting closer together, too.

A tiny part of you wanted to be eye to eye with him for this, to see the expression on his face perfectly as he comes undone, but it's too late for that now, and there'll be other times.

There'll be more times is the thought that pushes you over the edge. That, and the filth he keeps dropping on you, branding those words in your brain.

Eddie's grunting, his face buried in your neck now, and you can hear his, "c'mon sweetheart, let it go for me—I can feel you—fuck—I can feel you squeezing, let go for Eddie; cum for me, sweetheart, I'll fill you up next time—"

He stops talking when he feels you cumming undone, and you hear his short, breathy moans as he pistons his hips inside you in erratic motions before he stills too, and you feel his cock twitching inside of you.

You must be dreaming.

It would explain how and why Eddie Munson is running his nose on the crook of your neck, talking to himself.

It'd also explain why he's asking you if you're okay, and why the pressure in your mouth disappears when his hand goes to your hair.

"Sweetheart?" In heaven. "Oh." You hear him chuckling behind you, and pulling out despite the whines that meant 'I want you to stay in me'. "C'mere. Gonna put your clothes back on."

You're lost in the headspace that feels fuzzy and warm, but you still get to enjoy the process.

Eddie puts on his briefs, tosses the condom on your trash can and after wiping some of the sweat from your body with his t-shirt, he dresses you again in your sleeping clothes.

It's only when you're dressed and he's hovering over you, caressing your face with the fingers that were inside you not long ago, that you notice him looking between you and the window.

"No," you pout.

"Hm?"

"Stay," you whisper to him.

Eddie's smile is so pretty. "Okay," he nods. "We should get on the bed, though."

"Lock the door." The last thing you need is your mother opening it first thing in the morning and catching this metalhead sleeping with you.

Eddie locks the door and slips under the covers with you, his clothes still forgotten all over your floor.

If you're dreaming or not, you'll discover when daylight comes.

Either way, it was the best you ever had.

🔔 nyxredwild for updates | ko-fi ♥

[dotieeee]

The Dream That Got Away

Chapter 9

Pairing: Dark!Morpheus x You (no Y/N!)

This is a multi-chapter fic — Weekly updates (either Saturday or Sunday) because I found a rhythm of sorts lol

(The entire fic has been outlined, so I will see this to the end, you have my word)

**********************************************************

Link to the Masterlist

Overall Warnings!! Take heed:

Morpheus is DARK – in canon, he changes for the better (or at least, tries to – but we don’t do canon lol, so he goes even more batshit crazy) cue obsession, manipulation, possessiveness, powerplay

18+ ONLY – explicit scenes will be present, some explicit language

DUB-CON and NON-CON scenes

Character death (sort of)

Creator vs Creation drama

And other dark stuff that may be added in the future

This chapter’s warnings:

non-consensual kissing and touching

touch-starved Morpheus should be a warning of its own

mentions of gore

mentions of drug abuse

You have been warned!! Proceed with caution!!!

Link to the previous chapter

Chapter 9: Courtships with Deadlines

5 Days Until Deadline

You drape a thick, velvet blanket over your shoulders before you go out to the balcony and watch the night give birth to one of the most beautiful sunrises any creature could ever see in their lifetime.

But something has changed: not the beauty of the sunset, but the way you feel about it. You had for so many times looked at it with wonder in your eyes. Now, all it reminds you of is another day in the Kingdom with him: the all-powerful being who had woven your strings of fate and tied it with himself, not caring whether he suffocated you in the process. After he left the room, you never got a wink of sleep; you never even dared close your eyes, fearing he might suddenly pop into your room and force you once more into a vulnerable position. Not wanting to remember your master’s visit last night, you rub your face with your hands to force these thoughts away, suddenly wanting a cup or two of steaming hot coffee with loads of milk dumped in them.

Your mind wanders to the Sleep Doctor you had left in his dreams after a quick, impulsive kiss. Despite liking to take a lot of naps, he actually is an early riser, as you had discovered in your short time in the Waking with him. By now, he should be having the same milky cup of coffee, scrolling through the daily science bulletin on his iPad and muttering to himself as he read the articles, while his favorite cinnamon buns you had popped in the oven happily baked away.

You don’t want to admit it, but you sorely miss Ollie and his cheerful demeanor.

The sun has fully risen in the realm when Morwyn knocks on your door, bringing you a tray of breakfast consisting of your favorite pastries and coffee, prepared just the way you like it. You’re not particularly hungry, but after spotting a cinnamon roll, you contentedly dig in, wondering if Ollie had the same. You share the rest of the generous fare with her and use the opportunity to catch up with her after all these years. When the meal is over, she draws you a bath, then excuses herself, mumbling about preparing your outfit to “his liking.” You ignore the last thing she said, focusing instead on the sea of bubbles that relaxed every tense muscle in your body, savoring every time you have without the Dream Lord hounding your time and attention. Once you’ve dried yourself, you step out of the bathroom in a silken robe, thinking of donning your usual dress. To your surprise and consternation, you find Morwyn in the middle of admiring a blood-red, long-sleeved gown of the finest silk satin, decorated with tiny chunks of ruby around the waist. It’s a dress worthy of a princess.

Except you’re no princess.

“Morwyn, please tell me I’m not wearing that,” You say as you walk to the closet and yank the doors open, expecting to find the clothes you had seen the other day and hoping you get to choose the simplest garb you could find – the closet is empty.

Great. You can’t even choose your own clothes, now.

Unconsciously, you take a leaf after Ollie’s book and rub the back of your head.

“M’lady,” Morwyn calls, her voice slightly trembling, “The Dream King had instructed me to empty your closet and give you this,” she says holding the luxurious dress out. “He says he’d like to see you in it when you meet him later.”

Releasing a defeated sigh, you nod quietly at her and put it on, letting her fasten the ribbon at the back in front of the mirror. The dress feels stifling, and not just because it hugged every curve on your body.

Morwyn gives you a wide, encouraging smile, complimenting, “You look beautiful, m’lady.”

You look just as he intended, you tell yourself. You try to return the smile, hoping it didn’t come out as a constipated grimace.

“Thank you, Morwyn. Has Matthew come around, yet?” The Dream Lord’s words last night were anything but comforting, but he mentioned having his raven come to tell you when it’s time. But for what, exactly?

“Not yet, m’lady. Are you…okay? You look a little pale,” says Morwyn worriedly with her hand on her chin. “If you’d like, I can apply some rouge on your cheeks, doll you up even more?” she innocently suggests, muttering something about “a date” and “looking pretty for the King.”

You shake your head adamantly at the suggestion. No, you don’t want that spurring him on. Wanting to be alone, you say your ‘thank you’ to her and bid her farewell before proceeding to the uppermost part of the palace where your master had said he’ll meet you, hoping for at least a few moments of peace by yourself watching the view from up above.

Thankfully, the balcony is void of the Endless the moment you arrive, giving you time alone to admire the Dreaming Realm in a panoramic view you have never seen before. Your eyes can spot endless, unfamiliar territory and islands you’ve never been in from miles and miles away. Down below you could see the town square, busy as ever, with its tiny residents going about their morning tasks; everything in the Dreaming, right before your eyes – and all you could think of is Ollie.

Due to the events that followed your return, you had not had the opportunity to visit him in his dreams since you left. Your Dream Lord had just complicated things further by forbidding you to step out of his kingdom, making it even more difficult to sneak out and check Ollie's progress. How is he doing, you wonder? Is he sleeping too much due to his eagerness to find you a safe sanctuary away from your master? While you selfishly want him to continue doing so until he finds a solution, you don't want to keep him away from the Waking and living his own life - after all, he has his own dreams to fulfill, and you wouldn’t want to inconvenience him any further.

You need to help him find a way to free you so he can get his own life back, and you need to move faster.

With that in mind, you make a mental promise to visit his dreams as soon as the Dream King has gone away to attend to his duties.

A loud caw, followed by a shout of 'Lady Mera,' interrupts you from your musings. Matthew, the new raven, lands on the balcony railing, flapping his wings before tucking them in.

"I wish you'd stop calling me that," you chide him with a pout.

"I can't, you know how the boss is. He's a stickler to his rules," Matthew replies with a tilt of his head.

"Maybe you can drop the fancy title when he's not around, at least?" you suggest with an innocent smile, patting his head several times.

Leaning into your petting, he acquiesces, "Oh, alright. I never thought I'd enjoy being pet as a bird, you know. Why are you early, by the way? I was supposed to come get you as soon as he says so. Eager for the date, much?"

"This isn't a date," you're quick to correct him with a flat tone.

"Uh, it kind of is? I told him yesterday he needed to spend more time with you so he doesn't uh, intimidate you."

Might be too late for that, you note inwardly.

"You shouldn't have," you find yourself commenting with some truth behind your jesting tone, which earns a nervous chuckle from the raven.

"No, but, seriously though, aren't you and the boss, uh...a thing? You see, I've been meaning to ask, but he's mum about, you know,” he starts, obvious in his tone he’s hesitant to approach the matter. “Except he did tell me you’re his consort. Are you and him –”

“No,” you sharply reply, not liking his line of questioning. “Not yet, anyway,” you mumble.

“Ah, so that’s what the date is for, then,” he says, nodding to himself. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Yeah, sure. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Do you… like it? Him, I mean?”

You bite your lip, not expecting Matthew’s question – for him, it was a telling gesture. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. How come you don’t tell him?”

Chuckling humourlessly at his question, you answer, “We’re talking about your boss, here, Matthew. To him, any dissent warrants either an unmaking, a banishment, or a lifetime of nightmares: you take your pick.”

“Tell me about it! Did you know, he had an ex that he sent to – uh-oh .”

‘What is it?” you ask, recognizing the slight alarm in his tone.

“He’s calling for me, I think. I have to go. See you, my La – I mean, Mera!”

Before you could say your farewell, Matthew goes flying off into the horizon and dips below into one of the palace rooms and out of your line of sight. Just as he disappears, your hairs stand on end and a cold feeling washes over you like icy water being dumped over your head.

He’s here, the Voice warns.

From behind you, arms snake up and wrap around your waist, pulling you closer until your back hits a taut chest. Your entire body goes rigid and your breathing turns shallow as you feel a warm breath tickle your earlobe, followed by a whisper:

“You’re early, my dream.”

“I just wanted to admire the view –” your sentence is cut off with your breath hitching; your Dream Lord just dragged his nose down the side of your neck before planting a heated, wet kiss at the base – his lips linger, then suckles on the skin, holding you tighter to himself to keep you from struggling. From your ruby-bedazzled waist, he drags his left hand slowly upwards across your chest, grasping your throat gently and angling your head so his mouth could get better access to the base of your throat, intent on leaving small, angry welts. You close your eyes with a whimper to endure this, repeating Ollie’s name over and over in your head.

“And yet these views are no match to what you offer me in this dress. You are a sight to behold.”

The low rumble of his voice makes you close your eyes tighter, biting your lip to prevent yourself from making any more noise that could excite him further. He seems undeterred by your silence – he spins you around, and, pushing you against the balcony railing, he captures your mouth with his in a fiery lip lock. His hand nestles on the small of your back, while the other grips the back of your neck as his insistent tongue pries your lips apart and tastes your hot cavern. You had tried your best to hold it all in, but treacherous tears escape the corner of your eyes. Your master seems to feel this, for he surprisingly lightens the kiss, his lips stilling over your swollen ones. You turn your head away to will the tears away, afraid that he might see this as another sign of your defiance.

Instead, he plants a gentle kiss on your temple, before saying softly,  “I admit my past courtship of you was hurried and rough. I worry that I may have pushed you further away in my haste. I should like to court you once more. This time, I will endeavor to be more patient and earn your affections.”

He kisses your exposed cheek. Sniffling, you open your eyes, but your head remains turned away from his, refusing to meet his gaze. You feel him pull his head away in your silence.

“Will you not look me in the eyes, little dream? Do you fear me?”  he asks with a slight edge to his voice, rubbing his thumb back and forth on the skin beneath your ear in an attempt to comfort you.

Is that remorse you detect? It couldn’t be, you remark, but you couldn’t help but meet his blue eyes to try to gauge what he’s truly feeling. Not wanting to give him a reason to further punish you, you say, “My apologies, my Lord, I am just coming to terms still, with…with what you’re asking of me.”

Yet, his darkened gaze tells you that what you just said to try and placate him was a huge mistake.

“What I’m ‘asking?’”  he narrows his eyes on you, his voice laced with impatience. “ I’m afraid I’m not ‘asking’ this of you, my Mera. This is the function to which I, your King, have assigned you. This courtship is for your sake alone, that you may grow accustomed to it. We will be united. I will give you five days, after which, we will consummate our bond.”

His final sentence sparks terror in the pit of your stomach. He’s giving you a deadline. Stifling the urge to retch, you swallow thickly before you try to beg, “Sir, I –”

“Enough. I will not have my will questioned,”  he interrupts you as he tightens his grip on the back of your neck.  “You will be here, in the palace, at all times. You will await my call and come to me when I summon you. I do not mean to be harsh, my dream, but time is of the essence – I was cruelly robbed of mine with you, after all. I shall amend that once I have dealt with the damage left by the Vortex. Is that understood?”

“My Lord, please –”

“Is. That. Understood?”  he repeats his question through gritted teeth, clearly unwilling to listen to any more of your pleas.

You look into his hardened, now-silver eyes, attempting to look for any trace of empathy at the situation he’s forcing you into. There isn’t any.  Wanting to end your argument so you could be relieved from his presence, you respond with a whisper, “Yes, my Lord.”

Your creator releases a hum of satisfaction as he places a lingering kiss on your cheek, before praising,  “That’s a good dream.”

You feel immense relief the moment he lets you go and steps away. You expect him to vanish with a swirl of his sand, but he lingers, standing a few feet before you with his hands behind his back.

“I will call you for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

You could only nod quietly. He takes a small amount of sand from his pouch, presumably to leave, but a sudden question crosses your mind inspired by his previous words. “My Lord, the Vortex…is she…?” you blurt out, slightly hesitating.

“Dead? Yes.”

You bow your head, not knowing how to process the fact. Rose Walker seemed so young and she had so many dreams she wanted to fulfill that you felt them, despite your fleeting interaction with her. You feel your heart clench at the thought of her life being cut short.

“Do not grieve of Unity Kincaid, my dream. Hers is a noble yet necessary sacrifice for the sake of the Dreaming, and of her great-granddaughter, Rose.”

“Unity?” you ask, confused. Wasn’t Rose the Vortex? “Rose is alive?”

Shut up, shut up, NOW, comes the Voice’s sudden warning.

“Yes, she is. You know of her?”  He asks, stepping forward, suspicion marring his dark features.

You shake your head, realizing your error; if he finds out you had met with her, he’ll discover your little tryst in the Waking, and if he does, he’ll surely uncover the connection which led to it. That was a stupid, stupid thing to say, you inwardly scold yourself.

“I heard from Lucienne, sir,” you say, mentally crossing your fingers that he doesn’t press any further.

Putting on a blank expression, the Dream King purses his lips, as he releases the sand in his palm.

“I will call for you tomorrow. Do not be late.”

As soon as his form is engulfed in his sand and he vanishes, you make a wild run for the Library. Hidden in one, or two, of those books, are incriminating passages that detail your meeting, and subsequent stay with Ollie, and once the Dream King sees those pages, you could definitely say goodbye to your plans of staying in Ollie’s dreams for good. If he even so much as gets a whiff of your affections of anyone else besides him, there’s no telling what he won’t do to you, and more importantly, to Ollie.

You push the heavy doors to the library quietly to avoid drawing attention to yourself. As noiselessly as you can, you dash through the shelves, skimming through the books in a mad rush. To your alarm, there was no ‘Oliver Chapman,’ not in the ‘O’ or even in the ‘C’ wings. Cursing mentally, you wonder: has Lucienne read them? Worse, has your Dream Lord gotten ahold of them? Are they hiding it from you, knowing you’d try to tamper with them? Letting out a huff of frustration, you sit on the floor, wondering where else they may have kept Ollie’s books of dreams.

The office, whispers the Voice.

Of course. The Dream Lord has an office in the Library, separate from the rest of the space. Not that he needed it, of course; he just usually asks for books to be brought to his throne room where he normally reads them. But why would the books be kept there?

You try to strain your ears for any signs of Lucienne; thankfully, it looks as if she’s out on an errand, so you sprint in the direction of the Dream Lord’s office.

Located at the farthest end of the Library, you’re panting heavily by the time you get there. You push your ear against the doorframe to listen for any sign of life inside. When you hear nothing, you turn the doorknob and push.

Locked.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. There is only one person – or being, for that matter – that has the key, save for the Dream Lord and his Royal Librarian.

You run out of the Library in search of the said being. You find him tending to your favorite garden in the palace grounds, his hands deep in the dirt, planting more of those accursed red flowers – Mervyn the Pumpkinhead.

The keys, attached to his toolbelt, lie discarded beside him, along with his other gardening tools. You know full well you couldn’t just walk up to him and ask for a key to the boss’s office in the library – or is it that easy?

You don’t really have the luxury of planning an elaborate heist for his set of keys, so it’s now or never. Steeling your resolve, you walk up to where Merv is, opting for a much simpler plan.

“Hello, Merv!” you call as you approach.

He stops digging into the flowerbed and turns to you, giving a mock salute. “Hello, kid! What can I help ya with?”

“I’m looking for Morwyn. Have you seen her?” you ask, hoping to put up a convincing act.

He scratches his pumpkin head and replies, “No, I haven’t. Whatcha need her for?”

“I kind of locked myself out of my room, and I need to get something from there,” you say sheepishly, rubbing the back of your head to make it look believable.

“Uh, I have the key in there somewhere, but I’m in the middle o’ something, see? Why don’t you take ‘em keys instead? It’s the gold one with the tiny ruby at the bow.”

Bingo.

“Really, are you sure?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waves you off, continuing his digging on the flowerbed.

 You grab the keys and take off as Merv calls out from behind you, “Give ‘em back, ya hear?”

“Sure thing!”

It takes you a few good minutes to find the key that fit the doorknob. Once you do, you wildly look around you to make sure you weren’t being watched, before you turn the knob and push the door open.

No one has been in the office for quite some time if the dust on the desk in the middle is anything to go about. The room is larger than you expected, and the natural light streaming through the stained glass windows illuminates the numerous towering shelves of books untouched for many years. Wanting to waste no time, you skim through the many bookshelves. They’re thankfully arranged in alphabetical order, so you find an entire shelf dedicated to the name ‘Chapman’ in no time, with Ollie’s name placed at the farthest end.

Curiously, you pick up the book a few places before Ollie’s name first, and with it, you make a startling discovery: the books of dreams on the shelf not only belonged to random ‘Chapmans,’ but to the males in Ollie’s entire lineage. You just picked the book of dreams belonging to Ollie’s great-great-grandfather.

But, why? Why is Ollie’s book of dreams, as well as his male ancestors’, singled out among the infinite number of dreamers?

“Have I told you before that the Chapmans were cursed? Well, the males, at least,”  Ollie’s words from almost a year ago echo in your head.

This isn’t the time to unearth Ollie’s family mystery, though, so you make a mental note to do more research in the future and set those thoughts aside. You carefully leaf through the pages to find the section where you made your appearance – your meeting with him, spanning a year, detailed in twenty-full pages. Setting the book on the floor, you get to work.

Hardbound books were tricky to manipulate, with the pages stitched to a section of the book’s spine, so you use your fingers to remove the stitching of the last twenty pages with care – simply tearing the pages away would leave a sign of the book being tampered with. Once you’re sure there were no traces of your crime, you put the book back in place, and scramble out of the office, locking it behind you. You hand the keys back to Mervyn (“What took you so long, kid? Couldn’t be hard to spot a key with a damn ruby, innit?”) and rush to your room. Barricading yourself inside the bathroom, you set the pages alight with a matchbox you stole from the kitchens before washing the ash away with water.

Look how you’ve turned into a cold-blooded criminal mastermind, you inwardly deadpan.

***

4 Days Until Deadline

Afternoon tea with your Dream Lord isn’t as bad of an experience as you thought it would be.

Matthew had fetched you from your room, and you had followed him to the same balcony you had met him with the morning before. You found your master, already sitting beside a table full of your favorite sweets, drinking tea from his cup. He had stood up to greet you, taking your hand in his and kissing it, before leading you to sit across from him. You both sit in somewhat companionable silence while you munch on a cinnamon bun, with him just sipping his tea and watching you with blue, ever-observant eyes.

Until…

“May I ask a question, my Lord?” you shyly break the stillness, setting down the pastry you’re nibbling back on your plate.

You watch a corner of his mouth turn upwards as he sets his cup on a saucer. “Ask away, my dream.”

“I was wondering,” you say slowly, choosing your words carefully. “If you would allow me to continue forming dreams along with my new…role?”

Just then, you could feel the atmosphere change to one of palpable tension, the small grin vanishing from his face.

Tentatively, you add, “Please?”

“I think not. Your duty is to me, alone,” he declares flatly, his cold stare making you squirm in your seat.

You bite your lip and break eye contact with him.

“It’s what I’ve been doing all my life, your majesty,” you whisper dejectedly.

“And that will change in four days’ time.”

“Will you take away my ability to form dreams, too?”

The Dream King seems to contemplate this. The pause is long, before he responds, his tone slightly softening, “I could never bring myself to take that ability away, my little dream. It is part of who you are. I intend for you to keep it.”

But what good is keeping it if he forbids its use, you ask yourself. Still, you give him a subtle nod and a small ‘thank you’ to end the topic. You leave the cinnamon bun untouched, suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore.

The quiet that follows your conversation becomes heavier, so you’re thankful to Matthew for interrupting, quietly delivering news that you couldn’t quite hear. When your King gets to his feet, you swiftly follow his example out of politeness.

“I’m afraid I must cut our date short, my dream. I have matters to attend to.”

You bow your head in response but he takes your chin in his hands and promptly gives you a single, prolonged kiss on the mouth. You close your eyes until he lets go of you, and bids you to ‘stay here.’

Noticing fine grains of sand in the air, you realize he has transported you to your chambers – you turn to him with a protest bubbling in your throat, but you find that he’s gone, and to your irritation, the door locked from the outside.

***

3 Days Until Deadline

Clear as day, Dream of the Endless recalls his first visit to the first Chapman who had crossed his path many centuries ago.

He had not paid him, or any of the other Chapmans, much attention since he had placed a curse on the males of his lineage (except for that one occasion), a curse that felt righteous and just after a slight he had committed against him and his Realm.

Now, as he faces the dream of his only living descendant, he finds himself wanting very much to place another, more potent curse on Oliver Chapman, the mortal whose embrace now cradles the dream he so deeply cherished and ardently pursued.

Or Oliver’s dream-version of you, more accurately.

Morpheus knows this, but he couldn’t help the bitter jealousy burning in his heart as he watches the mortal lavish the lips of your dream-version with his own. He has not felt the urge to smite anyone for dreaming of his creations so lasciviously in a long time – this is an image of you he’s disrespecting, and he refuses to sit idly while this human corrupts you.

An image of you, he corrects.

With a lazy flick of his fingers, the dream-version of you taking Oliver’s shirt off melts before the human’s eyes. He ensures it’s the most gruesome sight this errant dreamer has ever seen: the dream-Mera’s skin peels off starting from her head down to her feet, followed by her flesh boiling and steaming away in an amalgamation of blood and gore, and with a final flair, he makes her bones disintegrate into dust. Oliver’s screams of horror permeate the dream-space – he couldn’t deny the screams gave him utmost satisfaction.

Dream watches curiously as Oliver attempts vainly to regain lucidity by counting his fingers aloud. It’s a trick that could’ve worked, but curiously, the dream remains volatile in his favor.

Morpheus decides to twist the knife, taunting him,  “You’ve lost control, lucid dreamer.”

The mortal snaps his head in the Endless’ direction, looking confused, possibly wondering why he couldn’t take over the dream. Medication, perhaps? But Morpheus has not the slightest interest in why a lucid dreamer has lost their ability. He is, however, greatly invested in finding out how such a mortal might develop a certain fascination with you.

“Tell me: what is my dream doing in yours?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Oliver replies, growing more confused. “And who the fuck are you talking about?”

In his fury, Dream could feel himself transforming into a nightmarish image he rarely ever shows his dreamers. No one has ever woken up seeing this form of his with their sanity intact, so he tries to rein in this metamorphosis.

“The dream you were defiling,” he spits out, his bellowing voice echoing the dream-space, “Belongs to me. Explain yourself, Oliver Chapman. My patience is waning.”

Oliver rubs his head in frustration. “I don’t know…I don’t remember.” He looks at both his hands, now coated in blood that isn’t his. “Fuck, there’s so much blood… where is she? She’s injured, I need to help her. I just wanna help her, man. I have to find her…”

Dream narrows his eyes at the mumbling man before him, somewhat disappointed that he could no longer extract reliable information from him in such a state. Recognizing that his fun is over, he transports himself with a pinch of his sand back to his Kingdom. He thinks it’s best that he confront the only other being in existence who had the answers he seeks.

***

When Matthew came flying into the balcony of your room, delivering the message that your King has summoned you to the library, your heart leaped to your chest at the suddenness; your little tea date, as the bird has taken to calling it, hadn’t been due until a few hours after midday. You hastened to dress out of your pajamas and rushed to the said meeting place, your heart beating so fast you could hardly breathe. Had he found out, you wondered?

You find your Dream Lord pacing restlessly to and fro near your favourite reading spot. He stills, looking at you with hardened eyes and clenched jaw, seemingly trying to control the fury you could feel emanating from him. It’s a look that was almost enough to curdle your blood.

He doesn’t even wait for you to get close – immediately he’s upon you, cornering you to one of the bookshelves, making you yelp instinctively. He grabs hold of your wrists and pins them above your head as his body covers your own.

“You will tell me everything, my dream, and I might be inclined to spare Oliver Chapman: why is he dreaming of you?”  He growls, his face, inches from yours, contorted in pure rage.

Fighting inwardly to maintain your composure, you respond with another half-truth. “I was injured, my Lord, from a battle I enacted in a dream. I got in his dreams somehow, and he helped me, he nursed me back to health. I stayed there for a while so I could recuperate.”

“Is this the truth, my Mera, or are you keeping anything else from me?”

You wince at the way his grip closes on your wrist further, cutting off the circulation.

“Please, my Lord, you can check for yourself,” you dare meet his eye with your own fearful ones, trying to drive your point.  “The dreamer’s name is Belladonna San Mateo – I reenacted a medieval battle for her. It’s the truth, sir, please…”

He pulls his head away as one of his hands releases your wrist and grasps your chin, so you had nowhere else to look but those silvery swirls of galaxies in his cruel eyes. After a few agonizing moments he dips his head, giving you a warning:

“If I find you in the embrace of any other, mortal or otherwise, I shall personally see to their torment in their waking, their dreaming, and their afterlife.”

When he lets you go, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp of relief, clutching your chest to calm your rapid heartbeat.

“There are matters I must attend to. As such, I must regrettably cancel our meeting for this afternoon,” he says, his face once again the stony mask that spelled no room for negotiation.  “Stay in your chambers. You are dismissed.”

You turn on your heels and dash away from Library, glad to give the place a wide berth. He had met with Ollie, visited him in his dreams, and didn’t like what he saw. You don’t like the sound of your creator potentially bringing harm to your doctor, so a visit may be long overdue, and it has to be soon.

***

2 Days Until Deadline

As discreetly as you can, you take a plunge into the sea of dreams and navigate your way into your doctor’s dreams, praying to the Fates that he’s asleep at the very moment.

Once you land in the space, Ollie greets you with a tight embrace, one which you return with as much enthusiasm. You had missed him terribly and had been worried out of your wits upon learning of his meeting with your Dream King, so when you let go, you make a fuss over him, checking him and his form for any sign of injury.

“Hey, I know you find me irresistible, but I didn’t know you were bold enough to cop a feel,” he jokes, earning him a half-hearted shove and a slap on the bicep from you.

“This is no laughing matter, you idiot!” you chide him with your arms crossed, relieved on the inside that he was unharmed.

In response, he grins coyly from ear to ear. “You were worried about me. I kinda like that,”

Pouting, you say, “Yes, I was bloody worried. I’m sorry I couldn't visit sooner.”

Ollie turns away from you, scratching the back of his head. “No, it’s quite alright,” he mumbles. “I'm sorry, too. I couldn't do much work on the runes the last few days, Mera. I've been, uh... shit, I... don't know how to say this…”

“What’s wrong?” you get right in front of him to press him, worried at his guilty tone.

With the most apologetic expression you’ve seen in him since the dreamcatcher incident, he replies, “It's the sleeping pills. I've been on them and I think they might've hampered my hypnagogia.”

His revelation makes you drop your jaw in surprise. “Wha-fuck, why are you taking them? And how come you've never told me about this?” You grab hold of his arms to demand answers.

With a placating look, he responds, “I swear, I've been taking them sparingly, but I've been needing a lot of sleep because of... you know. But it's okay now, honest! I didn't take them today, and I'm in full control.”

You place your palms on his cheeks, putting on a serious expression. “You have to get off those. I'm being serious, Ollie.”

“I am! I’ll keep it that way, I promise.”

Not letting go of him yet, you look into those gentle, green eyes, trying to detect signs that he may be hiding something.  But this is Ollie, too, you think to yourself. You know him to be bad at keeping secrets. Satisfied with what you saw in his eyes, you let him go, offering a soft apology: “This is my fault. I'm sorry I pushed you into this.”

“No! Hey, no, Mera, you didn’t,” he corrects you with a firm tone. “I've been prescribed these since I was little. You know, the Chapman curse and all that. Oh, and I’ve finally figured out a fitting name for the invention.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“I’ll call it MiraSleep. It’s a sort of, play with your name and the word ‘miracle.’ That’s what you are to me, you know. Everything I do now, I do for you.”

Not knowing what to say to his heartfelt admission, you stare into those forest-green eyes of his, a look of agreement passing between you two. Finally, you flash him a grateful smile, which he returns with his own sheepish grin.

“So, Ollie,” you start with a slightly more cheerful tone, fighting back a blush creeping on your cheeks without much success. “Mind telling me what it was you dreamed about that involved me?”

He breaks into fits of nervous laughter while rubbing the back of his hair. You already know you don’t like what he’s about to say.

“You’ll never believe it if I told you.”

***

You walk back into the palace grounds with high spirits after you visit Ollie’s dreams. He had immensely cheered you up despite his retelling of a rather salacious dream he had engaged with a dream-version you at that moment he lost his lucidity – the dream with which the Dream Lord had walked in on and had taken absolute offense to. He had assured you that the momentary lapse in his dreaming abilities would never happen again, and with that, you’re confident that by your next visit, you could finally stay in there with him without having to worry about being chased after by a certain Endless.

It's this thought that helps you endure your master’s company and his not-so-subtle touches during your morning ‘date’: as soon as the sun had risen in the Realm, he had summoned you through Matthew to accompany him in a morning walk around his Kingdom.

He smugly parades you around the busy town square with your fingers intertwined in his; on occasion, wrapping an arm around your waist as he rubs circles over your clothed skin; at times, even kissing your hand while not breaking heated eye-contact; all these gestures of his affections for the entire Dreaming to see. To the townsfolk, he introduces you as his princess-consort, much to the Dreaming residents’ delight – they had not had a princess-consort to dote on for eons, and so they lavish the both of you with promises of gifts that they are to send to the palace to congratulate their King and to his ‘pretty little dream-bride.’

Just grin and bear with it, as the Voice comments.

Touching as it was, the Dreamfolk’s welcome of you as Dream of the Endless’ new princess-consort breaks your heart even more, knowing that you’ll eventually disappoint them by running away as soon as you have the chance to. Breaking your previously-cheerful outlook further, you walk past the sea of dreams with the thought of never coming back to form the dreams of the mortals forever once you’re free with Ollie.

Before you left his dream at dawn, Ollie had asked you whether you were actually ready to leave your job for good. He knows there was nothing else you loved more than forming dreams for humans and inspiring them. You had never given it much thought before, but your brief stay with him had also made you realize one thing: while you were planning to abandon the role you had loved with all your heart, he had a device that would do the same for millions of other dreamers. While not under your name, the device Ollie had invented would be his and your legacy, and perhaps you could make peace with that. This comment of yours earns you a proud smile from Ollie that rivaled the brightness of the sun – it’s a smile you’re sure you’ve burned into your memory.

***

1 Day Until Deadline

When you wake, you’re greeted with a massive headache – it’s an ominous warning of your days closing in on you. Only one more day until your King’s imposed deadline, and you could only hope Ollie makes a breakthrough with the runes by tomorrow, or all will be lost.

After you had been dressed up by Morwyn, who as usual, gushed over the gown your Dream Lord has selected for you to wear for the day, Matthew delivers the news of your morning activities. According to him, they will consist of morning tea and brunch with his boss in your favourite spot in the Royal Library. When you arrive in the garb he had chosen for you to wear for the day, he gives your red-satin-clad figure an appreciative look before he greets you with a soft kiss on your lips and leads you by the hand to the leather couch you had fallen asleep in so many times.

You engage in light, minimal conversation during tea. You find yourself almost enjoying your time together, discussing your past dreamers with a sense of nostalgia.

That is until an attendant brings a trolley full of books to his side and you inspect the names printed on the books: each containing the name of every dreamer you had visited in his absence.

Perhaps your face had paled when you noticed the books, for he flashes you a small smirk, before assuring you,  “It is only procedure, my little Dream. Lucienne told me that you had insisted on finding me in the dreams of mortals even after it proved fatally dangerous for you. I should like to read of your unwavering loyalty with my own eyes.”

His words only made you fidget in your seat, abandoning the cinnamon swirl you had started to dig into a few moments ago.

Your discomfort does not seem to escape his watchful eyes.  “Unless, you had something to hide from me, my Mera?”

From the rim of your teacup, you smile wanly, sipping your tea before quietly shaking your head. Inside, however, your heart is practically threatening to escape your ribcage, sending bile to your throat and souring your tastebuds.

“I imagine this will occupy the rest of my day. Stay and read with me.”

Having no choice but to comply, you excuse yourself to pick out a book, choosing one you had read from cover to cover so many times in Ollie’s study.

Choosing a book was the easy part; concentrating on the pages proves a lot more of a challenge, especially when you have your master inspecting your work right in front of you. His occasional praise of your handicraft almost always makes you jump on your seat, thinking that anytime, now, he could be going through Ollie’s book of dreams, potentially exposing you. It takes all your energy to remain composed before him lest he notices your odd behaviour and decides to investigate the source of your restlessness further. The day goes on agonizingly slow, but thankfully, he only goes through the first half of the pile on the trolley.

With a loud pouf, he closes the final book shut and places them on top of the growing pile on the coffee table. Getting up to his feet, you copy his movement, inwardly glad for a dismissal and looking forward to your time alone, stewing in your own worries. You brace yourself as he steps closer and takes your chin in his thumb and forefinger before dipping his head downwards to plant an openmouthed kiss on your lips, one that you now know you’re obliged to kiss back. You expect the kiss to be brief, but he apparently has other ideas: he wraps his arms around your body and maneuvers you. You both end up on the couch, with you straddling his lap. As if predicting your actions, one hand grips the back of your neck and the other holds your hip in place, preventing you from getting away.

He drags his lips away from yours to the groove of your neck while his hand pulls the sleeve of your gown downwards to expose more of the flesh he had longed to mark for a long time. You let out a whimper in protest, before softly pleading, “My Lord, please, we’re in the library…”

Against your skin, you feel him chuckle deeply.  “Would my little dream prefer the privacy of her chambers, then?”

He does not wait for your response. Instead, he continues licking and sucking on the exposed skin below your clavicle, dangerously close to your right breast. You let out a startled gasp as you feel his hand go under your gown and start stroking your inner thigh. Your body seems to betray you at that moment: you start feeling heat pooling in your belly, indicating your arousal, no matter how unwilling.

From a short distance, a door in the library creaks open, and a pair of footfalls you recognize start making their way to Lucienne’s desk.

You feel your King let out a growl of displeasure at the disturbance; a second time his librarian has interrupted you – a second time you owe Lucienne one for deterring him from any further actions.

Against your ear, he then whispers,  “Tomorrow could not come any faster, little dream. It will be a union you will remember for eternity.”

With unexpected gentleness, he spins you around and sets you down on the couch beside him, and without a word, walks away as if nothing happened.

You clutch your heart and adjust the sleeves of your dress, willing the tears threatening to spill to go away. Tomorrow, you’ll be gone for good, and well away from him – it’s a small reprieve that allows you to clear your head and quickly lock yourself inside your chambers, holding Ollie’s dreamcatcher like a lifeline.

***

0 Days Until Deadline

My little dream,

Proceed to Fiddler’s Green

…Reads the note that Morwyn delivers to you along with your morning coffee. You hope this visit wouldn’t last long; after this, you had every intention of going back to Ollie’s dream. It’s the day of the deadline your King has given after all, and you’d have no other opportunity to escape if you let this day pass.

Don’t go, the Voice warns in your head; but what choice have you, other than comply? After all, it could just be one of the last commands you’d ever obey from him. Not wanting time wasted, you refuse breakfast and begin the long tread to the heart of the Dreaming, and into Gilbert’s sanctuary.

You had been so close to meeting each other in the Waking, during your stay in Hal’s Bed and Breakfast. It’s perhaps pure luck that your paths did not cross, for you’re not sure how Gilbert would’ve reacted, or what he would’ve revealed to the Dream King once he went back.

After your walk for what seemed like hours, the grassy patch of land full of lush, blooming bushes and thick, tall trees greets you with what feels like an urgent breeze, almost making you stumble.

In your head comes Gilbert’s grave tone: “Mera, what are you still doing here?”

Feigning hurt at his words, you reply, “Hello, Gilbert. Am I no longer welcome in your lands?”

“Why, but of course you are, my dear,”  he amends. “But, given how dire your situation is, I hardly think this is the best time for a leisurely visit.”

“What do you mean, ‘my situation?’” you ask, your brows furrowing in confusion.

His breeze blows more insistently against you, making your dress billow along. “The Dream Lord has come to me about two days ago asking about you and a man called Oliver Chapman.”

Shit.

Every part of your body stills at the news, your heart sinking to your stomach.

“Now, if your relationship is anything as close as he had implied, this mortal is in danger, as are you. He has instructed me just this very morning to keep you here for as long as I could while he deals with this Chapman fellow, but I could not bring myself to keep you in the dark, especially as it sounded like you care much about him.”

Fiddler’s Green was just a diversion, the Voice concludes.

“You must go, Mera,” Gilbert says with another strong gust of wind as if trying to get you running.

Turning back to him one last time, you start, “Thank you, Gilbert –”

“Go!”

You need not be told further. With all the strength you could muster, you run as fast as your legs could carry you, not caring who or what you bumped into or if you tripped. With breakneck speed, you make your way to the sea of dreams, and will yourself to land in the dream of the man you love, your only remaining refuge, hoping against hope you weren’t too late to save him.

Ollie, startled by your sudden appearance, runs to your side at once. You gasp greedily for air, clutching a stitch on your side from all the effort.

“Mera, fuck... are you okay? What’s all this rush?” he asks, holding you by the shoulders to support you.

Tears of relief gather in your eyes as you take his unharmed form. You’re not late; you still had time.

Letting the tears cascade down your cheeks, you break the news to him:

“He’s coming. He’s coming for us.”

Author notes on the Chapter:

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Link to the next chapter

Oh my god this went out of hand!! I'm sure I had mentioned on a tumblr comment that Ollie would only be around for around two chapters, but sorry, things and plot points seemed to have a mind of their own lol. Dream seems to have found them out!! How will their confrontation go?! Aghhhkk

As usual, thank you for sticking with me in this!! Love lots!!!

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Author's notes in general:

Thank you, THANK YOU for reading!!

Please engage, comment and reblog!! I love feedback from you guys :) This is my first ever fic, so kindness is truly appreciated!

Thank you to my queen @queenshelby@endlessdreamqueen3 for encouraging me to pen this, as well as to my fellow Dark!Morpheus writers whose work I have thoroughly enjoyed and keep rereading :)

Post date: 12/19/22

Edit date: 12/19/22

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[theres-bugs-in-my-brain]

Dude

I’m so fucking close

In like two months I’ll be done

I’ll be out of this fucking hell hole of a high school

And I hope I can get out of this house

I want to leave and never look back

But god

Oh god dude I wish

I wish my entire high school experience wasn’t wasted on this fucking cult

Growing up in the Mormon church as been living hell

I missed out on so much just having to survive

I still remember shit of having to constantly be afraid of my own well being because I didn’t know if my family was safe, the people at church where safe, if my own friends where safe

Dude my parents OH MY FUCKING GOD dude they home schooled me for middle school then signed me up for a fucking Mormon private school taking their online course

I was so fucking isolated from anyone outside the fucking church

It was wake up, go to seminary at 5 FUCKING 30 AM, than listen to your classes talking about Jesus and how you can find him in every subject there is, after that go to a church activity, still have some time? How about we invite the MISSIONARIES over for a small FUCKING DINNER PARTY.

THIS WAS MY LIFE FOR YEARS

Im an atheist

I’m gay

I’m trans

I’m half Mexican

The treatment I’ve mostly gotten has been micro aggressions at best and physical/sexual assault at worst

I will never know what it’s like to just be a normal kid because of the people that preach they want “kids to just be kids” 

IF YOU FUCKING WANTED THAT THEN YOU COULDVE JUST LEFT ME ALONE

It’s so fucking shitty

Ever since I was outed at the age of 12 or 11 it’s been hell

At first I was fine because I still had my best friend that supported me

It was funny even

You’d be minding your business, then someone would try to talk you out of being gay, try to argue why it’s wrong, get mad at you for being gay. You’d fight back

Laugh at them with ur friends. Poke the bear with a stick

Then the tide would shift

Suddenly they didn’t try to pray the gay away, they weren’t trying to argue you out of it

Now they saw you as a threat

A threat to their friends’ sexuality, a threat to their kids’ sexuality, a threat to their own sexuality.

They where more aggressive

Often yelling at out, picking on you, singling you out, even threats that they love to call jokes

But that’s okay,

You’ll hold your head high

Stand your ground

you won’t swallow your pride

so you’ll fight with your words

And if they decided they didn’t want to play with words

Then you’d fight with every tooth and nail you have

You’d be very really win a fight

Like ever

They usually get broken up by adults or they’d get the upper hand and stop when they’re bored

A rare occurrence actually having to fight

But it changes you

Before you where creepy

Now you try to be off putting, to appear as batshit crazy as you can

But it’s okay because when it gets too much you go to your friends

Then

The tide shifts again

Your friends are closer to other friends than before

They stop hanging out

Then the excuses come

“My dad thinks you might be making me gay. Sorry. Yeah I’m going to have to block you.”

“My mom said if your mom weren’t friends with her, that she wouldn’t let me hang out with you, can we maybe stop hugging?”

“Being gay is one thing, but being trans is a bit much. You’ve always been a girl and i can’t see you any other way.”

“Are you just trying to be a guy so girls can like you more? That’s really creepy.”

And the worst of all you best friend

“I just think marriage should stay between a man and a woman.”

“But you said that you’d support gay marriage despite what your parents say. Your aunt is gay, and you’re a witch.”

“changed my mind.”

Now it’s harder to hold your head high

To stand your ground

You start to retreat

You cant appear normal for the life of you

But now you laugh at their jokes

You play along with them

Make yourself small

You’ll expire soon

It doesn’t matter

You promised

You took away life now it’s your turn

But you can never actually mange to do it

Then your friend finds out

He makes you stay

You decided to brake that promise but now it’s too late

Now your sister knows

You make another promise

Before you know it there’s too many promises to brake

They watch you like a hawk

Make sure you get better

But it doesn’t erase the fact that they pushed to here

You’re at this point because of them

And now it’s less than three months from graduation

You’ll never have a real high school experience

You’ll never be able to be a real teenager

You’ll never be able to be a real teen boy

What are you going to do about it

You graduate in less than three months

Can you make it to crawl out of this hell hole?

Or will you lay there in the grime you’re so well acquainted with?

[mayhemproduces]

Ether was a magical moment in time, a show The Odeon and the rest of MPW is sure to remember for a long time. From death defying stunts, legends in the making, the high stakes matchups, we were left with promises for a better tomorrow. Syn will walk into State of Emergency with the locker room behind him, with the entire fanbase behind him, and will walk out of State of Emergency with the MPW World Championship.

But now, Abigail has two World titles.

You win some, you lose some.

Wearing both titles tonight, she almost looks extra unstoppable. Her power is unlike anything else in MPW, maybe even the entire wrestling world, but if anybody could do it… it's the man that knows her inside and out. All her fears, all her weaknesses, but Syn wears his heart on his sleeve so it wasn't difficult to identify his. Knowing each other so intimately as they do, they've seen each other's hearts, their very souls. Syn has seen the darkness, and she has seen the violence in his. At State of Emergency, the one who can be the most violent, the most sadistic, will walk out with the MPW World Championship.

But first, we'll have to see if they can even make it there.

Heyman has asked for their best behavior tonight. While we don't know if there will be any consequences if things break down, as they so often do with these two, we should expect some back and forth before someone loses their temper. We have a Pay Per View to sell, after all, but Heyman shouldn't expect much restraint. Syn went directly for Abigail's head, and the intensity in the ring heightens as the last notes of Abigail's song plays out. Each holding a microphone, neither one moves, eyes locked together in a heated staring contest. This is the first time in nearly five years that they've shared the ring as enemies. They battled together as partners, stayed apart during the inaugural Atlas title match, but their stories stayed close but never touched. That changes tonight - a lot of things have changed in those past five years, but nothing's really changed at all.

"Through all these troubling times, Syn, it makes all the sense in the world that you would place yourself right in the middle. After all, what would the world be without its hero? What would the world be without its knight in shining armor here to save the day? You're full of empty promises. You promise to save these people, you promise to keep them safe, you tell them that everything will be alright just as long as you're around. Liar. You're a liar. This is a terrible world. A cold, cold, dark, and lonely place. You stand for these illusions, but I stand for everything that is real. I am the reaper that brings death to this era of lies."

Syn deliberately turns his back on Abigail, showing just how much he fears and respects her, as he steps to the ropes, leaning on them, and looking out at the crowd, chuckling to himself. “She really likes the sound of her own voice, doesn’t she?” He asks the crowd, before turning back to her and shaking his head. “You haven’t changed a lot, have you? It’s the same, tired shtick, that you’ve been pedaling for all these years. It’s the same thing, over, and over, and over again.” 

“You know why I think you think the way you do, Abby? You remind me of a fuckin’ incel. Somebody rejects you, turns you down, tells you no, you lose your goddamn mind. Your entire life, growing up, you had your batshit crazy mom telling you that you were a god, and unlike the rest of us, who get therapy to deal with our childhood, you decided to live your life based on that- and look where it’s gotten you. Alone, everyone who hangs out with you does it because they’ve bought into your own bullshit that you’re going to lead them to some sort of promised land, without being able to see you’re just using them to forward your own agenda. This is no different than when I took the belt from Rickey, except this time, once I take that belt it’s staying with me for a long, long time. If you’ve been watching me as closely as you claim, then you already know, for a fact, that when the lights turn on the brightest in MPW, and the stakes are the highest, there is nobody, and I mean absolutely no one, on this roster or otherwise, who performs like I do, and that’s because when it comes down to it, there’s thing’s I’m willing to do in that ring that even you aren’t, Abby. There’s nothing I won’t do, no risk I won’t take, to take that belt away from you at State of Emergency… And I don’t think you can say the same.” 

"You say I haven't changed, but I have. I understand now that I can't force people to stand at my side because they don't appreciate the gifts I've bestowed upon them. Instead, I've left the door open for anyone brave enough to pass over the threshold, and The Fallen grows stronger day by day. I have an elite, unstoppable army behind me who operate on their own time, by their own rules, so understand that I'm not going to force you to join me this time, Syn, because I won't have to. After I beat you at State of Emergency and show you everything you've been missing. All the power, respect, the fear, the fame, the glory… my love… you'll come crawling back on your own terms."

“But as for State of Emergency. I'd offer you the easy way out, but we both know you wouldn't take it. Because you don't really care if you win or lose. This match isn't about these people. It's not even about this," Abigail's fingers tighten against the edge of the MPW World Championship. Syn's hands clench as he stares at it, longing in his eyes, "This match, and every other match that didn't concern you, every other match you've wrestled in this ring has only ever been about inflating your ego. You make these fans believe in you to inflate your ego. It's not enough for you to name drop all these legends you didn't deserve to be in the ring with. You need to hear your name around every corner, in everyone's mouths, whether it's good or bad. Because this is all you have."

"Wrestling is the one and only thing you have in your life, and you can see as blatantly as everyone else can that you still can't cut it. While your friends go home to their loved ones, and sign contracts only meant for the elite, you're looked over time and time again. Just like you have your whole career. But for the first time in the past decade, you've actually earned this shot. But that doesn't change anything at all, because despite what you've fooled yourself and all these people to think, you're still not good enough. You've got lucky before, but I'm on the top of my game. This is my time, this is my destiny, and you're not taking it away from me because you can't. You tried, oh, you've tried, and I know you remember how each and every one of them ended."

Abigail smirks as she steps back, seemingly giving Syn some space, before suddenly, from behind, Syn is decked in the back of the neck by Malakai Black, this whole thing a step up for another one of The Fallen’s attacks! Malakai continues to beat Syn down as Abigail smirks, running her tongue across her lips, her plan having worked perfectly to this point.

That is, until the crowd comes alive, and Abigail’s attention is shifted to the ramp as Mance Warner comes storming out to the ring, and slides into the ring at Malakai! Abigail quickly bails from the ring, and as Malakai looks up to see Mance charging him, Malakai ducks a Lariat from Mance, and rolls out of the ring as well, Malakai and Abigail both quickly escaping, apparently content to beat Syn down when they had the numbers, but not looking to engage in any sort of a fair fight tonight.

[dysfunctionalmaki]

To Realize

Main Masterlist

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Natasha's been connecting all the dots about how she feels about you, it's up to her to how she'll handle the situation.

A/N: This was supposed to be a oneshot until... I wanted to base it on the whole Black Widow movie :"))

Warnings: none, let me know if there's any.

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Your last interaction with your father didn't go well, he simply told you that Secretary Ross is now after you and Natasha after helping Steve, and Bucky to get in the Quinjet while T'challa was after them.

Quickly tackling the king of Wakanda on the ground, while Natasha shot something at him to give Rogers and his friend time to take off, as soon as the jet flew away, you removed your arms that are restraining him.

"Your father will hear about this, and you too Miss Romanoff." The exact words that came out of T'challa, and now you're on the run with Natasha, considered as a global fugitive.

Your father looked at you with disappointment when he mentioned that Ross will be chasing you and the latter, you looked at Natasha before she took your hand and leading you out, taking you to who knows where.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

"You miss your daddy?" Natasha spoke while driving, you chuckle at her words then resting your head against the car window. "Hmm, kinda, so what are we doing here in Norway?" You ask the latter.

"Well, you've noticed that Ross is after our asses after assaulting the King of Wakanda, and helping Steve and Barnes escape the airport, I believe we should lay low, right?" She propped her elbow by the window, resting her head on her knuckle as she drives with one hand. "Oh? I didn't know that." You replied sarcastically, making Natasha roll her eyes.

"What I mean is, why Norway of all places?" Now you're kindly asking, arms crossed over your chest and slowly drifting off to sleep, exhausted after hours of traveling, without Daddy's private planes, sports car, and Quinjet also.

Natasha noticed how your voice softens, a long yawn coming out of your mouth, and quickly glancing at you. "Ross has no jurisdiction here, his boys would stay away from here for the time being." She answered, you softly nodded and replied with an 'okay' almost a whisper with how silent it was.

In a split second, you're already fast asleep at the passenger seat, both arms hugging yourself and your head resting against the window. Nat maintained her eyes on the road as she attempts to reach for a blanket she stashed in the backseat, after few shifts in her place, the Russian managed to grab the cloth.

She gently placed the soft blanket over you, and now focusing herself on driving, for some reason, she has always felt this warm feeling in her heart when she's alone with you, adoration maybe?

Your peaceful state while you're in deep slumber, and hearing your soft snores as she admires the view of the landscape, she would offer everything she has just to stay like this most of the time.

The thought caught her off-guard, why would she want to spend all of her time with her friend's daughter? She shrugged the thought off from her mind, she knows what love feels like, she felt it with Bruce until Hulk decided to drive off somewhere they won't find him.

She did get sad because of it, but she chose to move forward and move on, successfully removing any romantic feelings for Banner, focusing on her work as an Agent and an Avenger.

But why is she feeling this way with you? Her heart melts when she sees you getting all excited when you've successfully upgraded your techs, how she would automatically smile when her eyes would catch you smiling, and how she feels warm when you're there to ease her mind when a mission didn't go as planned.

She's now connecting the dots, using the silence and peace surrounding her, she got time to think about herself and her feelings towards Tony Stark's daughter.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

After half an hour of the drive, you slowly wake up from your nap, looking around the surroundings you're in the middle of the woods, Natasha's still driving. "Good uhh... Evening?" You greeted Nat with your groggy voice.

Natasha stopped the car beside the safehouse, which is a caravan and you don't mind, you can't really call your father to get you a 5-star hotel to stay in. "Did you manage to replenish your energy?" She asked, unbuckling her seat belt and you did the same.

Getting out of the car, she has her gun out and you also have one on your hand, staying alert until both of you heard a loud snore in the room. Natasha immediately returned to her relaxed posture before heading into where the sound belongs, and she found her contractor sleeping.

Kicking his foot that is off the bed, the man immediately woke up. "You're sleeping in my bed." Natasha commented, "I'm not even under the covers." He replied, then his eyes trail at you, awkwardly looking away noticing that the two seemed close.

"I've got what you asked for, fake IDs, drivers licenses, and some VISAs, also for Miss Stark too, just like what you've told me to do." He says as he handed out the fake identifications to Natasha, while reading, the Russian frowned upon what she just read. "Really? Fanny Longbottom?"

"That is a legitimate name." He defended himself, them Natasha handed your fake IDs, taking a good look at them and you're amazed about how real they seem to be. "Thank you...?" You softly spoke.

"Rick, Rick Mason." He introduced himself, and you shook his hand also introducing yourself, with little chit-chat soon after the man left leaving you and Natasha alone.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

An hour has passed it's already dark out, you're currently sitting by the front door, knees up to your chest, and you already felt homesick, Natasha's company is nice honestly, but the feeling of being far away from your father and home sucks.

Natasha looks at you while you're way too busy gazing at the woods, she knows you aren't used to this type of setup, running away from authorities, and far from home, she felt bad for you.

She walks up behind you, making sure you're aware of her presence before placing a hand on your shoulder. "I'm going to watch a movie on my laptop, feel free to join me, I'm also eating the ice cream we bought at the convenience store earlier." She softly spoke before leaving you alone.

Minutes after, you finally stood up from where you are sitting and closing the front door, almost dragging your way to Natasha. Two bowls of ice cream in front of her, and her laptop already on, she was waiting for you.

You placed yourself beside her, head resting on her shoulder then she plays the movie on the screen, lazily taking a spoonful of the cold treat in your mouth, and eyes glued on the screen, but you weren't paying attention to the movie, you're spacing out.

"Hey, Y/N? Are you okay?" Of course, not, Natasha knows damn well you aren't okay, she thought that it's a dumb question. "Of course, why wouldn't I be?" You answered just like your father, she paused the film and causing you to look at her. "No, you're not okay, and that's okay." She says before taking you into her arms.

You're surprised actually, Natasha isn't usually the one who initiates physical contact but here she is, her arms wrapped around your body. You needed this, you needed to feel home and somehow being hugged by Natasha feels like it.

Burying your face at her shoulders then you knew you're melting in her arms, it almost brought the tears out of you, as if her touch is enough the lift the burden you've been feeling.

Natasha feels like home.

You try not to think anything about the affection she just gave, but damn, you think you'd go batshit crazy if you won't get to experience this again.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Let's be clear here, you've had a crush on Natasha while she's still Natalie, then as soon as Fury revealed that she is some secret agent, you were so amazed that you started liking her, though she didn't contact after that.

You weren't part of the Avengers initiative, but you did join them in the battle of Sokovia, but she and Banner have a thing going on, so you've decided to set those feelings aside. Which you successfully did for a few months, and after Bruce flying who knows where maybe you can make a move?

So you did, you would jokingly flirt around Natasha, and your father would give a questioning look then you slowly back away, but you were also a great friend to Nat, it's just that you can't seem to get all romantic with Natasha.

Just as much of a playboy your father is, that's all his, you suck at this type of thing, so Nat probably thought you're just a caring and affectionate person.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

You gently pull away from Natasha's grasp, and she looks at you with her emerald eyes. "Better?" She asked, placing a hand on your cheek softly caressing your skin. "Much better, thank you." She smiled with your answer, the next thing you know is that you're way too close to her, and you're looking at her plump lips.

This would be a perfect time to make a move.

You hold the back of her hand that is on your cheek, slowly closing in, and Natasha is leaning closer, so near that you could feel each other breathing, just when your lips were about to touch hers... the power died.

Nat cleared her throat and awkwardly moving away, removing her hand away from you and she stood up. "I'm just going to check the power generator." She says before going outside.

Her face turned red as soon as she was out of your sight, she got way too vulnerable with you, she almost kissed you but she sure knows she's going to like it but no, not at a time like this.

She tried to get the power back on, only to find that there's no more fuel in the generator, she came back inside finding you eating ice cream in the corner, and probably waiting for her to come back.

"I'm going to a gas station, do you want to come with me?" She asked, you nodded before getting off your ass and bringing yourself into her car, there's this awkward tension between the two of you, and as soon as she started driving, the silence swallowed the two of you.

"Can I turn the radio on?" You asked her, she simply nodded while eyes fixated on the road, you played the radio, and Sia's Cheap Thrills came on. "Damn, even here? When is this song going to die?" You commented.

Natasha taps her fingers on the steering wheel according to the beats, despite hearing the song over and over whenever you would turn on the radio, you still liked it.

Midway through the song, you felt chills on your body, and as soon as you look at the window beside you, suddenly you see an RPG heading towards the car.

"Nat—" Before she could react it has already hit the car causing an explosion, now the vehicle is hanging on the edge of the bridge, and with one wrong move it'll head straight down to the water. "Ooh, fuck that hurts." Hissing as you try to collect yourself and trying to fight the headache it caused.

Natasha on the other hand is in pain and boy, she's mad. "I'm pretty sure Ross has no jurisdiction here, and you should know that I'm a better shot when I'm pissed off," Nat spoke before firing few bullets at the person, you look at her and biting your lip, finding her hot.

"Wow, that's hot..." You spoke under your breath but Natasha heard, glaring at you. "Really? At a time like this?" She says, before heading out of the car when you tried to get out Nat stopped you. "How long can you hold your breath?" She asked. "Last time I beat Sam it was a good 4 minutes and a half."

"As soon as this psycho comes close enough, I'll push you into the water, it's not after us." She says you look at her as if she's speaking lies. "Nat, I'm not leaving you here–" before you could protest, you felt her lips against yours it was quick but you know damn well, that Natasha kissed you.

"I'll meet you down there, I promise." She says before a shield comes charging towards her, and managed to avoid it, yet it hit the car, now you're falling off the bridge and you suddenly noticed a small case on her hand.

You quickly got out of the car before it could hit the water, then you swam heading to safety where the one who ambushed wouldn't see you.

Closing your eyes hoping that Nat would come back to you in one piece, there's no way you'll let her die after kissing you, of course, you wanted to fight but your body just wouldn't.

You can't risk losing Natasha now.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

Next Part: To Remember

[astraskylark]

Can we talk about Weiss in V8 chapter 13? Can we talk about how amazing she was in that episode despite all the batshit crazy insane shit happening around? Like it starts out with a full on Team RWBY Vs Cinder battle royale.

Weiss is literally never still even for a second here. She's clearly learned from Volume 5 that staying still in battle for a fighter with her attack type is a bad decision so she's constantly moving over here appearing on all sides in a matter of seconds while keeping the movements of her teammates in mind as well.

She's literally mid fight here half through zooming across the battlefield after an attack and she's already setting up a glyph to boost Blake up so she can attack Cinder keeping the momentum of the fight going in the split second she needs to move across.

Weiss's fighting style often leans to support and a series of attacks rather than one heavy blow. And support is probably the most complicated role to play in a fight.

It's all about insane mid battle calculation. She has to keep track of her team's movements to perfectly time her glyphs (also deciding what type of glyph based how her teammates are moving and their surroundings) and HOW EXHAUSTING IS THAT??? Because she not only has to keep track of the opponent's movement but she's also keeping her eye on three other people who are in continuing motion looking for any gap she can offer support in??? While constantly moving on the field and launching her own attacks in tandem with the others???

The minute Ruby is falling back Weiss is already pelting ice picks at Cinder. And okay mad props to Cinder because this entire attack sequences from RWBY was hardcore and Cinder managed to dodge it all. And back to Weiss.

So we have this insane battle where everyone is mentally exhausted and then we have Neo attacking Ruby and Yang falling into the void. And I've seen a lot of people shitting on how Ruby and Weiss didn't react fast enough and let me just say they acted exactly how you'd expect them too.

I don't have the pic here cause Tumblr has a limit but if you remember the split screen showing Ruby,Weiss, Blake and Neo we can all see Blake already starts moving. Ruby starts getting attacked by a feral Neo a second later and has no time to even process any event(a running theme this volume Rubes your breakdown is coming).

Now here Weiss starts moving a literal second later. And now remember this is Weiss, master of mid fight distance calculation.

The minute Weiss turned and saw Blake she knew. She knew that judging from how fast Yang fell of the ledge and how fast Blake moved the only person who had a sliver of a chance of saving Yang was Blake. She knew she would be a second late if she tried. She knew that summoning a glyph in the event of Blake missing would be no use because she's done the math in that heated second of fear and anguish and knows that she will be too late.

Which is why Weiss Schnee master of logic and cool headedness in the battle field and emotional wellbeing off the battlefield knew what would happen a second later. She knows Yang. Weiss was the first person we've ever seen Yang be vulnerable around. And I bet the reason Weiss was so sure Blake would find her way back to them is because Weiss and Blake are alot more similar than you think. So Weiss knows. She knows the Blake Belladona would not hesitate for a second to jump into the literal unknown for Yang.

She would too. But they're in the middle of battle and Ruby is being attacked and thousands of Atlas and Mantle citizens are in the middle of a space that shouldn't exist and she knows despite how she wants too she cannot jump. And she cannot let Blake jump either because she cannot and will not lose another member of her family today. And she immediately pulls Blake literally dragging her from the surface(and this is no easy feat because we know how crazy swol Blake is and adding that with mad grief Blake is basically the strongest most impulsive person in that space right now) and you can see from that single frame that Weiss herself is so close to tears but she has to hold it together for Blake. For Yang. For Ruby.

And once Blake takes off in a rage she knows that Cinder is left with no one to fight her. And Weiss (who is probably a little traumatised after having been stabbed and almost dying because of her) she immediately faces Cinder and Weiss is frantically dodging because remember Cinder was able to take on all four of them with barely a scratch and now Weiss is facing her alone.

And I also love this because it seems like Weiss is just zig zagging her way in a frenzy but she's trying to make herself really difficult to target here. You know how they say to run zig zag when your being chased by an animal right? That's what she's doing here. She's stays in a position for just enough time for Cinder to shoot her fire and then immediately takes off in a tangent making cinder have to spend a split second trying to reorient her attack cause all her attacks shoot in a straight direction.

I included this picture because she looks so fucking cool here. She literally fights fire with FIRE and I love her stance and pose and if you've actually read this far you can kinda guess I love everything about her.

And now we see her skating up. Because she knows the advantage and how being in a higher position can help. She needs to get to higher ground. And I'd like to highlight that Weiss only takes this pathway cause at that moment it is completely empty. She assumed that people had already finished evacuating from there which is why she chose that place. But it turned out that particular door was one for Atlas and Atleasians were alot more hesitant to use the gates than people from Mantle which is why there are people still there(this might also have been a convenient plot narrative to make Jaune aware that Cinder was here, who knows we shall see)

She uses her gravity glyph to try and hinder the airborne higher ground advantage that Cinder has. And it works. Cinder is momentarily focussed on Weiss allowing Penny to regain her stance and figure out her weapon situation.

And then an Atleasian steps out and Weiss realises in a matter of milliseconds that shit she has to protect them.

And if you notice Cinder is imitating Weiss's attack here. Weiss attacked Cinder with the same Ice pick move 5 minutes ago. And Weiss has to protect herself and the now emerging Atlas citizens. And I love how it's shown that she doesn't have the time to fully summon her Knight so only summons the arm and blade and protects everyone from actually getting hurt. Also I don't know if this the first time we've seen the summoning glyph for the knight in this angle but it is absolutely gorgeous and I really want to see what the Nevermore one looks like.

And I ran out pictures but Cinder literally tosses Weiss over the edge and the only thing stopping Weiss from certain fall in the void is her own gravity glyph which she is maintaining after all of the stuff I mentioned before.

I mean we know that Weiss has the lowest stamina of the team and the role that takes up the most energy. And she's still standing and she still going to fight in the next episode.

I just-- GODS Weiss Schnee is an absolute legend and possibly the best ally to have on the battlefield. She's is a super skilled ,level headed and versatile fighter whose constant presence and observations in the battlefield are such an asset and I wouldn't be far off in saying that she's probably the smartest fighter after Ruby and there's a reason they're partners because for every wacky absolute bonkers plan Ruby has, Weiss will be there to build the foundation to launch off from. And I cannot wait to see her learn and grow even more.

[smallblip]

You asked, I deliver! Part II of Accidental baby acquisition💖 I lost one of the asks 😩 but anon who asked about baby Udo, I named the baby in your honour! Saddle up cowboys! I’m not good with sequels but here we are-

Babygate:

the scandal that implies that a certain boy band member cheated on his partner (another band member) and had a kid even when the mom was never pregnant.

- urban dictionary

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. Life is definitely picking up. Pieck still sends him excerpts of her dirty fanfiction to proofread, Bertholdt is still doing all he can to “retire at 30”, Annie might have eloped with said boyfriend. But he’s seeing Porco on the regular now, he’s really cute, he’s got a nice ass. Reiner can’t complain.

He’s also recently donated his Levi Ackerman standee. Only because it’s getting increasingly hard to reconcile the fact that he has a life sized cutout of his colleague’s boyfriend in his room.

What he can complain about is said colleague (and friend) dropping bombs on him. He’s one of the moderators of one of the bigger No Name servers. Sometimes he wonders if that’s a conflict of interest because, well, he knows the guy on a first name basis. But today he has other concerns. He sees his notifications blowing up and decides to go on the No Name server. And lo and behold. There’s a paparazzi shot of Levi and Hanji with a stroller taking a walk in a new channel called “MYSTERY FAMILY?”.

He cancels his plans with Porco. “Don’t text me for the next few hours, got a fire to fight.” He clicks send, and feels kinda bad, so he sends Porco really dank meme to appease him. (That doesn’t stop Porco from doing exactly what Reiner told him not to do and demanding an explanation every five minutes).

He forces himself to take a deep breath before texting Hanji-

“Hanji… I don’t mean to be rude but…

WHAT THE FUCK?”

—

So here begins babygate. A conspiracy theory that took the Internet by storm.

“Levi Ackerman had a secret marriage! He was keeping this from us from the start!”

“It’s a publicity stunt to keep No Name relevant during their hiatus!”

“It’s an elaborate scheme by the company to punish Levi for announcing the hiatus without their knowledge!”

“Levi’s mystery partner was sent by the lizard people to take control of his mind and produce half-lizard, half-human hybrid babies to take over the world! What a bitch!” (This is Hanji’s favourite).

And the internet’s favourite- this is all an elaborate scheme to cover up the scandalous love affair between Levi and Eren- the band’s guitarist.

“What the fuck?” Levi had said during dinner once, to which Reiner had to swallow his food and pretend he never read or actively looked up ereri content. Yes. Reiner knows the name of their ship.

Levi hadn’t been too worried before, but when pictures of them shopping for baby stuff leaked online, something snaps. Something snaps and Erwin tells him he needs more time to figure out the biggest PR crisis in No Name history.

It’s Levi. Levi is the PR crisis.

So in the meantime, no shock reveals, no more social media, (if possible) no more leaving the house with pregnant girlfriend in tow. “Don’t do ANYTHING.” Erwin had said, “especially not you!” Erwin had directed that at Eren, who suggested he makes an announcement. Erwin shudders. He remembers all the past scandals they got themselves into just because Eren, bless him, didn’t know when to shut up.

“I’m sorry…” Levi says to Hanji when they’re cuddled up on the couch watching a documentary on whale migration.

“Huh?” Hanji says, voice muffled through her incessant sniffling because “whales are delivered tail first, Levi! They wear their mothers like hats!”

He apologises for putting her through the mess that is him and his job. And Hanji smiles at him. He wonders if their kid will look like her. He’s hoping they would.

“Levi…” Hanji sighs, taking his face in her hands, “that night at the bar I thought to myself ‘this man has a face I would risk it all for’… I think this counts within the realms of ‘all’”

Levi scoffs, but a smile is threatening the corners of his lips. Erwin’s nagging over the phone fades a little and he sinks a little lower into the couch. He sighs one more time for good measure before saying-

“So… you wanna know which my favourite babygate theory is?”

—

“And you’re really not bothered by all this?” Reiner asks, in an emergency meeting that he had scheduled into her calendar. He hates that he’s packing things into her already busy schedule when she’s about to pop but, he figures it’s better now than when the baby’s actually out. He had booked a meeting room and everything, figuring if he projected some of the crazy shit they’re saying on the fan boards up on screen, Hanji would start taking this seriously. Because if Reiner knows anything, it’s that the fans will do anything to keep their ship afloat.

He scrolls past another post on the lizard people and Hanji gets him to pause.

“I mean… A little?” Hanji pinches her fingers together.

“Hanji…” Reiner sighs, “you and Levi discuss and rate babygate conspiracy theories you find online I don’t think you’re taking this seriously at all…”

Hanji looks at Reiner- an absolute state of panic. And she considers panicking for a moment. She’s read articles dissecting babygate and although they’re absolutely batshit, Hanji appreciates how well-researched they are. Which is a little scary. To be fair to Levi, he’s been trying to get her to worry. “I can’t keep you safe all the time, you have to be careful” like he’s going off to war somewhere. But it’s not in Hanji nature to worry about things like this. She’s a researcher at a lab who lived an ordinary life up until the point the universe hit her with a-

Sike! Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy! What are you gonna do about it?

And now she knows what headcanons and lemons are, and she really doesn’t know what to do with that knowledge. So Hanji decides, she’ll do nothing. She’ll go on indulgently long walks Levi in tow, she’ll talk his ear off about work. And like a good girlfriend, she’ll listen to his demos (and enjoy them) and tell him “are you sure anger rhymes with danger?”.

“I don’t really know how to worry about anything beyond our samples getting contaminated…” Hanji says, sheepish. Reiner sighs. He doesn’t want to be a wet blanket on Hanji’s life. He wants to be fun Reiner. Cool as a cucumber. Reiner who manages to make it through dinner at Hanji’s without having to excuse himself to hyperventilate in her bathroom because Levi is right there. And he’s so afraid that he might just be able to read his mind and find out he had looked up Levi Ackerman x y/n fanfiction once in his foolish youth (youth being approximately four months back)

Reiner shudders.

“Yeah okay… That’s um… That’s cool… Right?” He says.

Hanji shrugs.

—

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what?

You go into labour of course, with a matter of fact- “oh. Look Levi. The water broke.” All while refusing to leave the house until you demolish that amazing sandwich he made for you. You go into labour and you yell and grunt like a beast as you squeeze the life out of your baby daddy because he kinda deserves it. You both kinda deserve this pain. Take it as heavenly punishment for being horny and stupid if you will.

And in the middle of it Hanji thinks huh, this feels like a mix of a reality TV show from MTV and a badly written fanfiction. Except Hanji isn’t a teen mom and she’s too old for self-insert fiction that involves a lead singer of a popular band.

But Levi is here, and he doesn’t complain one bit even though he looks like he’s about to pass out. So as far as drunken one night stands go- this is pretty damn aspirational.

The baby enters the world with a huge cry.

“Kid’s got a huge set of lungs…” Levi says, but his own voice is quivering.

“Just like her dad…” Hanji smiles.

As he watches Hanji fall asleep with their baby on her chest, Levi thinks fuck it. Fuck keeping this under wraps. Fuck the fans and them enjoying how Eren gets on his nerves. Fuck Erwin and his “Levi. You’re giving me a headache. You are the cause of this headache.” Because the baby has Hanji’s nose and his eyes and he loves them more than anything in the world.

He snaps a picture of them and tags bigdaddyzoë-

“Welcome to the world, my love.”

—

Reiner can’t help the tears that well in his eyes after seeing the picture Hanji had sent him of the baby-

“He says hi to his favourite uncle!” Was the caption, and Reiner could only reply with a crying cat meme and an incoherent text that Hanji favourites.

He’s on the bus on the way to the hospital when his phone buzzes incessantly. It’s Porco.

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK.”

“LEVI ACKERMAN IS HANJI ZOË’S BABY DADDY?”

“HANJI ZOË MY PHD SUPERVISOR?”

“LEVI ACKERMAN OF NO NAME?”

“REINER WHAT THE FUCK?”

He sends a reply at the entrance of the hospital-

“Welcome to my world”

—

Reiner thinks things are alright. He’s one of the moderator of one of the bigger No Name servers, so he can block and remove people at his discretion. Some days he lets it get to his head. It makes him feel like a king. But today, he’s putting out fires.

Erwin decided their PR strategy was absolutely no strategy, because “they’re zooming in on the pixels Levi. Once they doubt the pixels, they won’t believe anything we’re saying”. With that. Babygate has officially taken on a life of its own. Eren still sends Levi babygate articles to annoy him, and to Hanji because she asked very nicely. Hanji thinks Erwin’s strategy makes sense, Levi thinks it’s just lazy. But Erwin framed a certificate that says “survived a PR crisis (sort of)” that Hanji had insisted be hung up on their wall, so that closes one chapter. Besides, Eren has been spotted going out on dates with a mystery girl. Which has the double effect of diverting attention away from Levi and exacerbating babygate because “see? Told you the company’s doing all they can to prove they’re not together!”

“Can’t you keep it in your pants?” Levi had thrown at Eren, to which he had responded cleverly with a-

“Could’ve said the same for you!”

Touché…

“See? That can’t be Levi! Look at how he’s smiling!”

“That can’t be a baby! Looks like an animatronic to me!”

“Do they even make animatronics that realistic?”

Reiner pins his “no slander” rule- one day they’ll get it. Or at least he would’ve gotten rid of all the people that don’t.

“Who’s this bigdaddyzoë anyway?”

“Maybe she isn’t real? Company probably invented her…”

“Heard she’s a crazy groupie who got knocked up…”

“Heard she’s hot…”

… several people are typing

—

“So… I heard from Reiner you were defending my honour in the server?” Hanji quirks an eyebrow.

Levi shrugs. Whatever goes down in the server stays between Leviackerman173810 (leviackerman and all 173809 permutations of said username had already been taken) and the hundreds of people who haven’t quite figured out he’s the real deal. Besides, Erwin has issued him three warnings so it’s best to lay low for now.

“My hero…” Hanji chuckles, pressing a kiss on Levi’s head. Below them, baby Udo wriggles and yawns against the fabric of Levi’s shirt. Cute.

So Levi Ackerman is your baby daddy. Now what? You look at your son and know he’s going to break hearts like his father of course. And if you’re Levi, you pray to god he never asks about babygate because Hanji has read up enough about it to be considered a connoisseur.

One day the internet will break when they find out the identity of bigdaddyzöe. But for now baby Udo has his parents wrapped around his tiny fingers and he doesn’t quite understand the concept of him being the spawn of every typical band member x y/n fanfiction. Or the centre of a very popular, very absurd, yet strangely believable internet conspiracy theory. Or the canon plot that has sunk one of the biggest No Name ships. And that’s okay.

[a-lil-perspective]

I HAD AN IDEA!!!!

Okay so I’m currently at a literary competition and I’m competing in the extemporaneous speech category, and I was just thinking about how freaking great Keida would be at public speaking. Like almost everything off the top of her head but she knows so much and she’s so confident that even if she is bullshitting everything, it doesn’t even seem like it. (Honestly that’s gonna be me lol!)

Keida probably does compete in things like literary and mock trial just to argue and win and just go batshit crazy on her competition. First place winner in every category she can win, top points, 100% certified badass. And when she first starts her competing in these kinds of things, she has zero nerves. Maybe a little flutter in her stomach, but no bad nerves. Maybe she wakes up in the middle of the night thinking she’s going to be late, but never leading up to her competing.

Now I just image when she first starts, Crosshair and Delena are so proud of her, taking pictures of her in her little pantsuit and everything. Keida asks her parents if she can get a pair of fake glasses before the competition so she can feel smarter, they say no, but she gets a pair of sunglasses and pops the lenses out. She calls them her good luck glasses.

Oh my God Sydney this is so interesting!!! That is so cool!! I didn’t even know that was a thing. Best of luck to you I hope you have/had lots of fun!! I’m rooting for you!!!

Keida is SO good at public speaking. Even from a young age she’s bold and takes initiative and she’s not afraid to speak her mind, and it makes her a decisive and courageous leader, albeit brash. She’s articulate and intellectual, with all the fire consummated from both her parents. They’re so proud of her.

Keidala’s early years were admittedly really rough on everybody. She is so different from Asher in ways that neither Crosshair nor Dee were prepared for. She’s so expressive and energy abounding and they struggled to find things that would appeal to her academically and otherwise. She sampled many hobbies and pastimes over the years, almost if not all of them to no avail.

But when she tried public speaking??

Oh, she was all in.

You’re right in saying she has absolutely zero nerve - much to Crosshair’s dismay. And she loves a good argument. She’s quick to sow discourse (often for good reason) and is not afraid to admit it. She just knows who she is. Crosshair and Delana wanted to find a way to redirect her passion to something more effectual and public speaking just fit the bill.

Her speech is very… colorful. XD

Keida wins every literary competition and she’s quite revered by her peers and instructors alike.

Also little Keida looking sharp in a pantsuit? Crosshair and Delana are in love. She gets her sharp style from then.

And I love the good luck glasses. Kind of bittersweet since she gradually loses her sight when she’s older. You didn’t know that but now you do. :’) (I’m happy to elaborate on a separate post because it’s quite interesting)

[disturbedbydesign]

The Widow and the Wolf - Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x dark!exWidow!reader

Summary: After Natasha Romanoff took down the Red Room, the former Widows scattered to the wind. Raised to be a killing machine and released into the world with nothing and no one, you decided to use your newfound autonomy to take down the bad guys of your choosing. But now Natasha is riddled with guilt for leaving you on your own. She wants to recruit you, rehabilitate you, make you part of a team again. But the rest of the squad has reservations, and no one is more against you than Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: Graphic violence; Mentions of domestic violence, rape, pedophilia, human trafficking, child sex trafficking; eventual Dubcon (not Bucky); eventual smut; slow(ish) burn enemies-to-lovers. [More warnings will be added as necessary but these are the Big Bads.] 18+ only, no minors.

If you prefer to read on AO3, you can do so here.

Chapter Two

It’s almost midnight by the time Garcia is officially gator food, but you’re too wired for sleep. You head out, driving the hour and change to Miami, with a stop on the way to clean yourself up a bit in a gas station bathroom. You check in to the swanky South Beach hotel you’ve decided to treat yourself to, because you’ve earned it. The world is a better place without that man in it, the impressionable young girls of Miami are a bit safer tonight, and that’s enough for you. For the moment, it’s enough.

Your next target is a man you’ve been searching for for a long time, and he’s your own personal project, but tonight you aren’t going to think about him. Tonight you’re going to allow yourself a moment to breathe, to celebrate your victories—a party of one, as usual, but satisfying all the same. You don’t have that much time left before last call at the clubs so you get yourself together quickly and hit the spot closest to your hotel. Even at this time of night, there’s a line to get in, but one look at you and the bouncer is opening that velvet rope and beckoning you inside.

The place reeks of sweat and unchecked hormones as you make your way to the bar, the booming bass drowning out any and all thoughts you might have, which is exactly the way you want it tonight. You order a double vodka rocks and you wait to see what kind of man will approach you this evening: angel or devil. Of course, none of them are really angels, not in the club at this time of night, but some are far worse than others.

You have no problem with decent men. There’s nothing wrong with trying to get laid. It’s normal, it’s natural—you know that now. You’ve even learned to enjoy consensual sex with strangers. At first it was difficult for you—your body having belonged to others for your entire life. But it wasn’t long before you started to enjoy the power of choice, of having control over what your body did and who with.

A man approaches you—brown hair, blue eyes, muscular—and you hate that your first thought is of him but you can’t help it. The Winter Soldier had always been the stuff of nightmares—a ghost story to some, but the Widows knew better. He was terrifying, yes, but the few people who had seen the man’s face and lived to tell about it had always remarked on how handsome he was, even with that cold, dead-eyed stare. You’d seen pictures of him after he came out from under all that brainwashing, and they had proven the reports correct, but you’d never seen him in person until tonight. You couldn’t stand the sight of him in some ways, but in others…

You turn to the attractive stranger and smile, waiting to see what he’ll do.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he yells over the music. You raise your nearly full cocktail in his direction and he smiles awkwardly. “That’s the best line I got,” he says, and he introduces himself with a name you don’t commit to memory.

You give him a fake name and he reaches his hand out to shake. He’s got a disarming personality, but that doesn’t mean you trust him. You know better than anyone that there’s no better tactic than to appear non-threatening. Still, he’s incredibly attractive and you’re in the mood for a party of two tonight.

You let him talk for a while—about his job, about his family—and you pepper in a few lies here and there. He hasn’t laid a hand on you or invaded your personal space in any way that isn’t necessary among the crush of people at the bar. When the bartender signals last call, you decide that he’ll do. You’re rarely wrong about people, and even if you are, you could snap his neck like a twig if necessary.

You allow him to walk you out, expecting him to make a move, but he doesn’t. He just stands there with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, rocking a bit awkwardly on his feet.

You smile and tilt your head. “Nightcap?” you ask, and he follows you like a puppy to your hotel room.

You don’t want another drink and neither does he, but he waits for your signal before he tries anything. You try not to make it all seem transactional, but it’s not like your heart is in it. You let him kiss you and touch you, albeit briefly, and you pretend to enjoy it even though that’s not what you want. What you want is to be on top of him, using his body for the pleasure of your own, and it’s not long before you’re doing exactly that. Your beautiful stranger certainly doesn’t mind, not even when you close your eyes and allow yourself to think about someone else inside you—what his face might look like all twisted up and blissed out, what sounds might spill from his pretty lips, what the cold metal might feel like against your hot sweaty skin.

You make yourself cum and then kick him out (kindly). You’re gone by sunrise. You’ve got places to be.

*****

Natasha sits cross-legged on her couch, a pint of ice cream in one hand and scrolling her tablet with the other. After Miami, you’ve been a ghost. None of her usual contacts have been able to give her anything useful. You’ve gone underground, and she knows she won’t find you if you really don’t want to be found. Whoever your next target is, it has to be somebody big if you’ve covered your tracks this well.

She doesn’t regret not taking you in, even though Bucky had complained the entire ride back about how leaving you there was a mistake. But, as she’d told him, you have to want to come in. Trying to force your hand is not only incredibly dangerous, it defeats the purpose. Natasha doesn’t want to retraumatize you; she wants to help you. There’s no point in trading a floating cage for a gilded one.

She doesn’t realize she’s finished the pint until the spoon hits the cardboard. When she goes to pull another one from the freezer, her phone rings.

“What’s up, Rogers?”

Steve’s voice holds a barely contained anger that Natasha knows well. “You need to come in.”

She should have known Bucky would rat her out, but it still pisses her off. “Steve, it’s getting late. Can we do this in the morning?”

“I don’t know,” Steve replies. “Are you gonna steal another jet in the middle of the night?”

“Technically, I didn’t steal-”

“Natasha, please,” he says, and she can picture the set of his jaw on the other end of the line.

She sighs. “Alright, fine. I’m leaving now.”

When she gets to the tower, most of the usual suspects are gathered around the conference table. Steve looks pissed. Tony looks amused. Sam and Wanda look concerned. And while, to anyone else Bucky would be wearing no expression at all, Natasha can tell that he’s feeling a bit guilty—as he should, he gave her his word. He mouths “I’m sorry” when she sits down at the table and she raises an eyebrow at him that he knows to translate as a middle finger.

Steve tries to speak but Natasha cuts him off. “Save me the lecture, Rogers. I’m not going to apologize.”

Steve’s voice is stern but not unkind. “This needs to be a group decision, Natasha, and as of right now, you’re the only person who thinks this is a good idea.”

“That’s not actually true,” she says. “Wanda? Do you want to tell Steve what you told me?”

Wanda looks a little shocked to be called out but she answers, if a bit hesitantly. “It sounds like she needs help, Steve. Like she’s lost. I… I know what that feels like—when everyone thinks you’re a monster.”

Wanda and Nat’s eyes both turn to Bucky, looking for any recognition whatsoever that he, too, knows exactly where they’re coming from, but he’s completely stolid. Underneath his blood is boiling and he feels like he wants to crawl out of his skin, but the surface remains placid.

Tony pops a blueberry into his mouth and swivels in his chair to face Natasha. “So, let me see if I’m understanding this correctly, Romanoff. You want to bring in one of your former compatriots who has spent the last… what?... year or so on a globetrotting murder spree? Am I getting the general idea here, or am I missing something? I have to be missing something, because if I’m not missing something, this is categorically batshit.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Stark. But essentially, yes. That’s exactly what I want to do.”

Tony laughs. “Wow. OK. Well, Rogers—you and I rarely agree on… well… anything, but I gotta say, I’m Team Cap with this one.”

Natasha crosses her arms and huffs her displeasure.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says, looking around and addressing the room, “but don’t we usually catch mass murderers? Isn’t that kind of our thing?”

The longer the conversation goes on, the more uncomfortable Bucky gets. It wasn’t lost on him that Tony’s eyes lingered on him when he threw out the term “mass murderers,” and he’s learned that it’s better to just let Tony go off when he feels the need. Still, he needs to get out of the room. He needs to take a walk, get some air, push all thoughts of you and this whole mess out of his mind, because if he doesn’t, he thinks he might go crazy.

“Are we done here?” Bucky asks.

“No,” Steve replies. “Sam? Anything you want to say?”

Sam takes a minute to gather his thoughts. “Look, Nat, I understand where you’re coming from on this. I really do. And it would be different if she was willing to come in on her own. But it sounds to me like she isn’t interested. She wants to be doing exactly what she’s doing. You can’t rehabilitate that. You just can’t.”

Steve looks apologetically at Natasha. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but it’s a no. I’m not necessarily saying we go after her-”

“I am,” Tony interjects. “I’m saying that. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Steve glares at Tony and it shuts him up. “Leave it alone, Tony.”

“You’re seriously telling me you want to leave this girl on the streets knowing what we know? Come on, Rogers.”

Everyone starts to raise their voice at once—everyone except Bucky, who is already sneaking out and halfway to the door—when Natasha shouts, “Enough!”

She takes a deep breath and blows it out, speaking softer now. “I’ll find her and I’ll bring her in, whether she wants to come or not. But it stays in this room—no cops, no agents, just the team. When I get her here, I’ll figure out what to do with her.”

“Fine,” Steve says, and the rest of the team assents. “Buck, you go with her.”

Every cell in Bucky’s body is screaming not to do it, but he never could say no to Steve. He grunts his agreement, refusing to even look at Natasha before storming out of the room and out into the humid mid-August evening. He walks all the way from Midtown to Brooklyn, but he still can’t shake the malaise that’s settled over him ever since Natasha first came to him with her plan.

Bucky knows that he should understand—and, in a way, he does—but he just can’t bring himself to feel anything for you except disgust. Natasha sees something in you that he just doesn’t see. All Bucky wanted to do when he finally got free of it all was prove to everyone that he was a good man—that he was not the things that he’d done. It took a lot of work and a lot of time, but he’s finally in a place where he’s separated himself from the Winter Soldier. That isn’t who he is; it never was.

Steve always knew that, and Natasha hadn’t taken much convincing. The others, though—some of them still don’t fully trust him, and if he thinks about it for too long, it cuts deep. So when Bucky thinks of you—free now, but still violent and bloodthirsty and absolutely unrepentant—it makes him sick. After all the work Bucky has done, how can Natasha look at you and him and think that you’re the same?

Not everyone comes out of their traumas unscathed. Sometimes people can’t come back from the things that have happened to them. That’s you. That’s who you are. You’re not good, you never will be, and as sad as it may make him, Bucky truly believes that you are beyond redemption. You don’t need to be saved; you need to be stopped.

Bucky gets a text as he unlocks the door to his Brooklyn Heights apartment. He’s been waiting for it, hoping for it, and now he has it. Natasha doesn’t know where you are yet, but he does. One of his contacts in Bucharest has a line on you, and he’s not going to let you get away this time. Much as it pains him, he doesn’t trust Natasha to keep her word to the team and take you in against your will. No, Bucky is going to handle this himself. You may be a Widow, but you’re no match for the White Wolf.

CHAPTER THREE >>>

[well-its-not-human-anymore]

Okokok here this: april, reader and casey try to prank the boys. How does it go. With who does it fails/success, what was the prank, do they get caught? Do the boys get revenge, and if so, how?

Also, splinter sees it all unfolds, does he just gets himself a snack and watch, or does he tries to subtly join in without getting caught? (We all know hes got a playful side cmon)

Bonus: they try to prank vern too, maybe the boys join in to prank him? What do they do? Does he retaliate?

Okay so I admit I let my brain go nuts on this one, so it's a little long but I was cackling the entire time I was writing it.

TMNT Headcanons

Prank Wars

Leonardo

In your complete and utter defence, Leo had 100% started this

And also in your defence, you did tell him not to

Twice

But he tricked you into watching a horror movie and ended up dying your hair green

This meant war

You'd even wrapped up April and Casey into it

Their problems were your problems

Which meant that April was the one who convinced Splinter not to say anything to his sons

He was perfectly happy to oblige

Casey was just there to help set things up

And you liked the way his mind worked

The objective wasn't to go unnoticed, there would be no point in doing it and having no proof

You were doing this to prove that you could

Leo had emphasized that he couldn't be distracted

That you were to obvious and clumsy to prank him without him noticing

Challenge fucking accepted

And that's how you ended up at the kitchen table eating lunch with April and Casey when the boys were coming back from meditating with Splinter

April kept having to shove food in her mouth to hide her laughter

Casey just decided to wear sunglasses

And you kept overpowering the urge to smirk

"Hey guys, good to see you. Y/n have you seen my katanas?"

With the obstruction of water in your mouth you just nodded at him, pointing to the other room

He sauntered off, none the wiser to your victorious grin

When he came back in only a moment later his expression had done a complete 180

Leo made direct eye contact with you and you held that stare like a wolf cornered in its den

"does someone want to explain why my katanas are encased in blueberry jello?"

You raised your hand like a child in class

"hate to break it to you, but it's actually berry blue you uncultured bitch"

Raphael

Ohhhh you were so undeniably dead

A whole other level of six feet under

It wasn't a surprise that April and Casey had backed out on this one

It also wasn't a surprise that Splinter had offered to stand up for you if things went sideways

Donnie even gave you a sheet of paper with a list of hiding spots before hand

All of this went completely unnoticed by Raph, the target of your latest scheme.

And that was fine, you had only one objective here-

Make it out alive

But it was amazing what 1 person could do with some extra cash and internet access

So that's what led you to your current position.

Cross legged on the bench, watching the large red terrapin get ready for his first set, that in itself wasn't unusual, you always watched him lift just in case you needed to run and grab someone if something went wrong

Raph was none the wiser to your plan

At least that's what you thought

Your book was in your lap and you were calmly scanning your pages, somewhat comprehending the words but keeping a very close eye on the turtle across from you

"Hey y/n?"

You peeked over the edge of your book to meet his eyes

And your heart sank to your stomach

"Yeah Raph?"

He smirked at you, taking a lumbering step forward

"You ever seen that episode of the Office where Jim fills Dwight's phone with nickels so when he takes 'em out Dwight punches himself in the face?"

Shit shit shit shit shit shit-

"Uh... No, can't say that I have, why do you ask?"

That damn smile got even wider and all of your muscles tensed, you were ready to bolt

"I'm giving you a fifteen second headstart. Starting right now."

You flew to your feet and sprinted out of the weight room

"DONNIE WE GOTTA CODE RED!"

Your lungs were ready to burst by the time you made it to your decided hiding spot. Heavy footsteps went right underneath you and you held your breath, you wouldn't dare move.

You didn't come down until hours later when Splinter came and coaxed to you out of hiding

But deep down you knew you'd started something you couldn't finish.

Vern Fenwick

You didn't even have to convince the guys to partake in this

You didn't even get the chance to tell them what you were planning

They were already brainstorming

None of you let a word of it slip to April, she would've shut you down faster than you could blink

A complete buzz kill

But fake blood was relatively cheap and all of Vern's flooring was tile (meaning extremely easy to clean and bleach)

Donnie had really been the mastermind behind the execution, none of you had any idea how he'd rigged the apartment plumbing

But he'd assured you it would only affect Vern's suite and no one else's so you didn't concern yourself with it further

And after the fact you had to wonder what exactly the former cameraman was planning on the date he'd been in the middle of

All you knew was that you got a very frantic call from the falcon himself yelling about blood coming out of his tap and the sink wouldn't shut off and it was everywhere and what the fuck was happening?

You all knew that Splinter thought it was hilarious, he'd never been particularly fond of Vern

But he did make his sons assist in the clean up and bleaching of the victims apartment floor

You went too and offered moral support

Vern had hit on you one too many times, so there was no way you'd feel bad about this

Michaelangelo

As far as pranking went, you and Mikey were partners in crime

He always had great ideas and you always came up with the best ways to execute those ideas without getting caught

But when you separated those two chaos was guaranteed

You weren't entirely sure how you had been pitted against each other but you weren't entirely mad about it

You couldn't say the same for anyone else though, the others had been on edge all week.

Pranking Mikey was a challenge, he knew how you worked and vice versa

You'd been brainstorming with April for weeks now, maybe a new perspective would help

That's what the two of you told yourselves anyways

Much to your dismay, Mikey and Casey had been plotting against you as well, the traitor.

And perhaps even more unfortunate was the fact that both of your pranks somehow overlapped and backfired on the rest of the family

Because Mikey and Casey may have replaced the family tea set with a edible sugar replica that looked identical to the original

So that when you were asked to make tea for Splinter and Leo it would dissolve the second you poured the hot tea

But they didn't tell anyone else so Leo was left with an impromptu anxiety attack when he made his own tea before sitting down to meditate and it melted into sugary leaf water

And you and April had planned the 'cutting off your finger in the kitchen' with the knife, fake finger, and fake blood

Which in theory should've worked because Mikey was in the kitchen the most, that was his territory

However once you'd started your plan you couldn't stop it

so when you 'cut your finger off' and screamed for Mikey you didn't have time to yell "wait it's a prank!" before Donnie caught a glimpse of the scene and fainted

In your defence you didn't know the purple turtle could move that fast

And to Mikey's relief he was going to throw that cutting board out anyways

Splinter explicitly banned the two of you from pranking each other after that incident

Donatello

Per your own common sense you had come to the conclusion that pranking the families resident genius was a horribly stupid idea

So for once, you'd practiced some self control and refrained from any pranks involving Donnie

Now that's not to say that the turtle vowed from aiming any pranks towards you

He had morals but messing with you walked the line separating adorable from batshit crazy

And he was all for it

April advised against it severely and even Splinter seemed to think it wasn't the best idea, but that was a lesson his son had to learn on his own

On the flip side, the second Casey heard about Donnie's plan he was all for it

So when you came over for dinner they both had to hide their excited smiles as Casey passed you your spaghetti

He knew it was your favorite

Everyone else was oblivious, which looking back on it was a very bad thing

April had her suspicions that Donnie was pulling something this evening, but she couldn't put her finger on it

That wasn't until you swirled a mouthful of noodles around your fork and shoved it into your mouth, you were starving

Here lies your predicament-

You swallowed thickly and blinked like you were in pain, your hand went to your throat and you reached for your water, ending up chugging almost the entire bottle.

Your eyes met Donnie's in a serious type of concern

"Is there hot sauce in this?"

April choked on her breadstick and quickly covered her mouth

Casey hadn't picked up on it yet

"Awh yeah- how'd you figure it out so quickly?"

You erupted in a coughing fit that sent April rushing to your side before you could tumble to the floor

"You fucking assholes! Y/N has a capsaicin allergy! Casey go start the car we need to get them to the hospital!"

On the bright side you were fine after you were rushed to the ER

But you didn't speak to Donnie or Casey for two weeks following the accident

You eventually forgave them for it and they haven't targeted you since

Sorry if it got a little dark at the end, but I felt like it was more realistic. Also that has actually happened to me but it was a nut allergy (and that's how I found out I was allergic to cashews) But I feel like the ending was a good example of how pranking someone can go horribly wrong, you should always consider the possibilities before doing something that could cause harm to a person. (Unless they really really deserve it)

I really enjoyed writing this one and I hope you guys like it as much as I do! 😁🧡👍

-Mars 🌠

[bosspigeon]

if you're still bleeding

Pairing: Jax/M!Merc

Words: 2657

Summary: Jax should know better. He should know to mind his own damn business. But, unfortunately, he's well beyond "knowing better" now that he's gone and gotten tangled up with an unhinged mercenary with more knives than sense, and the scars that say the chances of him finding any sense are slim to none.

and if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.

'cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.

we're setting fire to our insides for fun.

collecting pictures from a flood that wrecked our home,

it was a flood that wrecked this home.

- "Youth" by Daughter

CW for: implied/referenced sex, sexual humor/innuendos, references to blood, violence, and trauma, and implications of kink

Knox is a man with scars.

Jax has plenty of his own, of course, but Knox has a lot of scars. There's a story to most of them, too, and he's never shy about telling them. Hell, half the time he tells those stories completely unprompted, whether you want him to or not.

There's a scar on his chin from where Royal told him he couldn't knee slide the entire bar. There’s the ugly knot of scar tissue where his left arm used to be, where the port to his prosthetic is grafted on. There's the scar in his stomach from the mook Jax had to help him bury. There's a scar on his lip where he bit himself too hard with his freakishly sharp teeth trying to keep quiet while Jax bent him over the hood of his car outside Saints and Sinners in the wee hours of the morning.

He's particularly happy to blab the story about that one to anyone who'll listen.

But he doesn't talk about the scar across his throat.

As little clothing as he tends to wear on the day to day, ("As little as I can get away with," he says with a sleazy wink) his neck is always covered. High-collared shirts, a jauntily knotted scarf, decorative chokers and heavy leather collars always keep it covered. He'll flash his tits before he'll show his throat—but in all fairness, it's not really all that hard to get him to flash his tits.

Jax didn't even see the scar until the fourth or fifth inadvisable hate fuck, at which point he was beginning to think he didn't hate the merc quite as much as he thought, considering he kept letting the little bastard in when he showed up at the door out of nowhere—and didn't shoot him when he decided to forgo the door entirely and come in through the window. (Jax still can’t be sure how he even got to the window, seeing as Jax lives in an apartment well above ground level, but he figures he’s better off not asking.) He didn’t think to ask about it until he’d actually lost count of how many inadvisable hate-fucks there’d been, and when they’d progressed somehow from inadvisable hate-fucks to still pretty inadvisable but otherwise amicable casual fucks.

Knox was loose and relaxed, quiet in a way Jax didn't even think was possible when they first met. And, to think, all it took was shoving him face down into the pillows and thoroughly wearing him out. Usually, he rolled out of bed as soon as his legs could hold him again, commandeered Jax's shower, and used half a bottle of his expensive conditioner before he disappeared without so much as a thank you. This time, he stayed. He sprawled gracelessly across Jax's sweat-stained silk sheets, arms stretched over his head, eyes half-closed and his ever-smirking mouth curled into something softer... almost sweeter.

Jax doesn't know what possessed him to roll over, to reach out and touch, but he did. He started at the inner thigh, the bruises he'd left with teeth and then fingers, a rumbling of possessive pride stoking the banked coals of satisfaction in his belly. His knuckles skimmed the soft curve of the merc's belly, the angry red scar tissue of that knife wound, then higher still. Inked into his sternum is a coyote skull, surrounded by boldly outlined flowers that curve along the underside of his breasts. Jax was almost surprised by the softness of the design, especially in comparison to the rest of the merc's ink, like the crude stick-and-poke perforated line and little pair of scissors right above his prosthetic, or the dirty pinup of some generic muscled pretty boy on his bicep, or the peach on his inner thigh that bears an artful addition of a T-dick very much similar to Knox’s own.

He wondered vaguely if the flowers meant anything to Knox.

Before he could dwell on the uncomfortably tender direction his thoughts had taken, his fingers travelled upwards, flicking absently at one of the heavy, angular piercing through Knox's nipples. Knox huffed a rough laugh, watching the progress of Jax's hand through eyes narrowed to dozy, yellow slits.

He traced Knox's collarbone, and his body was all but melted into Jax's bed, soft and pliant. Like he belonged there.

And then Jax’s curiosity got the better of him. He saw the scar, a thin line, pale with age, but standing in stark relief against Knox's tanned skin. It sits at a bit of an angle, slicing across the middle of the merc's throat.

The second his fingers made contact, skimming that raised line of flesh, he knew he'd fucked up.

Knox's body went taut for a split second, and that was all the warning Jax got before Knox was twisting his wrist hard enough for the bones to grind together and snarling in his face like a wild animal. If his knives weren't two rooms away in his discarded pile of clothes, Jax knows he would have lost fingers.

For once, Knox didn't say anything. For once, he was dead silent, mouth a grim sneer, eyes flat and hard. He shoved Jax roughly off him and rolled out of bed. He didn't look back once, stalking out of Jax's bedroom naked, every inch of his compactly muscled body vibrating with tension. Jax heard the rustle of clothes, the jingle of buckles and zippers and a half dozen knives, and then the front door slamming shut.

He didn't see Knox again until Orla called them in for another job, and it was as if nothing had happened. He was his usual smug, annoying self, not a single break in his usual facade of irreverent humor and Napoleonic bravado.

And maybe some of Knox's reckless stupidity is rubbing off on him, because Jax can't shake the curiosity that grips him, even now. He shoves it down, naturally, because he doesn't want the batshit merc to get twitchy on him again when he's got enough knives on him at any given time to outfit a military squadron. Hell, for all Jax knows, that's the end of it. He's not going to go crawling back to Knox (even if the sex is really fucking good—it's always the crazy ones, isn’t it?) and he knows Knox won't come to him first.

Except he does, dragging Jax into one of the back rooms after a meeting with Orla, shoving him against the wall, and dropping to his knees. Things go right back to normal after that, or as normal as they ever are with Coyote Fucking Knox. And as normal as they can be once Orla oh-so-sweetly reminds him there are cameras in the back rooms, and if he doesn't want stills of his dick forwarded to the entire Mirage gang, he'll keep his and Knox's exhibitionism where she doesn't have to see it.

So Knox continues to invade Jax's privacy, steal petty shit from his apartment and/or pockets, and loudly demand that Jax fuck him hoarse (-er) if he wants him to shut up.

And he winds up tangled in Jax's sheets again, sprawled out on his belly with one leg tossed over Jax's thigh, his face smashed into a pillow, one smug yellow eye watching Jax try to catch his breath beside him.

He could let it be. It's not like this is anything but a convenience. Some fun between… well, they're definitely not friends. Coworkers, if anything, and even that's pushing it. For a while, Jax considered it a fair trade for dealing with Knox's bullshit constantly. Now, it's becoming a pattern, and when it comes to semi-regular sex with a stab-happy mercenary, patterns can be dangerous.

But he can't kill the curiosity.

He figures his best bet is being blunt. And maybe getting ready to dodge in the very likely event things go south. He doesn't touch this time, at least not where they aren't already, Knox’s knee between his legs, the skin feeling a bit feverish and clammy as the sweat cools. The urge to touch is still there—he left some nice bite marks on Knox's shoulders he'd like to reacquaint himself with—but he ignores it for now. He rolls onto his side, meets that one yellow eye with quiet consideration, and props his head up on his hand.

Knox must read the change in his face, because he goes from cat-got-the-cream contentment to a warily curious tension. Jax just goes right for the throat, so to speak. “Any chance of hearing the story behind that one?” he says, casual as anything, and nods in the vague direction of Knox’s neck.

There’s a growling noise building up behind Knox’s teeth, but he bites it back. He smiles, but it feels feral, like an animal baring its teeth looks like a smile, but it's really a threat. It looks brittle, like it'll shatter if he tightens his jaw any further.

Jax gives in to the urge, reaching out to touch, fingertips skimming down the mercenary's spine. A shiver ripples across the skin. He’s not sure if it’s the right move, but at this point, if you’re going to Hell...

“I don’t know,” Knox says flatly, and Jax is almost shocked he answered at all. There’s no inflection, no mirth. Just that broken-glass smile.

Jax snorts. Knox never fucking shuts up, that much is true, but Jax isn’t stupid. He knows when someone’s talking a lot and saying nothing of importance on purpose, and he also knows when Knox can’t deflect, he lies his ass off like he was born to do it. Even Orla barely knows anything about her least favorite favorite merc or where he came from, though the chances of her caring enough to even try to find out are slim to none. Still, he has no idea what the mercenary even has to gain from lying, especially here. "If you don't want to say anything, just tell me to fuck off."

The knife edge smile stretches wider. Tips closer to the breaking point. "Fuck off," he echoes like a parrot.

Something starts to uncurl in Jax's gut, something burbling and acidic, a nasty niggling feeling he can't quite name. "You're serious," he says, and he doesn't want to believe it, mostly because he can't imagine someone like Knox taking that sort of… personal unknown well. “Nothing?”

The smile cracks, and Knox lifts his head so Jax gets the full effect of it. His eyes are wide, wild, and suddenly that smile is too big for his face. Slowly, he sits up, and there's the scar. Old and faded, but splitting his throat neatly and boldly from east to west. He drags his thumb across it, digs it in hard enough the white scar tissue goes a bit pink. He laughs. He's never had a pleasant laugh, rough and raspy and mean. Somehow, this one is worse. “Not a lick,” he drawls, and the effort it takes him to sound so casual almost makes Jax cringe. “There’s a reason Orla found me in the fuckin’ bargain bin.” He taps his temple, his messily painted nail clicking against the chip in his head.

Jax’s eyes flick down to the scar, frowning deeply. It doesn’t make sense. Knox is deflecting again, he has to be, but there’s something in the way he’s holding himself, the tension radiating from him, the way he slumps against the headboard of Jax’s bed with his knees pulled up, not quite close enough to hug to his chest, but more like he’s thinking about it, resisting the urge to physically hold himself together and risk looking weak.

"I have nightmares, sometimes," he admits, so soft the syllables catch on the rough edges of his ragged voice. "They never make any fucking sense. I'm just… I'm choking. Something’s cutting into my neck, and there’s someone behind me, and I know them, but— But I'm guilty? I don't know for what." He laughs, bitterly brittle. "Could be fucking anything. Got a lot to be guilty for that I can remember, never mind what I can't."

He inhales, and it sounds like it hurts him, like his breath is made of shards of glass. He drags his hand down his face until he can curl his fingers around his throat so the scar doesn't show. "I just know there's this perfume Orla wears that makes me want to climb the fucking walls and I don't know why. I think I know how to play the piano, but I can’t even look at one without wanting to smash it to pieces. Sometimes I hear some… some fucking opera song, or some shit? And I know the words, and I want to sing along, but then my voice just—just cracks, and I feel like… like a broken fucking wind-up toy? It's like my head doesn't remember anything, but the rest of me does and it makes me so fucking angry. What am I missing? Why does it matter?” His voice hitches dangerously, and there’s a stab of panic in Jax’s belly, his hands twitching like they want to—to reach out? “Why can’t it just leave me the fuck alone?"

Knox squeezes his own throat so hard the skin dimples around his fingers and bleeds white where he’s cutting off bloodflow. His shoulders tremble. There's something in the furrow of his brow, the twist of his mouth, that says angry isn't the only thing it makes him, but he either doesn't have the words to say it, or he just won't, not even to himself.

The silence falls again. Jax always thought he preferred silence where Knox was concerned. Turns out he was wrong. This silence is brutal, heavy and choking and just… wrong. When Knox does see fit to break it, it's with a loud exhale that almost makes Jax start.

"Would you look at the time," the merc says loudly, shaking out his bare wrist and looking at it critically. Jax could almost laugh. Knox tosses his legs over the edge of the bed smiling crookedly over his shoulder. "I should really head out, huh? Don't wanna overstay my welcome."

Before he can think, Jax snaps a hand out and catches Knox’s hip, squeezing. Not enough to stop him if he really wants to go, but enough to give him pause. Once again, Jax counts himself lucky they rarely make it to the bedroom before one or both of them are naked, which means all those knives are somewhere by the door, or scattered across his coffee table, or in the leather jacket tossed over the back of his couch. Coyote turns slightly, just enough to eyeball him. Just one yellow eye.

There's a lot Jax could say, a lot he even wants to, but there's something raw in that one yellow eye, something wary and broken that just wants to hide somewhere quiet and lick its wounds. They've been at this for way too fucking long at this point, Jax should know what to do with that, shouldn't he?

Maybe he does.

He snorts. "When the fuck have you ever cared about overstaying your welcome?" He smacks Knox's hip just on the wrong side of gentle, and rolls over. "You're not leaving until you help me change these sheets. Hell, maybe if I'm feeling generous, I'll let you back in bed after we shower."

He pushes up to his feet and stretches out the kinks in his muscles, allowing himself to luxuriate in the pleasant soreness leftover from their romp. Knox is quiet behind him, and he can't really think of when he actually started to trust the crazy bastard enough to turn his back to him.

Knox makes a rough little sound, something not quite a laugh. "Is that an order, Sir?" he asks, low and raspy-sweet.

Jax glances back with a raised eyebrow. "Do I need to make it one?"

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

So I bindged watched the entry of Metal Family (a Russian YouTube series) and its absolutely adorable. My favorite characters are Glam and Dee because obviously I'm always gunna go for either the goofy dad type with a tragic backstory and the sarcastic little smartass.

Anyway, I've been hearing around that Dee might have a girlfriend and as much as I like the idea of him having a cool laidback goth gf, I just can't picture it. He probably doesn't like to admit it but I think Dee and his dad have similar taste in women; ie badasses who are slightly batshit crazy.

Meet Sasha, they were put together as tutors for each other, she was failing math while he was failing art.

At first glance Sasha seems like a sweet, giggly, airhead with an affinity for tacky jewelry and thrift store clothes. Which is of course what Dee assumed when he offered his usual method of helping her cheat her way through her classes.

She smiled at him and called him: a pig-headed narcissistic asshole who couldn't smell the rancid shit coming out of his own mouth.

Yeah, turns out she isn't stupid just has really bad ADHD and needed someone to help her study math because her brain finds it too boring and therefore unimportant to focus on.

Their relationship is sort of similar to Glam and Ches when they first met; Sasha being a witty yet odd character while Dee struggles to makes sense of what the hell she's saying sometimes.

Because of her ADHD Sasha tends to switch out hobbies like socks; she especially likes activities that keep her hands occupied, such as knitting or origami. Dee has no idea how she can multy task so many things at once.

She is very forward and can be quite blunt when speaking her mind, though she tries her best to remain polite.

She is a big fan of grunge music and punk rock. Nirvana and Foo Fighters being her favorite.

She is the third oldest of six, so middle child syndrome all the way!

She's a bit of an anarchist and can often be found during the weekend tagging government property or big name brand store. Somehow she never seems to get caught.

Her parents are ex-punks so they aren't really surprised or disappointed with their daughter's antics so long as she doesn't get arrested. (More on her family later)

She knitted Dee a beanie during one of their study sessions, it was black with little cat ears. Now he wears it any time its even remotely breezy outside.

Heavy was the first to meet Sasha since they go to the same school. He couldn't understand how such a sweet girl could be friends with his asshole of a brother. She simply giggled and ruffled his hair, stating how Heavy remind her of her own younger siblings.

After that meeting people suddenly stopped bullying him. It was weird but Heavy wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth so he didn't question it. He did, however, wonder why Sasha had a baseball bat in her locker when she didn't even play the sport.

When Dee first invited Sasha over to hang out he made sure that his family would be out all day, because he knew that they would all make it their personal mission to embarrass him in front of her.

That plan backfired very quickly as they returned much earlier than expected and the two teens had been in the living room watching movies and cuddling.

Victoria adored her immediately, insisting she say over for dinner all the while making cheeky remarks at Dee to "make sure to keep her happy so she won't realize that she can do better."

Glam had meant to interrogate her, as he is secretly an over protective father at heart, but he was just so damn charmed by her he didn't have the nerve to do it. Instead he ended up showing her the boys' baby pictures (much to Dee and Heavy's protest).

Her and Ches vibed so well together, it was kind of weird and fascinating to observe. They later find out that Sasha is probably the only person out their that can beat both Glam and Ches in poker.

By the end of it Dee is red in the face with embarrassment and when he escorts her to the bus stop he apologizes if it was all a bit overwhelming. Sasha simply giggled, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek assuring him that she really likes his family and can't wait to come over again.

Of course Sasha was the first to confess because Dee still had no idea about his feelings. Thought it was less a confession and more of a statement as if it was something she assumed he already knew.

He didn't, obviously.

Sasha knew that Dee liked her back but she needed for HIM to come to that conclusion himself if they had any hope of starting a relationship. So she remained patient and waited for him to catch up.

Though this did NOT stop her from teasing and flirting with him just a little 😋

She really couldn't help it, Dee was way too cute when he got all flustered and shy (much like his mother in that regards).

So they aren't OFICIALLY dating but they are together, kind of like a trial run (according to Dee at least).

ABOUT HER FAMILY:

Her parents are high school sweethearts that used to ride around town with Victoria and her old crew.

Sasha's mom is a headstrong yet laid back woman that runs the local laundry mat, popular with bikers as it specializes in cleaning leather. Her father is this big, burly, stoic man that works in construction and doesn't tend to say much. They love each other and their children very much.

Sasha has an older sister and brother as well as three younger siblings, twin boys and a little sister. Her older sister is living in England while also going to college to study political science. Her older brother is on his last year of high school and works as a mechanic at a local bike shop. Her twin brothers are in middle school, just a year below Heavy, while her little sister is just starting the first grade.

When Sasha invites Dee over to her house to study he is greeted at the door by her father who looms over him, glaring daggers. Dee may have seen his life flash before his eyes for a just moment.

Thankfully, her mother was much nicer, inviting him in as she called Sasha downstairs. Her younger siblings were very rowdy, asking him questions about who he is and why he was here. Her older brother however, joined along side his father to glare holes into his head.

He was all too thankful when Sasha finally came downstairs to get him, announcing that they would be in her room studying until dinner. Her older brother shouted after them to "keep the door open" and Sasha gave a cheery reply of two middle fingers in his direction.

Dinner was awkward, at least for Dee, but it wasn't terrible. By the end of it, when they were hanging around the bus stop, Sasha (who insisted on seeing him off as he usual does) proudly said: "I think they like you."

"Oh really?" Dee said with a nervous chuckle, he wasn't quite sure but he trusted her judgment. 🖤🖤🖤