#click title to be taken to ao3

[tsugarubecker]

Popcorn: a Byler first date ficlet for @duskandwandlight 🥰

At the exact moment that fire blazes across the swimming pool on the big screen before them, an audience member’s popcorn bag explodes. The girl who was holding it shrieks. Popcorn goes flying in every direction. Chaos ensues.

Mike looks over at El across the theater. She’s sitting to Max’s right. Lucas sits to Max’s left. It’s dark in the theater, but even so, and even across the room, Mike can just barely see that Max is holding both Lucas’s hand and El’s. Mike can guess that Lucas and El were both whispering fervently into Max’s ears, explaining what was happening on screen. Under her sunglasses Max would have been rolling her unseeing eyes, but affectionately, as Max does. Audience members would have been muttering complaints about El and Lucas’s whispering. El would have gotten annoyed.

Cue the popcorn chaos.

But Mike knows that’s not the only reason for the explosion.

He didn’t have to say anything to El. She figured out on her own that this was Mike and Will’s first “official” date. (Either that, or Will told her. Which… upon reflection Mike suspects it’s that one. The two are inseparable, and have an uncanny - and annoying - ability to practically read one another’s minds. Especially after shutting down the upside down together. Real twin stuff, those two.)

Popcorn is still flying into the air and beginning to fall - Mike is still mid-glance over at El. She catches his eye. Smirks. Raises her eyebrows with intention and rolls her eyes dramatically toward the person sitting next to him.

Mike takes the hint. He turns to look at Will, who has also turned to look at El, no doubt also knowing that she was the cause of the commotion. (And probably finding that fact very funny, Mr. Let’s All Get Rich in Vegas.) Will’s face is, therefore, very close to Mike’s when Mike turns his face back the other direction. They practically smack noses in the split second during which Mike turns back around.

Time feels like it’s moving in slow motion. El did say, once, that feelings can change how it seems to be moving.

Will is now staring into his eyes. He glances down then back up. Mike doesn’t hesitate. They won’t get another chance.

He swoops in. Plants a hard and fast smooch on Will’s mouth. Swears to himself “more later” as he immediately pulls back away, already craning his head around to make sure no one saw.

They didn’t. Time seems to snap back. All the popcorn falls to the floor. The exploding-popcorn-bag-girl’s scream ends. Everyone who wasn’t already half-turned in their chairs swings around to face the source of the noise.

Mike and Will’s faces are an inch apart. They’re both grinning. No one is paying them any attention.

No one except El. She smiles, holds Max’s hand tighter. Leans over to whisper something excitedly in her ear, even as choruses of “what happened?” “is she okay?” “what’s going on?” rain down all around them.

Mike and Will see none of El’s whispering. They’re in a tiny bubble, a soft world of their own for one warm moment. Mike reaches out to hold Will’s hand under the arm rest. He leans in to whisper in Will’s ear.

“Happy first official date.” Will smiles, squeezes his boyfriend’s hand, and whispers back the same. Mike’s ear tickles.

He never knew he could be this happy.

Soon the credits roll on “The Kiss” and the five of them head home, throwing popcorn at each other all the way.

🍿✨✨✨

(Commissioned fanart here! 😍💕💕)

[unholyhelbig]

Part three of loan shark natty

Title: The Oversight [Part 3/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Wordcount: 3465

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, guns, blood, death, sort of dark nat if you squint, horrible grammar

[A/n: If you guys haven't picked up on it yet, this will be slow-burn. Also, thank you so much for the positive response to this story, it means so much!]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

It had been two weeks since the incident that you had deemed ‘the business proposal’, though, if you were being honest, you knew exactly what it was. The bruising against the side of your face, fading from a deep dark purple to an ugly muddy brown reminded you of the encounter. The faster you healed, the more your nerves started to prickle dangerously.

Each time the brass bell above the diner’s door would ring, your eyes would flick to the entrance. With bated breath, you’d study the tired businessman, the English major running on nothing but burnt coffee, or the single mother just looking for some reprieve. Much like yourself.

Clint Barton was the last person you expected and wanted to see. He was certainly the last person you wanted to see, despite the sheepish smile on his face. There was shame etched into his features and a strange softness to his eyes that starkly contrasted the man who had nearly broken your jaw.

His hair was sprinkled with droplets of water, a sweatshirt dotted from the persistent drizzle that seemed to plague the city. He dutifully wiped his feet on the mat and made his way over to you. Instead of his usual booth, Clint sat on the last stool and scratched the stubble on his chin.

He glanced at the menu as if he were going to order something different than his usual. Maybe he wouldn’t order anything at all. But, you had a feeling you weren’t going to escape the conversation at the tip of his tongue, nor the obscenities at the tip of yours.

You poured him a cup of coffee and set it in front of him without being asked. Clint could swallow down a whole pot of extra caffeinated without a second thought. For now, you urged him to pace himself silently.

“You got a couple of minutes?” He asked behind the rim of his cup.

The diner was mostly empty. It was the middle of the workday and had been a slow four hours thus far. There was only so many times you could wiped down the same table and replace the salt in the shakers.

The cook made eye contact with you as he poured alcohol from his flask into off-brand orange soda. You got a short shrug in response. Otherwise, the place was empty. Clint had timed his arrival perfectly.

“Sure. You’re not going to beat the shit out of me again, are you? Those cameras aren’t hooked up, but this is still a public place.”

“Look, I wanted to apologize for that. Bad information breeds bad reactions. I was doing what I was told. You’ll learn that that’s the only way to get anywhere in this practice.”

He stated it plainly as if you weren’t silently inducted into a criminal ring. You weren’t exactly sure what they did but if it was half as bad as what they’d done to you, it was trouble. Clint could sense your unease. He placed his mug down and lifted a bandaged eyebrow.

“Hold your grudge, y/n. I sure would. Natasha simply told me to collect you after your shift. So, you can sit here and glower at me like a grumpy little monster or you can make conversation and we can become friends.”

You hated how good the second suggestion sounded. He was charming in an annoying type of way. You’d never clicked with anyone in the diner before, certainly not the only other employee that stood behind the grill.

Clint was staring at you like he knew you’d already folded. He covered his smirk with another sip of coffee. You wanted to wipe the cocky grin off his face. He had effectively taken a shot at you, that much was true, but you had crumbled just as easily under Natasha’s wishes.

“Friends is a stretch.” You sounded out.

“Acquaintances, then.”

You conceded with a small nod and Clint smiled in a way that could only be genuine. He swallowed off the rest of his coffee and made small talk with you as you hustled around the restaurant. There was a small rush after classes at the community college let out. But you were able to carry on a conversation, learning a little more about him.

He’d been friends with Natasha for a long time. That much was clear by the way his eyes crinkled along the edges when he’d recall memories that stretched past their current affairs and into childhood.  

“We met when we were twelve. I’d just moved to town and was this scrawny, awkward mess of puberty and acne. An easy target is what I’m saying. A lot of neighborhood boys would target me, but I was faster than them. It usually worked in my favor, but there was one day when it had just snowed and it was impossible for me to get any headway.”

Clint regaled you as you filled up his mug for the third time. You lingered behind the counter, chin on your hand as you listened intently.  

“Six of them cornered me at a construction site. I didn’t even know how to begin to fight back. I was beaten close to death and then I heard Nat. She ran head-first into danger, tried to take on every single one of them. Of course, she got the shit kicked out of her too, she was just a kid there was no way for her to win. But that didn’t’ matter because she got back up every single time. Eventually they got cold, or bored, probably both.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were impressed. “Shit, that’s quite the meeting.”

“She’s tough, y/n. Not someone you want to fuck with.”

“So, this is a warning, then?” You smiled.

He shrugged his shoulders “A cautionary tale.”

He drove a 1970 Dodge challenger that smelled like cherry leather polish. It was the nicest car you had ever seen, that is, until he pulled up the iron-gated mansion on the outskirts of the city. There was a brilliant view of the harbor, the water a deep and dark blue that seemed endless, an orange sun casting delicious shadows against the docks.

The house was brick, built in a southern style with a large wrap around porch and a stone fountain in the center of a circular gravel drive. It was three stories of decadence, surrounded by large oak trees and the deepest green grass. This was the home of a Politian, or of someone who had one under their thumb.

Three black SUVs were parked in tandem outside. An equally pitch Corvette Stingray was parked directly in front of the steps. You struggled to muffle the thoughts of Natasha in the front seat. The vehicle suited her, and while you most certainly were not a car person, you knew the value of a ride like that.

Clint squirmed with pride, that same smile on his face. It was one that often accompanied him, you’d learn. He took the steps two at a time and waited to open the doors until you’d caught up. He removed his jacket and draped it over the coat rack just by entryway. You, however, were preoccupied by the elegance of the home.

The floor was a checkered black and white, stretching all the way down a corridor to open storm doors, letting in a crisp spring warmth. Light danced against art that cost more than your entire apartment building. White stairs clung to the wall and curved to the second floor. To your left, a dining room. To your right, a living area that had the softest white carpet, and a cream grand piano that your fingers twitched to run over.

There was a sour scent of bleach that reached your nose, and it was only then, did you realize the blood. It was distilled, a quiet pink color, that had been diluted by diligent scrubbing. The girl, the one that was often at Clint’s side herself, was on her knees a few feet away.

She held a scrub brush that looked like the ones used to clean the grout at the diner. Her forehead was damp with sweat, a few stray strands of dark hair falling into stormy gray eyes. The front of her shirt was stained in the majority of the blood. You failed to see how she would have much to clean from the floor. Yet, the bucket of water next to her was a frothy mess of red.

“An hour,” Clint tsked, shaking his head “I left you alone for an hour. I specifically said that I was coming back with a guest, and it was imperative not to freak her out.”

“I’m not freaked out.”

You were absolutely freaked out. But you were quick to realize whose home you were in. The scrubbing of a crime scene was startling, and you wanted to turn tail and run. However, you had seen worse before and your life had been spared once. You weren’t going to get squeamish now.

“You sound freaked out.” Clint turned his attention back to the girl “And its bad manners. If I were the police?”

“You wouldn’t have gotten through the gate.” She stood, dropping the brush into the bucket with a defiant splash. She was taller than you thought, the deep red of her collar harsh against her skin. There was a smile on her lips, and she reached out a hand to you. “I’m Kate.”

“This is y/n and she’s not going to shake that.” Clint batted Kate’s hand away “Who was this?”

Kate rolled her eyes. It was an action that you yourself would never do. Clint may be a bit aloof, but you had seen him in action. Namely when he was three seconds from snapping the bones in your face. She had no fear of him, though. There was a cockiness, a charming attention, to her stance. He didn’t’ seem to mind, or he had gotten so used to her attitude that seeped into him instead.

“I don’t know. Yelena brought them in. If you’re so concerned about the mess, maybe you should take it up with her.” There was a grin that mirrored Clints. She knew she’d won. “I can go get her if you want.”

“No need. Where’s Nat?”

“Out back by the pool. It’s a lovely day.” She leaned close to you, smelling of cleaner, of tin and of the slightest bit of chewed mint. “It’s great to meet you, y/n.”

You were careful not to lose your footing on the slick floors. Clint nudged the bucket with his toe as he walked by, sloshing about the soiled water. Kate cut him a look that only you saw, but it was one that was almost playful. She shook her head and went back to her task.

There were two things you had picked up from the conversation; Clint was afraid of Yelena, and there was somewhere soundproof in this house that she had taken someone that had lost a lot of blood. You shoved both thoughts to the back of your mind when you exited onto the back porch.

Natasha was stretched out like a cat in the sun. She wore a black bikini that left very little to the imagination. You could feel the blush against your cheeks as you averted your eyes to anywhere else, though, you swore she arched her back from the chair at the sound of your footsteps.

Her hair, still slightly damp, was cascading down her shoulders. She wore a pair of sunglasses, a book that was marked halfway through rested on the table next to her. She had clearly given up on reading, instead fully devoting herself to the sun.

Clint didn’t acknowledge her current state, nor did he have an adverse reaction to it. Your mouth was dry, and you shoved your hands into your jeans to keep them from trembling. It was a mix of fear and attraction that caught you off guard on a mostly empty stomach.

She moved her glasses down the expanse of her nose as you approached. Her stare was a startling green, raking across your form. She quirked an eyebrow. The specter of a smile on her face. Clint had noticed something you didn’t, his body language changing into something unreadable.

“y/n,” Natasha purred your name. You fought back a shiver. “You’ve healed nicely.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“ma’am? What manners you have. That’s severely lacking around here.”

Clint rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut. You did the same, partly out of fear. But mostly, you were distracted by the scars against her stomach, on her arms and down her back. It wasn’t something you had noticed at first, nor did you permit yourself to stare. Whatever had been done to you when they’d first taken you was nothing compared to what Natasha had been through. Her body told a story, one that you longed to learn.

“Hey sharpshooter,” She turned her attention to Clint “I think Yelena might need your help downstairs. Y/n. Stay.”

It was a clear dismissal, and one that he didn’t’ take lightly. He patted you on the shoulder before entering the house once more. You listened to his footfalls for a few moments, holding your breath until you started to feel your vision falter.

You’d been alone with Natasha before. But this felt different. Heavier. The questions that you’d had these last two weeks were meant to be answered. She gestured for you to sit on the opposite chair, which you did carefully, body tightened to make yourself as small as possible. She removed her glasses entirely, a strand of russet hair falling into her gaze.

“You’re going to quit your job at the diner.” She said.

“I can’t do that,” Your response was automatic.

Natasha sat up, placing her bare feet adjacent to yours. Her knees were pressed against your own. She easily could have pushed your own open and she stared at you as if she contemplated the fact herself. Instead, she lilted her head and peered at you.

“What I mean, ma’am, is that’s my livelihood.”

“Oh, I understand. I wasn’t perfectly clear. You work for me, now. You’re on my payroll. I’m sure it’ll be quite an upgrade.” She leaned closer. “Do you know what I do, y/n?”

You swallowed hard and shook your head. There was an inkling. But it was just speculation. Someone with a home like this had a good handle on business. Natasha certainly conveyed fear, and commanded respect. So did the people who worked for her, willing to take a bullet in moment’s notice.

You weren’t there yet, but you were sure with a little persuasion, you would be. Part of you had felt slighted. They’d pulled you from your life, from your daughter, and threw you into this without any type of explanation.

“The harbor behind you is a center of trade. Whoever controls the harbor controls the city, and for generations my family has had a monopoly when it comes to what comes in and out. There is not a single freight that can dock here without getting past me. Recently, that’s been threatened.”

She sighed and worked a hand through her hair. Her stare flicked past your shoulder, focused on the expanse of water that had been a staple in your life. You’d walk along the docks, chat with the vendors on the way to work. It seemed like a friendly place.

“There are two prominent families in this city, Y/n. The Romanov’s and Danver’s. For the past three years they’ve been pushing back against the real leadership, getting creative. Looking for change. But we simply can’t allow that to happen. Things work as they are.”

You had a feeling that this was the core of her beliefs. Things how they were weren’t so bad. Each person had their own struggles but when it came to integral crime on the streets, in the boroughs, you hadn’t noticed anything and that was the way you liked it. Ignorant, maybe. But it was none of your concern. Not until now.

“A lot of people work for me, but my numbers are dwindling. It’s hard to find good help anymore. You know how it is.”

You didn’t.

“There’s something… in you that I admire. A perseverance to live and protect and you’re going to do exactly that for me.” Natasha stated this plainly. “The Winter Soldier will be predisposed. Not permanently. But I would like you to replace him.” 

There must have been disbelief written across your features because Natasha laughed, actually laughed, as your jaw fell open. It was a lovely sound; you must admit. Bucky was well known in the neighborhood. Even without being knee deep in mafia sludge, you had heard of him. You feared him. And the thought of stirring the same reaction seemed unattainable.

“I… what about Clint?” You asked dumbly. He seemed like the natural choice.

“He’s got his hands full with an heiress who, I’m sure you can tell, is a bit aloof. But extremely valuable. Much like yourself.” She quirked an eyebrow “if it’s experience, you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ll train you myself.”

She stood and tapped your leg with her fingers, arousal shooting straight to your core at the slight contact. Your body almost refused to move, but you were quick to snap out of it when she smiled wolfishly down at you. “Now, have you ever killed anyone?”

Your voice was pinched. “No.”

“We’ll have to change that, darling.” She started to saunter away, grabbing her silk cover-up from the back of a nearby chair. She slid it over her shoulders, and it hugged her form with just enough ferocity as the bathing suit. “Come, dear. I have just the person in mind.”

The basement was significantly cooler than the rest of the house, bathed by the sun. As you descended the stone steps, you fought the urge to smooth your fingers over your skin to quell the frigid air.

Natasha seemed unbothered. She led you into a large room that you assumed was soundproof. It was a fairly empty room, lit with artificial bulbs that reminded you much of the warehouse they’d kept you in for the weekend. This seemed more malicious though. Not something to extract information exactly. A form of punishment.

A man was strung up from a low hanging rafter, his feet barely touching the ground. Rope was tied around his wrists, his hands above his head. Blood dripped like syrup from his lips, from a wound against his side. His left knee looked unnatural and broken.

You fought back a groan at the sight, at the smell of him. One eye was swollen shut, his fingers curling when he noticed Natasha’s presence.

Clint’s back was to you, his fingers dancing over an array of tools. He hummed a Metallica song, stopping at a pair of pliers. Yelena had her arms crossed over her chest, walking a slow, predatory circle around the man.

“No,” Yelena took the pliers from Clint “He will need his teeth to talk.”

Your throat tightened. This was the same woman who had sat next to your daughter in the diner. The one who had complimented her art and your job at raising her. She was easy to have conversations with, charming in the purest sense.

She turned towards both of you. “Natasha, you shouldn’t wear open toed shoes here. It is unsanitary.”

The woman next to you was not admonished in the slightest. Not by the cold or the harsh words of Yelena. Instead, she studied the man in front of you. He was in rough shape. If he hadn’t talked yet, he wasn’t going to. That much was clear.

This felt like the first time you served without following around an older, more experienced waitress. Your fingers were trembling and there was a wild nervousness that was in the pit of your stomach. Eventually, you learned, and it was second nature. You wondered if that’s what Natasha wanted. For you to learn not to cringe away from things like this. Just like the Winter Soldier.

As if to prove your thought process, Natasha said “Which one of you has your gun?”

They both pulled them out of various places at the same time, without hesitation, to the question. It made sense that Natasha didn’t have a weapon on her, not with the outfit that she walked around in. The cover-up was too tight against her skin, too revealing.

Yelena was closer, so Natasha grabbed the weapon from her. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

“I have.”

Your second foster father was a deputy sheriff in Minnesota. On half-frozen nights, he’d return home from the local bar reeking of sour alcohol and sweat. The door to your bedroom would creak open and he’d drag you from bed, barefoot and in your pajamas.

Most of the time, he had cans set up on an old picnic table that had rotted through. At first, it was your job to set the cans back up and fight off hypothermia. But after three or four sleepless nights, he taught you how to shoot. His body was warm against your back and the first time the gun kicked you had nearly broken your nose.

You considered yourself a good shot when it came to cans, wild turkeys, and even the occasional buck. This was different. This was a human being that was taking in heaving breathes and fighting to pull himself up to give his bad knee a break.

“Do you know how to aim?” Natasha asked.

“It’s been years.”

“Okay,” She breathed.

You flinched when she moved behind you. Her warmth was all encapsulating. She smelled of sunscreen, and vaguely of the salt of the ocean. Natasha’s fingers pressed against your hip, giving you a small squeeze, signaling for you to take a step back.

Her other hand dropped the pistol into yours, heavy and warm. Her hand trailed up your arms, giving you goosebumps, fingers tightening around your own until you held the gun towards the man. The stranger.

Natasha’s chin was on your shoulder, her breathe hot against your cheek. Her voice came out in a whisper. “Right there. When you’re ready.”

She’d aimed the tip of the gun directly between his eyes. You could hear your heartbeat in both ears, vibrating through your body. It wasn’t hesitation, exactly. In this moment, it was his life or yours. Clint and Yelena watched you carefully, with intent.

You took a deep, shaking, breath and clenched your eyes before pulling the trigger. You expected some sort of blow-back. The same throbbing pain that you recalled from shooting at the cans. The scent of gunpowder mixing with cold.

None of those came.

Instead, there was a small click. The safety was on, and though you had squeezed the trigger with the intention to kill, it simply did not fire. You inadvertently slumped back into Natasha and the hand on your hip snaked around your middle, holding you close.

“You won’t have to kill often,” Natasha explained “But it’s good to know you’d do it without question if I tell you to.”

“Oh, Natasha, do not play with her. It is not nice.”

Smoothly, Natasha worked the gun from your hand and switched the safety off before you could blink. She fired two shots in succession, not releasing her hold on you. Your ear was ringing and the man in front of you slumped in his bindings.

“Okay. Very effective. You owe me bullets.” Yelena took her weapon back. “You are cleaning this up.”

“That means I’m cleaning this up.” Clint said.

Natasha hummed in agreement, finally pulling herself away from you. “I think this a job for two, don’t you, y/n?”

There wasn’t room to disagree with her. Not when you could only hear out of one ear, your skin still buzzing from her lingering touch. You could have sworn you felt her own heartbeat against your shoulder blade.

 But you’d never bring that up.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toocreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos]

[pooslie]

To the end of the line.

Captain America: the Winter Soldier, the Movie Poster We Should Have Gotten (Redbubble)

Inspiration and non-titled version below cut:

No title version:

This is my magnum opus! A GIANT photo manipulation of at least 12 source images, painstakingly taken apart and put back together in Photoshop. at one point this beast had over 80 layers! I am surprised my computer didn't crash!

Inspired by the Iron Man 3 and Thor: the Dark World posters wherein the love interest is posed like a Damsel in Distress.

Since Bucky IS CapSteve's damsel in all 3 movies!

^ my original digital sketch (featuring my FAVORITE Bucky drawing OF ALL TIME by @evankart!) and first attempt at a digital drawing using adobe illustrator (to be fair to 2021 me, I had been using illustrator less than a year at that point and would have just done it in Photoshop originally if it wasn't a project for one of my Graphic Design college classes) I used it for a magazine spread in my capstone (My paper was about queerbaiting in the MCU click to read on Ao3!) See the rest of the illustrations here!

When i saw the @catws-anniversary event, i KNEW I had to do it! Prompts: Devotion, Reunion, Schoolyard and battlefield, Favorite Stucky scene (missing scene lol)

[dancingbirdie]

Oh look it's me with another Astarion fic, what a concept.

This is the next part in my Astarion series called The Planets Bend Between Us (title taken from Snow Patrol's song). Part 1 (flashback) and Part 2 can be found by clicking on those links!

Everything is also posted on Ao3 - link to that here!

Find Me, Here

Rating: Teen

Pairing: Astarion x f!Tav

Word Count: 2.2K

Tags/Warnings: SMUT FREE FLUFF, non-sexual body worship, angst, trauma/trauma responses/trauma recovery

Suggested Song Pairing: The Light by The Album Leaf

They had begun sleeping together. There was no sex involved, or even suggested. Despite their mutual desire for one another, both had agreed to take this slow. Both had their demons to reckon with when it came to… relationships. The concept was foreign to both of them. They needn’t rush into things more than they had. 

But Astarion and Tav had agreed that sleeping was innocuous enough. They could be together without being together. At least for the time being. 

No one in the camp seemed too surprised by the development. It had started the night of Astarion’s confession, after the events that had transpired with Gale’s spell, after the revelation of Tav’s true intentions. She had forgiven Gale for the part he had played in all of it, although that decision hadn’t had much to do with the verbose apology she’d immediately received from him. No, it was mostly due to one certain pale elf with whom she’d reentered the camp. 

She hadn’t said anything to the rest of the party when they returned. They had all seen what had happened prior to her rushed departure. She didn’t feel like rehashing it, or catching them all up to speed on the conversation that had followed. Instead she went directly to her bedroll, grabbed it by one of the corners, and dragged it determinedly toward Astarion’s tent. He was already there, waiting for her, watching her with an amused grin. She quirked a brow. 

“Care to make some room in there?” she asked him bluntly. 

Astarion curled his mouth into a lazy smirk. “Of course, darling,” he returned, drawing aside one tent flap and moving inside to begin rearranging the interior.

Tav nodded to herself before turning to glance at the other party members. They were all observing the show. Some were smiling. Some glaring. Some smirking. She met the eyes of each of them with a sort of sternness. As if to say, not one comment from any of you. 

“Goodnight, all,” she said definitively, before turning and joining Astarion in his tent. 

A chorus of goodnights floated up behind her. 

And that had been that. 

***

Tonight she woke to the sound of quiet sobs. Lying on her back, she opened her eyes blearily, taking in the ceiling of the tent. It was dimly illuminated by the light of the moon. Her senses were sluggish, absorbing her surroundings incrementally. She felt blindly with one hand, stretching it out until she made contact with Astarion’s body. His back. He had turned away from her, curled into the fetal position. She clutched him gently.

“Astarion…?” she croaked, her voice thick with sleep. 

She heard him sniffle quietly then clear his throat.  

“My apologies darling,” he replied. His attempt at a casual tone failed horribly. 

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

She heard him sigh. Then he shifted to face her. She turned her head to meet his gaze.

“It was a nightmare,” he muttered. “I hadn’t had one since you started sleeping in here, but, well… I suppose they had to resume at some point.”

“About… Cazador?” 

He opened his mouth to reply, but his lips trembled, on the verge of another sob. He nodded mutely instead.

“Oh, Astarion, I’m so sorry,” Tav whispered, her heart breaking at the look on his face. 

He merely nodded again, too afraid to open his mouth lest another wave of emotion burst forth. 

“What can I do - how can I help you?” she asked desperately. 

He just looked at her, unsure. He’d never been asked that question before. He hadn’t the slightest clue how she could help him, however much he wanted her to. 

“Astarion,” she murmured, interrupting his thoughts. “Can I…” she swallowed, uncertain. “Can I just touch you?”

He stared at her, wide-eyed. She couldn’t discern the emotion on his face. 

“Not in that sort of way. I just… well, my mother used to use this trick when I was upset… her touch always calmed me… I thought it may be worth a shot” she trailed off, beginning to seriously regret her forwardness.  

Physical touch is obviously a sensitive topic for him, even if it’s not sexual. You complete arsehole! She chastised herself. He literally told you that being with someone still feels tainted. And now you go asking if you can put your lovesick little paws all over him?

“Please,” he managed in a broken whisper. His voice halted her inner cacophony of reprimands and insults. She blinked in surprise. 

Tears brimmed his eyes as he looked at her, desperation now clearly written across his face. 

She rolled onto her side, scooted closer to him. They faced each other, chest touching chest. She felt his lungs expand with a shaky breath. 

Slowly, like she would be approaching a wild animal, she raised a hand toward his face. His eyes tracked her cautious movements. But then they fluttered shut, when her index finger made a gentle sweep across his forehead. She followed the shape of one brow first. Then the other. Smoothing out the distress, stroke by stroke.

“Such strong brows,” she murmured. He jumped a little in surprise at her voice, his eyes opening to observe her. She gave him a gentle smile. “It’s all right,” she soothed. 

“They’re darker than your hair color, you know. Still silver, but more like the steel of a sword,” she continued. His eyes slipped shut once more. She thought she caught the slightest tremble of his lips. 

“And they’re quite expressive. This one,” she tapped his left brow lightly, “always quirks up when Gale says something absurd. Which is often.” 

Astarion huffed a laugh. His cool breath smelled of mint as it washed over her face. 

“And they both furrow when Wyll goes all noble Blade of Frontiers on us.” She drew a faint line down the middle of his forehead, over the bridge of his nose. He gave her a tiny smirk. 

“But my favorite. My favorite is how they raise up when you’re delighted. Or when you laugh… your whole expression changes. And those brows lead the charge.” 

She traced the line of his nose again. “And this nose. So noble. Regal, but not austere. A patrician’s nose. It suits your face perfectly,” she smiled at him, though he couldn’t see. 

She swiped delicately over his cheeks, noting how his eyelids fluttered slightly. “High cheekbones. Sharp enough to cut yourself on. Absolutely gorgeous alabaster skin,” she sighed. “Sculptors couldn’t replicate your likeness if they tried.”

Her index finger dipped to his mouth. He swallowed thickly as she traced his upper lip, then the lower. 

“A very pleasing mouth, even if it does utter the most deplorable things at times,” she teased softly. 

He released a true bark of laughter at that. She could see his fangs glint in the moonlight. But then he quieted, a silent request for her to continue her ministrations. 

“Full lips, a perfect cupid’s bow,” she went on. “Utterly swoon-inducing, as I can attest.” 

She moved down to his chin, tracing the point of it before grazing back and forth across his jawline. 

“Strong jawline and chin. Makes you look quite powerful. Someone who should be paid attention to. Listened to.” He hummed in approval of her commentary. 

Her hand slid up to his ear, tracing the tip of it, the elegant point. He shivered slightly but kept his features schooled, his eyes still shut. 

“And these ears. Beautifully pointed. Elegant. Refined.”

Then she carded her hand through his hair. 

“These curls. Simply gorgeous. Silver, like the moonlight. They almost glow at night when moonbeam touches them. They always look perfect, even in the midst of battle.” He sighed as she massaged his scalp lightly.

“But my absolute favorite…” she whispered after a moment, but then stopped. She moved her hand to cup his cheek. 

Astarion blinked his eyes open, curious as to why she had stopped. 

“There they are,” she smiled. Her thumb lovingly grazed the hollow under his eye. 

“These beautiful eyes. Deep burgundy. They hold so much emotion. So much levity. And sorrow.”

She noted the tears that welled in his eyes once again as she spoke. 

“They say eyes are the windows to the soul, you know,” she continued. “Which means I’m seeing such a beautiful, rare soul who lives inside. Marvelous. Incomparable.”

A tear finally fell, plopping onto the pillow beneath his head. Tav gently wiped away the others on his cheek that were racing to follow their leader. 

“It’s a privilege to see you,” she finally whispered, smiling softly at him. “A privilege, Astarion. Thank you.”

A quiet sob wrenched from him. He lurched forward to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He clutched her waist desperately.

She held him there. Curled her arm around him. Palmed the back of his head. Held him tight enough to feel protected. Loose enough to know he could break away. If he wanted to. If he needed to.

Eventually, she felt his breathing even out. His inhales and exhales became those of a slumberer. His body relaxed, muscles released from their tension. She continued to hold him, curled as he was into her body. She kissed the top of his head. Her lips remained there as she breathed in his scent. 

She fell asleep like that. Locked in his embrace. Surrounded by the comforting smell of bergamot. 

***

He hadn’t liked being touched. Physical touch had been reserved solely for the job, per Cazador’s command. It was hard to enjoy something when the only time he had experienced it was while doing something so awful as luring poor souls back to his master. 

Perhaps he had enjoyed it in his former life. But that was over two centuries ago. If that person had existed in this body, he didn’t remember them anymore. 

But Tav was changing that. 

For perhaps the first time in his long, long life he understood what it meant to be touch-starved. The concept had been so foreign to him when he used to hear the bards croon about it in the city squares. Or when reading the drabble that poets had peddled around the Baldur’s Gate artisan guild. 

But now, lying here with Tav, he felt he understood those lovesick fools a bit better. She had lulled him to sleep with those blissful caresses. Those touches that asked for nothing. That only gave him everything. 

She had awoken something in him, he realized now, in the pale hours of the morning. Something long-buried, something that desperately needed that unassuming affection she gave to him so freely. It was like opium, in the best of ways. It had soothed his pain. Had left only peace in its wake.

They had shifted in their slumber together. He was now on his back, with Tav curled into his side. Her legs and arms were banded around him, tangled in him.

And he… didn’t mind? Didn’t mind at all. In fact, it felt rather amazing. Her warmth radiated into him, creating hotspots in the places her limbs touched. Like his own personal sun. 

He stared up at the ceiling of the tent, lost in thought. One hand caressing up her arm, down her waist. Again and again. 

***

The tent was getting brighter with morning sunlight when Tav began to stir. She felt Astarion’s hand caressing her skin. The sensation had her humming in delight.

“Hello, you,” he murmured into the crown of her head, sensing she was awake. He planted a chaste kiss there. 

“Good morning,” Tav garbled through a yawn. She both felt and heard Astarion chuckle. Then he squeezed her waist firmly.

“Thank you. For last night,” he murmured. “It was a gift.”

“Of course,” she said simply, though the words were filled with affection. She wanted to say more, to tell him she would do anything for him, to promise a thousand touches if it pleased him. But she didn’t want to overwhelm him. He didn’t take grand expressions like that very well. She’d learned that after promising they would defeat Cazador and free him.

And, she reminded herself, bombarding him with affection was not the way to ensure he would stay with her. As much as she cared for him, she didn’t want to fall back on old ways of trying to prevent someone from leaving her. She had told Astarion that she had her own demons she wrestled with. Insecurity was chief among them.

She settled instead on telling him a truth. Vulnerability in exchange for vulnerability. 

“I like you touching me like that,” she murmured, feeling a certain shyness about the confession.

Astarion hummed his own approval, continuing to trail his fingers across her skin. “Is that so, darling?”

He became more intentional with his movements. She felt him graze her collarbone, the curve of her shoulder, the dip of her waist, the small of her back. His fingers slid delicately across her skin, painting the places of her body he could reach with his cool touch. 

Tav moaned in approval, snuggling up closer to him and closing her eyes once more. “It feels lovely.”

He couldn’t have agreed more wholeheartedly. Touching her felt almost as wonderful as when she’d had her hands on him the night before. And that, within itself, was an incredible revelation.

“It really does,” Astarion agreed after a beat of silence. He smiled faintly to himself. “It really does.”

[weemssapphic]

Lipstick Stains - Pt. 25

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Larissa Weems x fem!reader

words: ~ 3k | ao3 link in title

A/N: this one might hurt. It's also the second to last chapter (which hurts me). You have been warned.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“[W]e cease to be soldiers in the army of the upright; we become deserters. They march to battle. We float with the sticks on the stream; helter-skelter with the dead leaves on the lawn, irresponsible and disinterested and able, perhaps for the first time for years, to look round, to look up—to look, for example, at the sky.” - Virginia Woolf

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The back of the young boy’s head looked vaguely familiar, though you couldn’t be quite sure. What you were sure of, however, was that you recognized the girl at his side - and that she was not supposed to be here.

What the hell was Wednesday doing back at Nevermore with Tyler? Hadn’t her train left? And, if Wednesday was here, where the fuck was Larissa? All you knew was that, if Wednesday was involved, there was something fishy going on.

You reached into your pocket for your phone with a shaky hand, clicking Larissa’s contact and holding the phone to your ear - it rang and rang and rang before finally going to voicemail, and you ended the call with a huff. You considered trying again, and again - instead, you scrolled through your contacts, before finding the one person at Nevermore you thought might be able to help you.

Enid Sinclair.

“Hello?” Enid sounded confused when she picked up, like she wasn’t expecting to hear from you. Which was, in all honesty, fair - it’s not like you’d been in contact at all since that day you’d exchanged phone numbers.

“Have you heard from Wednesday since she left for her train?” You tried not to sound panicked as you turned away from the window and headed for the door of Larissa’s office, intent on following Wednesday and figuring out what was going on.

“No, she doesn’t have a phone. Why?”

“What do you mean she doesn’t have a phone?” you asked, briefly taken aback. Of all the times for Wednesday not to fit into the conventions of society… “Nevermind. Larissa - sorry, Principal Weems - isn’t back yet and I can’t reach her. I thought maybe you’d heard something from Wednesday? Her train should’ve left ages ago, but I just saw her heading for the conservatory with Tyler.”

You were met with silence, then more confusion evident in Enid’s tone. “What about Principal Weems?”

“That’s the thing - I don’t know, she wasn’t with them. She’s not answering her phone either. I just… have a really bad feeling. Can you maybe meet me outside of Larissa’s office?”

Enid agreed and, to your delight, she was fast. Within minutes, the two of you were on your way, navigating the dark halls of Nevermore and slipping out a side door, crossing the same path you saw Wednesday go down just a few minutes earlier.

The conservatory came into view, looming, like most of Nevermore, ominously in the distance. The closer you and Enid got, the slower your footsteps became, and you realized that the door was ajar, voices floating out of the glass building. You stopped in your tracks and flung out your arm, stopping Enid before she could step into the light seeping out onto the lawn.

“Wait,” you whispered, glancing around for somewhere to hide. Darkness had fallen quickly, and you pushed Enid behind a tree near the door as the voices inside of the conservatory grew louder - the young girl’s face twisted in confusion as she crouched down next to you, and she started to pull anxiously at the sleeves of her sweater. 

You felt like you were going to throw up, a chill going through you that had nothing to do with the cold autumn breeze. There was a bang, and then footsteps, and then a short figure with auburn hair and red boots, whom you recognized as Ms. Thornhill, rushed out of the conservatory dragging an unconscious Wednesday behind her.

Enid gasped and you froze in place, your heart nearly stopping as you waited with baited breath to be discovered - Ms. Thornhill, however, seemed to be otherwise preoccupied, for she didn’t seem to hear Enid at all, instead heading straight for the woods. Tyler was nowhere in sight.

The second Marilyn disappeared into the darkness of the forest, you rushed into the conservatory, with Enid hot on your heels. Something felt terribly off about this whole situation - you hoped it had nothing to do with Larissa, but each step brought about new anxieties and heightened your sense of dread. You needed answers, and you were going to get them.

Not that you had to look far - it suddenly became clear to you why Larissa wasn’t able to answer her phone. She was lying on her back at the center of the room, convulsing and gasping for air - a sight that nothing could have prepared you for, a sight that you couldn’t have imagined in your worst nightmares.

“Larissa?” You fell to your knees, barely noticing the stabbing pain going through your kneecaps as they hit the hard, cold stone. A fresh wave of nausea hit you as you took in Larissa’s face - white as a ghost, not a sliver of blue visible around dilated pupils, white, foamy saliva spilling forth from her parted lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you cursed under your breath as you struggled to yank off your jacket, the sleeves getting caught on your arm in your haste. Managing to get it off, you balled it up and gently lifted Larissa’s head with a shaking hand, pushing your jacket underneath it. 

“Shh… it’s okay, Riss…” you whispered hoarsely, tears springing to your eyes and blurring your vision as you eased her onto her side with a bit of effort, praying you weren’t too late as you tried to make sure she wouldn’t choke on her own saliva. You blinked rapidly to fight away the tears as you fumbled with the clasp of her necklace to make it easier for Larissa to breathe, shoving the probably super expensive piece of jewelry unceremoniously into your back pocket.

As your fingers brushed against her neck, you saw a tiny bead of blood. It made you furrow your brow in confusion, and then the sound of Enid shuffling forward reminded you that you weren’t alone. 

“Hey, look,” she said hoarsely, kicking an empty syringe across the floor - your stomach turned.

“Enid… do you know what could’ve been in that? Do you know why Larissa could be foaming at the mouth?”

“I… I don’t know, Wednesday was always better at botany than I was…” Enid mumbled as she looked around the room with a panicked expression, her gaze drifting over to the workbench. “M-maybe nightshade? We’ve been studying poisonous plants this semester…”

One hand reached into the other pocket of your jeans and pulled out your phone, dialing 911 as your other hand found Larissa’s wrist, your fingers digging into it to feel her pulse. It thumped rapidly against your fingertips, and your mouth went dry as you tried not to panic. 

“Is… is Principal Weems going to be okay?” Enid asked timidly, and the question made fresh tears spring to your eyes as the 911 dispatcher answered the phone.

You quickly gave them the information they needed, then looked up at Enid and tried to keep your voice steady. “I’ve g-got her… Go find Wednesday. Please just be careful…” 

Enid nodded, hesitating for only a moment before rushing back out of the conservatory in the direction of the woods.

It took half an eternity for an ambulance to get to you - at least, that’s what it felt like, as you switched between checking Larissa’s airways and pulse (thankfully clear and thankfully still thumping, albeit very weakly, especially when compared to the pounding of your own pulse) and brushing your fingers through her hair, tugging out each bobby pin that your fingers bumped into. You weren’t sure how conscious Larissa was of what was happening around her, but you cooed at her through your tears anyway, trying to comfort her and tell her everything would be alright.

Everything was a whirlwind after that - you rode with Larissa in the ambulance to the hospital, then lost sight of her as they wheeled her in and forced you to sit in the waiting room. Nurses asked you lots of questions - do you know what happened, what she’d been poisoned with, how long it had been. You tried to answer to the best of your ability.

Sometime later, a few Nevermore students were brought in with ‘minor’ injuries, among them Enid and Wednesday. Enid made a beeline for you, with Wednesday trailing along behind her.

“How’s Principal Weems? Is she okay?”

You opened your mouth to speak but your throat closed up, you couldn’t get a word out. You shrugged, feeling tears spill over and race down your cheeks, and Enid pulled you into a hug so tight that it knocked any remaining air out of your lungs. You made eye contact with Wednesday who looked, for the first time since you’d known her, remorseful.

“Ms. Y/L/N?” It was a nurse’s voice, and you wiggled your way out of Enid’s arms to turn towards her. She beckoned you over and led you down the long corridor to Larissa’s hospital room, speaking gently to you before she allowed you to see Larissa.

Apparently, they’d started medication and run some tests.

Apparently, the dose of nightshade she’d been poisoned with had been life-threatening. 

Apparently, Larissa was in a coma - they assured you they’d do everything in their power to help her. 

All you could do now was wait.

The second the nurse opened the door to Larissa’s room, you ran to her side. There were all sorts of tubes hooked up to her, and you were careful not to jostle her as you leant over her bedside, reaching out to graze the backs of your knuckles across her pale cheek.

“Can she hear me?” you asked, turning to look at the nurse who stood in the doorway. She shrugged.

“Maybe, maybe not. It differs between patients.”

You swallowed thickly, turning your attention back to Larissa. “I’m here,” you whispered, hoarsely, pressing your lips gently to her cheek. “I’m right here.”

~~~

The passage of time became massively distorted over the next few days. Minutes blurred into hours blurred into days, and yet every second of waiting was a second too long, like wading through molasses. The nurses would shoo you away whenever they needed to run tests or administer IVs, but you were back at Larissa’s bedside as soon as they were finished, your legs curled up on your chair, your head resting on the bed beside her and your fingertips soothing up and down her arm. 

Cassandra came by to bring you a change of clothes and some books, which you read aloud to Larissa - though you thought it might be more for your own benefit, to keep yourself distracted, than for Larissa’s. You texted your parents and told them what had happened (well, some of what had happened), and your mom asked if she should come visit, or if you’d like to come home for the rest of the semester - you said no, you didn’t really want the company at the moment. All you wanted was for Larissa to wake up, and you didn’t want to risk missing that moment, no matter how small the chance might be.

Strangely, the only company you really did enjoy in those days was Wednesday’s. She came to visit the hospital twice, once with Enid in tow, once without - both times, you sat in amicable silence at Larissa’s bedside. There was no pressure to voice your grief, no need to relive that night again - you’d both seen what had happened, you both just wanted to forget. 

“If Eugene made it out, Weems will too,” Wednesday murmured on her way out of Larissa’s room after that second visit. 

You swallowed thickly and nodded, giving Larissa a once-over. Larissa, who was hooked up to tubes and IVs, devoid of any makeup, pale and lifeless, with a steady background noise of beeping monitors keeping her alive. Larissa, who was missing her student’s exams. Larissa, whose room was overflowing with get well soon cards and bouquets of flowers that were slowly wilting as more days passed without her waking. Larissa, who’d been so hopeful that everything at Nevermore would settle down soon. Larissa, who’d been looking forward to taking you on a dinner date. 

Larissa, who didn’t deserve any of this.

Even late at night, Larissa’s room was aglow with little screens monitoring her vitals, with light flooding in from the hallway through the crack underneath the door. Voices floated into the room through the crack as well, the voices of nurses speaking in hushed tones that bounced off the linoleum as clearly as if they were standing right next to you.

“She’s not getting any better, she’ll be on a ventilator before long.” 

“It’s a wonder she’s not yet, she shouldn’t have survived that.” 

“Someone should prepare that poor girl for the worst…”

A single tear slid down your cheek as you contorted your body on the chair beside Larissa’s bed, nuzzling your face against her arm and loosely holding onto her fingers.

~~~

When you weren’t reading to Larissa, you were doing homework, begrudgingly trying not to fall behind in your classes. Robin’s schedule was nearly identical to yours, and she’d been filling you in on everything you’d missed. 

It had been just over a week, and you were sketching a still-life at Larissa’s bedside, narrating each and every stroke of your pencil for your girlfriend. You’d been out to buy some new flowers to replace the old ones, and there was a half empty cup of coffee on the little wheeled cart beside Larissa’s bedside that you’d abandoned when it had gone cold.

“You know,” you hummed, more so an afterthought than anything else as you started doing some shading. “I was thinking we could go somewhere warm when you get out of here. We could trade Vermont for the beach for a bit? My great aunt used to spend Christmas in Florida. I used to think it was a shame to give up the snow, but this year I think I’d like that. You know, it’s pretty unfair that I haven’t seen you in a bathing suit yet. I bet you’re a one-piece kind of woman, right? Red would suit you, I think…”

A movement against your arm shocked you into silence, your heart skipping a beat and then beginning to hammer against your chest like a hummingbird as your pencil clattered to the floor and rolled underneath Larissa’s hospital bed. Larissa’s fingertips brushed against your arm, her hand wrapping around your wrist and giving it a weak squeeze and, for the first time in over a week, bright blue eyes fluttered open.

“Larissa,” you gasped, tears of unbridled joy springing to your eyes as you cupped her cheek. She blinked at you, a thin film of tears covering her own eyes. She squeezed your wrist a bit tighter and you gently pulled it from her grasp, interlacing your fingers with hers as relief flooded your body, your free hand reaching for the call button to alert the nurses.

You gave Larissa’s hand a light squeeze, the thumb of your other hand softly stroking her cheekbone. “Fuck, I missed you so much…” A nurse rushed into the room and immediately started fussing about but you were oblivious to everything around you and, apparently, so was Larissa, her eyes never leaving yours as she watched you intently, as if trying to convey a thousand things that she couldn’t say in words.

~~~

The first few days after Larissa woke were difficult in a very different way to the days where you weren’t sure if she would even wake up at all. The doctors insisted they keep her in the hospital and run some more tests, seemingly all in awe at how her body had worked to repair itself.

You were shocked at just how much muscle mass she could lose in a little over a week - you could see how much energy every single movement took for Larissa. It took her a day or two to be able to properly speak again, the pain in her throat fading slowly, and even then her voice sounded weak. But it was a step in the right direction, and as soon as she was able to speak and eat on her own again, the nurses told her she could be discharged soon.

She was still unsteady on her feet, unable to walk very far or stand for long periods, and you were by her side anytime she stood, letting her lean her weight on you as she worked to regain the strength in her legs. 

You FaceTimed Enid from Larissa’s bedside to share the good news with her and Wednesday, much to Larissa’s chagrin as she was severely displeased with how exhausted she looked on camera. Still, when Enid nearly burst into tears and Wednesday almost cracked a smile, Larissa’s lips curled up into a tiny, involuntary smile. Your heart swelled.

“You know,” you said as you hung up and slid your phone back into your pocket. “This whole time you’ve been worried about me, it was you we should’ve been worried about.”

Larissa started to laugh, a deep, belly laugh - the sound came out slightly garbled and she immediately winced in pain. You reached out to caress her cheek, smiling softly. “Take it easy,” you whispered. 

“I am,” Larissa croaked out, her voice hoarse. Her eyes sparkled with joy, though, with life, and you leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to her lips.

~~~

Each night, you slept more and more soundly, knowing that Larissa was well on her way to recovery. Larissa seemed to be sleeping well, too, and she was looking a lot better. Sometime late in the morning, just a day before Larissa was meant to be discharged, a nurse poked her head into the room, interrupting you as you read aloud to Larissa. “Ms. Weems? You have a visitor.”

Larissa nodded and you closed the book, setting it aside. There was some shuffling behind you, and a melodic voice sounded from the doorway.

“Oh, my dear Larissa!”

x

Taglist: @littledollll @nlr-33 @mysaviorfalsegod @imlike-so-gaydude @rainbow-hedgehog @enchantressb @alder-saan @autumn-leaves-chasing-breeze @amateurwritescm @brienneswife @principal-weems09 @messynessi @larissaoftarthweems @anti-bright-places @lvinhs @catechristiesstuff @ladyzmilf002 @milfsloverblog @opheliauniverse @orangeisnttheonlyfruit @im-a-carnivorous-plant @alexusonfire @bigolgay @kimiinou @wastdstime @scream-queenlover @imprincipalweemspet @justcallmelittleone @willowshadenox @milfsloverblog @leftoverenvy @yahaqueen @peggycarter3 @lilfartbox1 @makemyworldworthliving @crow-raven-crow @mosscoveredcrucifix @opalthefrog @barbarasstar @giogwensversion @theswordmaiden @sapphictacobomb @jadewolf22 @larissalover3

[st-hedge]

I did a speedrun of the ganlink ao3 tag and gathered up as many fics as I could find that I had read and enjoyed (some are missing). U can click on the titles for the hyperlinks, I have made note of the ratings, but to keep the list concise I haven't copied in the summaries and haven't included my thoughts at length. But I've enjoyed them all so here u go :)

Signs of radiance by tciddaemina (E) 20k+ words

I uhh…. The plot goes hard but the… the… is. Is hot AHEM

Come the eclipse by tciddaemina (E) 1.5k+ words

Sequel to ‘signs of radiance’, i’m sending chef kisses to this one

Reckon the stars by ziskeyt (M) (BotW) 60k+ words -work in progress 

Ever read something that is so rich in world building that u feel like u are getting taken by the hand and pulled through a scene

One way or another by wouldyouknowmore (E) (BotW) 4.5k+ words

Yes this one is very hot but what got me hooked is how hard the exchanges made me laugh

To know you by prompoms (E) (BotW) 9k+ words

FILTH FILTH FILTH *breathes heavily into a paper bag*

Overtime by degradedpsychotic (E)  9k+ words

*claws up walls and hangs off the ceiling fan* SO FILTHY AND FUNNY YES

Sweet dreams by tirsynni (G) (OoT) 995 words

This fic is just so sad and pretty 

Touch of forbidden by tirsynni (G) (OoT) 1.5k+ words

Ever see a concept and just go yooooooo

The crown jewel by nicxan (G) 3k+ words

Still one of the cutest fucking fics i’ve read

Hiraeth by acris_kerd (nsfw) (OoT) 30k+ words - work in progress

I will never ever recover from the characterisation in this fic. Absolutely do carefully read the tags if u want to give this fic a shot. The angst is just so satisfying, Link and Ganon are such flawed people who are terrible to each other, and then the gradual development that makes me want to throw myself at a wall. I’ve re-read the available chapters so many times

[moonbaby26]

Title: Interference

(Chapter 14 of Doflamingo’s Marine Series)

*Crossposted to AO3 Here*

Chapter Pairings: Doflamingo x Reader, Smoker x Reader (referenced), Aokiji/Kuzan x Reader (referenced), Doflamingo x Crocodile (referenced)

Chapter Warnings: language, somnophilia, non con, drugged reader, toxic relationships, violence, physical abuse, references to suicide, substance abuse, breeding kink, addictive personality, reader trauma response, mommy issues, angst

Chapter Synopsis: One step forward with Doflamingo is often also ten steps back. Neither of you have yet to learn the other’s limits, and trust is still being broken and reformed repeatedly. As you endure your latest challenge, former flames from both your past and his make their own plans to intervene.

Chapters: 1,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9,  10,  11,  12, 13, 14, 15

——————————

—————————— 

Smoker hated this clandestine bullshit. But it’s not like he could have slept now either. Those newspapers were still splayed on his desk with your pictures across them. Just candlelight flickering through the room as his ship lurched over waves in the dead of night.

He exhaled from his cigars in frustration, his eyes back on the clock on the wall. How many hours did this really take to rendezvous? He hadn’t even wanted to turn back for Marineford.

He could have been nearly to Dressrosa by now if he hadn’t let the other man convince him to do this. 

All so stupid as they’d had to dance around their real intentions over the phone regardless. The Fleet Admiral had reiterated over and over that everyone was just going to stand by and let this play out for now.

It didn’t make a lick of goddamn sense. What kind of dirt did that freak Doflamingo really have on those that held his leash atop the Red Line? Why could any pirate possibly have this much leeway?

But at last Smoker had heard the door knob moving as he’d straightened up in his chair. The door shifted in that hesitant way which already told him who it was.

Tashigi poked her head in, whispering more than even necessary. “He’s here, sir!”

“Then move and let him in.” Smoker grumbled back to her, already trying to somewhat look past her as he stood from his desk.

The rattle of a rusty bicycle chain was the next sound though as it was wheeled in. Ice crystals were still melting from the tire treads as Aokiji passed Tashigi to fully enter the captain’s office. And she shut the door to remain in the room behind him as well.

“How many sailors saw you?” Smoker asked already, watching the admiral lean that somewhat sea salt corroded bicycle against the wall.

“Not many. But your men are loyal aren’t they?” You told them this wasn’t their business didn’t you?” Aokiji answered, then standing back to his full height once he’d set his bike aside.

“I’d like to think so.” Smoker replied, yet his expression making it clear that he was ready to jump right into this. They’d wasted enough time. “So what do you know about all this, Kuzan?” 

The initial shock to the news about you still had yet to wear off. But plans needed intel, they needed background. And just from tone alone in their short snail conversations, he knew Aokiji had figured some things out.

The two men were close friends. But the trust they shared was one of those innate things. This relationship hadn’t taken years to cultivate. Very similar in fact to what Tashigi was now becoming for Smoker as well, regardless of her greenhorn status and much lower rank. Some marines just clicked.

Comrades he knew he could trust his life to. There was no point in wondering why.

“She made a deal with Doflamingo in Sabaody. That’s why he let those slaves go from the auction house.” The admiral said abruptly then. But still with the air of a man now letting something painful off of his chest that he’d been holding in for too long. “I think Scylla was his way of collecting on that deal.”

Tashigi’s eyes had widened simultaneous to Smoker’s narrowing. But this was just the very beginning of these revelations. Smoker sensed that too in the way Aokiji was scowling. A rare expression on his normally neutral face. 

These were things the admiral didn’t want to talk about. But they couldn’t help you if they didn’t understand. They all needed to know the full extent of this.

“I confronted Doflamingo on Sabaody too. And I confronted her at HQ.” Aokiji confessed in response to Smoker’s continued glare “They were both hiding more. But they…well she told me they’d been together already. Physically. This didn’t start on Scylla. Maybe it didn’t even start on Sabaody.”

The quiet gasp from Tashigi was still so filled with confusion. And Smoker felt that immediately too. Because that just couldn’t be right. 

But he was human as well. And that moment of surprise bled into more complex feelings as his cigars moved with his words back to Kuzan, as disgust and even a hint of betrayal began to take hold. “From when? From when I was dating her?”

He’d called you his girlfriend for a little over two years. All the way until that fight in Mariejois. The morning he’d finally cut you free. You were going to burn yourself out and he couldn’t help you understand why. It felt so much longer ago now though. But it hadn’t been. Not really. 

“She would never cheat on you.” Tashigi surprised them both with those sudden words. “She’s not like that.” 

But her eyes already looked upset. Though she was doing her best now to not let the waterworks out. 

“I hadn’t seen her for three months before Mariejois though.” Smoker admitted. He���d already known by then that it was over, but he’d been waiting for the chance to have that conversation with you in person. He had never wanted to hurt you. 

Obviously you still hadn’t taken it well. But to run into the arms of a pirate? And of all of the crooks out there, it to be that one? Tsuru’s literal enemy? No, Smoker wasn’t accepting this as anything that simple. You’d always been far more complicated. And he was not the only one to have contributed to it.

For two years he had done his best with you. But you’d been looking for something in him that wasn’t there too. He knew he hadn’t been your first choice. Second place was nice for a while of course, but it was still just the first loser in the end. And Smoker could now see that the man who had preceded him to set that unmatchable standard was still out in there in the weeds obviously. Not even realizing what was right in front of him.

Kuzan still just didn’t get it.

Out of respect, Smoker had kept his mouth shut for the longest time on this as well. It hadn’t been his business. But now you were in trouble. Your actual life was likely on the line as just a bit of that anger finally escaped to the surface.

“Dammit, Kuzan! You say you made her confess…so you knew something was up when the rest of us didn’t? Then why didn’t you help her then!?”

And the way Kuzan’s eyes immediately widened in surprise didn’t suit his rank at all as Smoker kept on. He had been holding this in for far too long.

“You’d started talking to her again after I broke it off with her, right? I mean immediately, you two were getting friendly again weren’t you? You walked her out of the damned bar that night with her hanging all over you! Wasn’t it obvious to you then!?”

“The hell are you on about!?” And now Kuzan was snapping back at him, though still clearly confused. “She was drunk and trying to get over you! You’re the one that hurt her in Mariejois!”

“Me!?” And Smoker’s chest rose at that. Maybe this fully was that old stereotype of some men not being able to see the forest for the trees. Emotionally blind in these kinds of things. But Smoker could only be angrier at this man because they were friends. He held Kuzan to a higher standard than this.

“Tashigi!” Smoker called her name abruptly to her additional surprise though. “What did she tell you? That very first time me and her had a big fight and she’d only hang out with you in port all that week. Tell this dummy what she said, because I know he won’t believe me now!”

And she looked from one man to the other in a bit of escalating panic. “But she told me that in private!”

“Well you already told me! And it’s relevant now!” Smoker retorted.

“I only told you so that you’d understand what she was upset about! I was trying to help!”

And it hadn’t helped in the long run. Had it? Maybe it’d only made things worse. “Tell him, Tashigi!” Smoker ordered her this time.

Her lip was quivering, but there was a rare indignation to her expression then as well. As if suddenly she was angry at both men herself. 

“She told me that the only real partners she’d ever had were Aokiji-san and Smoker-san! But that…” And she closed her eyes briefly, as if apologizing to you internally before she blurted out this secret that was so personal. “She said that neither of you had ever told her that you loved her! That she kept trying to earn it…and she didn’t think she ever could!”

But Smoker gave her a harsh look still. Because this was almost the whole truth. There was the one other point that’d really been the final nail in the coffin of his own relationship with you. And Kuzan needed to hear it. “And?” Smoker made her keep on. “Tell him the other thing!”

Tashigi’s eyes were open again. She looked to her captain almost pleadingly. “I can’t…”

Smoker scowled. That girl was just too loyal for her own good sometimes. But fine, he’d say it then. Everything needed to be out in the open at last.

“(Y/N) told Tashigi that she kept wanting to find what she’d had before. What she felt with you, you dumbass! You were the only man that she was in love with!”

And it still hurt even as Smoker said it aloud that easily now. It hurt just like it had from the first time he’d known it was true. “I wasn’t you, Kuzan. She was never going to be happy with me. But you’re such an idiot, even when I let her go and put her right back in front of you…you let a pirate pick her up instead!?”

And the main point had still sailed right over Kuzan’s head. Even now, he was hanging on to concepts from several sentences prior as he snapped at Smoker. 

“Why the hell did you date her for two years if you didn’t even love her!?”

Obviously their ranks were off the table currently. These were just two men now at each other like petulant brothers as Smoker fired so immediately back. 

“Well I wasn’t going to say something I wasn’t ready to say! I knew she was still so hung up on you! I was trying to see if she would ever get past it…I knew she was waiting on that word! But if I’d said it, she would have thrown herself away for me and have wanted to get married! She’d probably have wanted kids!” 

Something Smoker could not allow when he knew you’d only been with him as your consolation prize. Your insane drive for accolades, for reaching the top of their ranks had only been ancillary in the end. You were filling that need for validation any way you could. He alone never could have satisfied you, and he wasn’t going to trap you with him. Even if he could have.

But the outburst that came from Kuzan then was something even Smoker didn’t expect. An entire new revelation to hit both he and Tashigi right over the head.

“And what would be so wrong with wanting a family!?” The admiral exclaimed. The hurt in his voice more than anyone could have thought.

Something even Kuzan wasn’t prepared for from himself as Smoker saw that briefly vulnerable look go through his friend’s eyes.

But Smoker was still angry. Beside himself really as all this truth only made everything all the more wasteful.

“You jackass! Why did you ever leave her when you both wanted the same things!?”

And Kuzan looked stunned. But not for long. Never for long as he tried to withdraw into those same old excuses. “Because I can’t protect her! I’d rather be alone always instead of see that nightmare ever play out again!”

“Goddamnit!” Smoker cursed, but just looking fully disgusted now. He wasn’t going to come to blows with his own friend, though he still wasn’t done yelling at him. He had never met someone so innately good, but so thickheaded all at one time. “Marines die every day, Kuzan! She’s a marine! It’s what we goddamn do! She knows that!”

And both of them took a heated breath, Smoker turning away though to go back to his desk as he grabbed one of the newspapers. He shook it in the other’s face. Like a wake up call. You were in danger either way.

You were in danger right now while they were here arguing like children. “We both fucked up, alright!?” Smoker admitted. “I care about her too! She’s a hell of a marine and she’s my friend. Just like you are!” He said to Kuzan. “But now she’s in trouble. So I’m going to Dressrosa! Either help me or get out of my way!”

“You can’t openly defy Sengoku!” The admiral groaned shortly after though, willing to finally leave those mistakes of the past on pause for the moment. To stop screaming at each other and casting blame. The discussion of what to do now was the only reason he’d come here to begin with. “This has to be done the right way.” Kuzan reiterated with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well then damned talk, Iceman. I’m listening.” Smoker exhaled. Every mission had to start somewhere. Every odyssey had to begin with a first sailing.

——————————— 

Doflamingo needed to get up. He couldn’t reschedule this morning’s meetings, no matter how badly he now wanted to. But the temptation to abandon all responsibility was only growing as his gaze lingered over your unresponsive form.

You were finally in his castle. Finally in his goddamn bed as he wanted nothing more than to put his body back over yours and order someone else to make all those phone calls for him today. 

Money was always coming and going in obscene amounts for him. But you were vulnerable right here, right now as he dug his fingernails back into your hips.

You wouldn’t be bothered by this. No matter how hard he pressed. Because he knew a blackout when he saw one. 

And this result hadn’t even been his full intention. You just hadn’t eaten enough last night after all the arguing had started. And those so called painkillers he’d ordered the doctor to give you were all the stronger on a near empty stomach. Their effects blurring well into the next day for you now.

He knew all about that too. These were actually one of his top selling drugs. Pills he’d purposefully fucked himself up on more than once after a bad day.

Because he couldn’t have nightmares when he barely knew his own name on those nights, could he? 

And you couldn’t feel anything now either as he glanced over his shoulder to that ornate clock in the corner of his bed chambers.

He really did have to go soon. But he’d already showered last night. There was still a little more time to indulge in this if he hurried. To indulge in you, before he did lean back down to close his mouth over one of your breasts.

He sucked that nipple so carefully though, wanting it to gradually harden for him.

Harden like he already was of course. His cock awake even before his brain had been. Morning wood between his legs, and messy blond hair against his scalp as the pillows had forced even those short little spikes in different directions now. 

He’d still have liked your fingers to be smoothing it back down against his head, either that or pulling it roughly as he started to suck your breast harder. His hips already beginning to move while his cock slid across your warm skin.

He was going to summon one of the island’s officials over to the palace by tomorrow at latest. You’d be forced to sign papers that would tie you to him for as long as you both drew breath. Documents to be sealed in the World Government’s records until the time would come to take this fully public.

Because there were strict legalities to be met whenever empires and bloodlines came under scrutiny. He knew the proper timeline must be adhered to. 

You had to be a wife before you could be a mother. All just semantics really. But these games were as old as the world itself. And he would not be outplayed in them.

His anticipation for these results was only worsening each additional day though. Burning in tandem to all of his lust as the words of last night still weighed so heavily in his mind.

He’d thought such emotions would never matter to him. He’d believed he’d just take and take regardless of your own thoughts or feelings.

But it had felt good. So very good as you’d looked him in the eyes and said you were falling for him. 

That these webs of his were working. That his efforts were not in vain.

Doflamingo’s hips were moving harder then, just useless practice in this moment. But feeling so right all the same. Precum was already smearing his tip as it rubbed across you.

He was pressing against your unsuspecting body that he knew his blood would soon be taking full root within. Because Caesar had never failed him yet. 

Whenever that concoction did arrive, Doflamingo would be putting it to immediate use.

And he did raise his head again in this daydreaming, watching your still closed eyes and your slightly parted lips. Your breathing so soft and steady beneath him.

Your life existing for him.

You looked so calm, so peaceful in this state. As if this drugged sleep really were a kindness he had bestowed on you.

But you would be cursing him soon. 

Whenever your clothes no longer fit the same. When you tired more easily, and hungered for strange things. When your feet hurt and your breasts grew swollen and tender.

Whether you begged or even cried for it to stop, he knew those changes would come. Because nature would not be overridden. You would be forming an entire new life inside yourself, and be made to endure every consequence that came along with it.

And how badly he longed to see that progression. How badly he longed to cause it.

Doflamingo groaned, feeling that tension already starting in his own abdomen as his hips pumped harder, beginning to fully dry hump you now.

Why did this particular idea fucking turn him on so badly? Thinking of you full of his seed, and made that much weaker for it, that much more dependent on him as that child grew.

But he’d always wanted to ruin you deep down. Because he’d wanted it all from day one, hadn’t he? He’d told his brother, he’d told Trebol, Diamante, Pica, and Vergo. All of them at one time or another.

I think I just met my first wife, boys.

He remembered joking.

How’d you like to be an uncle, Rosi?

He’d said that too with such incredible lust once, fully disgusting to Corazon when Doflamingo had already been drunk the night Trebol and Diamante had brought him your coat.

He remembered holding that bloodied fabric in one hand, and his brother’s spine in the other. Whispering that taunt in the younger Donquixote’s ear before shoving him away.

Corazon the snitch. Corazon the traitor. He’d probably run off to sit outside that very same night. Just as Doflamingo had retired to his room to pleasure himself against the torment of your scent still on that dirtied garment. 

Doflamingo had been fucking his own hand, wishing it was you while that chainsmoking coward had surely been sitting out in the dark with the other rats in the scrap piles. Probably with a hidden snail in all those black feathers, immediately calling daddy Sengoku to tattle about his older brother’s new urges.

But the old man still hadn’t done a damn thing to save you in the end. The marines hadn’t kept you away from him long enough. They didn’t understand how many years he could hold on to something like this.

Corazon had failed to make them understand. Corazon had failed you. 

And so Doflamingo laughed. Dark and deep as his hands moved back over your thighs to finally spread them.

He’d have what he wanted. Every morning, every evening, every day, week, month and year to come.

Because little Rosinante had failed to save his fellow marine. He’d failed his future sister-in-law with his selfishness and cowardice. And now…he’d even failed his future niece or nephew that he would never get the chance to know.

All by his own choices to turn against his only brother who had loved him. 

He had loved Corazon.

But only death could bring forgiveness.

Doflamingo smiled wide, just before he brought his hand back up, nearly against his mouth as he then spit into his own palm.

You may not feel this affection now, but he knew you would later today as he slicked his shaft, stroking his palm and that fresh saliva across the length of it.

He’d move you back to your own bed, carrying you through the passageway after he was done here. Baby 5 could check on you shortly after and encourage you to eat breakfast.

Food would sober you up. And if not, he knew where the antidote was.

He could have already given it to you as soon as he’d awoken, true. But where would have been the fun in that? This imagery was already so desirable, intoxicating even.

The queen of Dressrosa beneath him, fucked up on pills and currently dead to the world. And the king of Dressrosa fucked up on her, whoring himself like an animal just for another feel of his beloved’s flesh.

And he was grinning wildly now as he pressed himself through your waiting entrance and began to thrust inside. Harder and harder as he let out a moan, reveling in all of it as he got his morning fix between your thighs. He had no shame in his own choices at all. 

Because he was already an addict, your user and your abuser. Your best customer and soon to be husband and father to your child, unable to ever say no to this product that was you.

————————— 

“Hey! Hey wake up! Come on…rise and shine! Hello? Wake up!”

And something was shaking your shoulder.

A female voice was trying to draw you out over and over.

But you didn’t want to go to it. It still sounded far away and you were confused. The pain would be there if you woke up again. You knew at least that much and you weren’t ready.

Then something slapped your cheek.

Hard.

“Wake…up!”

And then again, to the other side of your face.

And again, back to the other side.

Your eyes finally fluttered. But those light stings of being struck were nothing in everything else that had already happened to you. In everything that was still going to happen. 

You ignored it.

You were staring at a foreign ceiling through half lidded eyes then instead. A blanket pulled tightly around you as everything suddenly got brighter. 

Rings were scraping along rods high above. Thick, velvety curtains were being pulled open to unleash the Dressrosan sun upon you.

Baby 5 was leaned over you as well, staring down intently as she stood beside your bed.

And when your eyes eventually met hers, she smiled so genuinely in relief. As if she hadn’t also been the one to just strike you multiple times. 

“Finally! You are alive! I’m so glad! The young master told me I’d probably have to do that! He gave me permission to! I was going to try water next, but that would have been a mess!”

“What…” Of course you had no clue what she was saying at first, just clutching that blanket around your body as a little more sense began to return to you slowly.

“He said you wouldn’t be feeling well, but that you must wake up and eat something if you were still in bed!” She still carried on with her words somewhat excitedly.

And you did somehow force yourself up to sitting at the mention of Doflamingo though. But still regretting it as you immediately felt dizzy.

Baby 5 wasn’t even the only one in the room either as you kept that blanket pulled up to your collar bones while you eventually realized the small crowd milling about.

It was maids. Some opening the curtains still, others setting up a new tray in your reach. Bringing more water, and more fresh food. But you were looking just further disoriented as you realized this was not the same room as the one you’d fallen asleep in.

This was “your” room again and “your” bed.

But the last thing you’d remembered was being curled up against Doflamingo in the darkness of his.

Had he moved you and left you when he awoke?

“Where…is he?” You managed, still watching everyone else so cautiously.

“The young master is on an important business call. Well, several of them. He said I was to report back to him on your condition.” Baby 5 answered dutifully, almost proud in this assignment. 

But for how happy she seemed to be, by contrast the other women were just skirting around her and refusing to even make eye contact with you. All like frightened, timid little animals before they hurried immediately back out of the room after completing their tasks. 

“So eat! Because that’s what he wanted!” Baby 5 insisted then, crossing her arms as she watched you. That suddenly stern look a bit ridiculous on a teenager’s face. 

But you felt like shit. Even if most of your body was still numb. And the last thing you wanted was to be forcing something down that would only be coming back up in a few minutes.

You always lost your appetite whenever you were really stressed though. Tsuru had had to get onto you about it more than once. Not that you ever remembered this many consecutive days of anxiety on her ship, even in wartime.

“If I eat, I’ll puke.” You said simply, head then lowering into your hand as you looked back to the mattress. This wasn’t a typical hangover either. And you knew you hadn’t even been drinking.

Doflamingo had only had them bring water last night, and that too must have been intentional. Because you’d probably be dead if you’d mixed in alcohol on top of this.

What the hell was really in those pills?

You just wanted to go back to sleep. You wanted to close your eyes and not open them again for ages.

“Hey, Baby 5!” Another voice butted in from the doorway though to have you glancing back up. A much younger voice sounding so very annoyed. “Where can I dump these stupid things?”

And Baby 5’s expression flipped instantly from stern to amazed as she gasped dramatically. “What are those!?” Her hands were on her cheeks. 

But all you saw was a moving bush of purple flowers. The pot they were planted in being carried with skinny legs and bright pink shoes beneath it.

“Giolla told me to put them in here. Some guy delivered them.” The boy huffed. “But I’m about to chunk them out of the window. I have better things to do. I’m not anybody’s room service!”

“They’re gorgeous, Dellinger! Don’t you dare throw them!” Baby 5 barked back at him just as quickly as if this was only her kid brother she was now admonishing.

“Then you take it! It’s making me itch!”

And she did, easily lifting the large flower pot away from the boy as he sneezed.

Even with the plant and its flowers moved away from him, he was then wiping his eyes in irritation. You realized the half fishman was definitely a little taller now than he used to be. No longer a toddler at least before he shot you a hateful look when he realized you were staring at him.

“What, you’ve never seen a fishman before!?” He copped an attitude to your perceived rudeness immediately. His teeth looking sharp now in an odd contrast to his still relatively short height. He couldn’t be more than eight or so now. And with far more mouth on him than restraint.

“Just thinking you’re at least a little bigger than the cannonballs you used to shoot at us.” You mumbled. You also wondered if it was still Giolla who picked out his clothes. The clashing colors were so bright and hard on your eyes. 

“Well we don’t need you here, just so you know!” He snapped back at you regardless before sticking out his tongue.

So mature.

And Baby 5 did roll her eyes, apparently briefly thinking the same. But she was still more worried about the flowers than anything else in this room now as she hurriedly sat them on a sideboard cabinet against the wall. You saw her rather excitedly pull a note from between the leaves when she realized it was there too.

But then there was her immediate disappointment once she’d actually read it. She left the note near the pot. “Boo…it’s just a thank you note from Alabasta!”

“Who’d you think they were from, dummy?” Dellinger fussed, already ignoring you again as he put a hand on one of his hips to look back at her.

“Well, the young master of course! That would have been so sweet!” She looked practically pouty.

“Ew, you’re pathetic! He would never. He’s way cooler than that!” The young boy retorted, now heading back for the door, sassily in his little pink flats actually.

“Romance is cool!” She stomped her foot.

“It isn’t! Go read more of your stupid magazines and keep dreaming, you ditz!”

“Why are you boys all so mean!?”

“Just to you!” And he stuck his tongue out from  between his sharp teeth again before darting into the hall, giggling all the way as a candelabra suddenly smashed in half against the doorframe.

You hadn’t even seen her grab it. And that was no small distance.

“Pretty good throw.” You said quietly into the new silence. Your shoulders still sunken though as you couldn’t find the energy to fully straighten up.

“A good throw would have hit him.” She answered, though still looking annoyed as she picked up the pieces. “I have to go now. Pica wanted me in town to help Gladius. But if you really won’t eat, I have to tell the young master that before I leave.”

“Tell him,” You huffed. “He’s the one that poisoned me like this anyway.”

Yes, the next time he tried to pressure you into taking anything, you were going to tell him where he could shove it.

But she only responded so cheerfully to that. “Oh, if the young master had wished to poison you, you’d already be dead!” Baby 5 smiled so sincerely with these words, while you just stared at her. Followed with a bubbly, “See you later!” 

And with a click of the distant bedroom door you were then alone again.

For a while you just stayed there too, fully ignoring the food tray as you’d told her you would. But also realizing how filthy you felt. Like you’d been sweating in these heavy blankets.

You knew what sometimes worked for you for more normal hangovers. A cold ass shower, even if it just meant sitting on the floor of said shower while the water rained over you.

You did want that now actually as you finally shoved the bedding away to find yourself still without a piece of clothing on. You swung your legs over the mattress edge regardless though and pressed your toes into that plush carpet to finally stand.

A feat by itself that was instantly precarious as your arms left your sides to steady your balance.

Simply walking to the bathroom shouldn’t have felt like tip toeing across a ship’s mooring ropes as you began to walk.

But it did, as you concentrated on just moving one foot after the other. And you were making decent progress across that large bedroom before a new, entirely disgusting sensation hit.

An almost glob like secretion of excess foreign material had slid out from between your legs. Your channel cleansing itself as gravity carried that fluid the rest of the way, wet and warm down your inner thigh. 

And maybe you were already just too worn, too starved, and too dehydrated as you stared down at that tell tale trail.

Semen.

And it was fresh.

Never in your life, not in all the late night binges or in any of the marine bar crawls, had you ever been wasted enough to not remember being fucked by someone.

And it didn’t matter in that moment what the truth really was. It was the fact that you couldn’t possibly know. It was the fact that the pills had stolen your ability to know.

Of course Doflamingo would do that to you if given the chance. Of course he probably had.

But how many others had had access to you in all the time you were unconscious? Anyone could have opened that door, anyone could have climbed over the top of you and…

Your stomach had turned and your knees were then on that beautiful stone tile as you’d reached the bathroom. Falling to them hard enough to leave more bruises before you were leaned over the open toilet, then puking directly into it.

Every bit of anything that’d been left inside of you came out. Until it was nothing but coughing and spit. Your diaphragm then still heaving against your will.

That burning of stomach acid went up into your throat and nose, bringing reflexive tears to your eyes.

You were so much stronger than this.

You knew that. But it didn’t seem to matter here.

Every time you thought things were getting better, they always got so immediately worse just to show you.

Doflamingo had told you only last night that he loved you. 

And Tsuru had warned you that he would never mean it. But did she know it was still the very first time any man had ever said it to you? Did she know how you’d waited your entire life just to hear it?

You were crying again. What you wanted and what you were actually receiving still two entirely different things.

But if you were ever given enough time to fully regather yourself, if the hits would ever stop coming one after another, surely you wouldn’t have been this pathetic. You wouldn’t have been this sensitive.

But even in all of that mental noise, even through your own humiliating tears, you still heard the ringing of your marine snail.

And it took you so long to get back out of the bathroom, first crawling, then somehow walking again. Like a thing only half alive as you’d tried to steady your breathing. You were still numb from the medicine and weak from the continued lack of food. Even in all of that, this person patiently waited for you.

The rings continued over and over until your hand was finally on the receiver.

“…Hell…hello?” You tried to speak.

————————— 

There was no guarantee who at all may answer this number now. And as such, he had been steeled for the worst. The worst of course potentially being the disgusting bird himself.

But when that uneven sounding female voice responded instead, Sir Crocodile actually paused. Because this did not sound like the headstrong marine officer he’d meticulously researched in just these last few days since your face had first met the newspapers. No, not at all.

“Good morning.” He greeted anyway. Knowing about which time it should be in Dressrosa currently. “And who do I now have the pleasure of speaking with?” The warlord questioned, calm but firm.

“Captain (Y/N).” And there was at least an attempt to sound stronger then. You were trying to hide yourself behind that mask of your rank and station. “Who is this?” You asked.

But he could hear the involuntary waver which was still there. That slight thickness like there was congestion that couldn’t be so quickly cleared. At least not in enough time for you to answer the phone.

This was a woman who’d just been caught in the act of crying.

Sir Crocodile’s fingers tapped reflexively on his desk all the way in Alabasta, a frown deepening across his face.

Doflamingo never wasted a moment did he? 

Everything that man ever touched ended up shattering as weak as glass before all was said and done. Even diamond wouldn’t have stood a chance from being eventually worn down.

“Well, Ms. Marine…it’s interesting to finally put a voice to those pictures, and to the stories. You’ve got quite a list of achievements already in such a young career. I did have a look at your government record of course.”

A brat from the North Blue, the same sea as Doflamingo. First recruited by none other than that old crone who the freak still fancied so entirely. That decades long relationship between Doflamingo and Vice Admiral Tsuru being one which Crocodile didn’t want or need a full history on. 

Because it’d always been obvious. Doflamingo either wanted someone to mother him or someone to fuck him, sometimes interchangeably. The monster didn’t seem to know the difference anymore.

So of course you were from Tsuru’s stable. And never mind the additional baggage of that making you and the bird something more akin to siblings.

Since even if Doflamingo’s relationship with your superior was viewed in the least sexual framing possible, if Doflamingo really saw Tsuru as only a mother figure, that would still make you essentially his younger sister when that woman had raised you as well.

An incestuous fucker is what he really was. Because either way you were somewhat of a proxy for that old woman in Crocodile’s mind. But there was no limit for Doflamingo. And the demon probably got off on every single layer of that debauchery as well.

These ideas only turned Crocodile’s stomach even further. Just like everything about that man always had.

Yet he exhaled, cigar smoke flowing as he knew there was also a time limit here. He had no doubt that they’d be listening in to your calls and would be intervening shortly.

“Well, you aren’t very talkative are you?” He spoke again in absence of anything quick from you. “But there’s no point in dancing around for the sake of further formalities though. It sounds as if you’re having a fully miserable time already. And I do pity you. Truly. But first of all, did you receive the flowers I sent?” 

And there was a hesitation on that other end then. As if you didn’t know whether to demand his identity right away or to let him continue on in the hopes of him soon revealing his true intent. “The purple flowers?” You asked.

“Yes.” He answered smoothly. So at least the courier had gotten all the way to the castle. Doflamingo must be busy. The bird would have known those flowers on sight to intercept them.

They were Crocodile’s favorite.

“Adenium obesum is their real name. Yet more colloquially known as desert rose here in Alabasta. Though those in particular are a purple variant cultivated only by human hands. Far more potent and quite rare.”

Obviously you didn’t care about the flowers. And perhaps a little bit of backbone was trying to reform now. “Uh huh…yeah. Who are-“

But he cut you off easily. “They’re highly poisonous as well. Not the exterior of course. The poison is in the sap. Coat a weapon with it, and you’ll find it quite useful. The chemical in it disrupts the rhythm of the target’s heart. Even in the smallest quantities.”

A preferred coating for his hook actually.

The resulting silence hung for a moment before he set his cigar down, still holding it carefully between his fingers. He was genuinely curious in your next move.

And this entire time he knew you had been listening to that hint of superiority in his voice, that edge that came from a lifetime of illicit takeovers and equal violence. You already knew he was no ambassador, no gutless politician simply calling on behalf of the Nefertari’s.

That sailor’s tongue came out so suddenly though. Even if he could hear the pain still behind it. “I don’t have time for more fucking games, whoever you are. If you want to threaten me, then do it. Otherwise, fuck off. This is a marine line you’re blocking.”

And it was surprisingly amusing to him. He wondered what you really looked like as you finally bore a little of those fangs at him. The snails could only convey so much by way of expression. “My…is this the real you then? Aren’t you charming? I can only imagine the high brow conversations the two of you must have.”

He knew Doflamingo loved a good tongue lashing, in the right circumstances at least. That night from Scylla had been different though. Crocodile could practically hear that demon’s blood boiling over when they’d argued over the phone.

And was it really because of you? Did that delusional creature think you were something finally worth protecting?

When all Doflamingo was going to do was destroy you anyway. The futility in so much effort was laughable.

But again, it was back to business as Crocodile actually smirked, catching you with his words before you could hang up on him. 

“I don’t mean to be insulting, my dear. It’s just disheartening how much you misunderstand. Of course the poison isn’t a threat. It’s my gift to you. Use it now before they can break down the door. An honorable death at your own discretion. Before that monster can do it for you. Don’t give him the privilege.”

And whether by full intent or not, Crocodile’s voice did begin to change. He was letting you know that he knew. He knew exactly what this was and what you were enduring, because he had seen it all before you.

“It will get worse. He always gets worse. If it was only blood and bruises, I have no doubt that you’d last a good while. You’re combat trained. But it’s the mind, Ms. Marine. When that breaks, there’s no mend for that. No bandage or splint. You’ll wish for an exit as quick as this then. As painless as this. Simply break a branch and drink the sap. Or rub it into any wound I’m sure he’s already given you. No more, no less. Then you’ve won and he’s lost. You’ll suffer his particular brand of hell no longer.”

———————————

Baby 5 had let him know you were back to being a stubborn bitch and refusing to eat any breakfast. Though she hadn’t called you that. She was still naive enough to be hoping for a new friend really.

A potential relationship he’d expected and encouraged from the very first night of course. Because if you pitied her, she’d be another tool in his arsenal against you.

Currently though he was just irritated with you. You were going to be fully sick if you didn’t eat. What was left of those pills in your bloodstream should be hitting you with nausea, vertigo, and further weakness about now. 

You’d be dehydrated and light headed. He’d be pulling you off of the floor when he reentered your room most likely.

Though maybe this was a lesson you needed to learn. If he said to get up, if he said to eat, whatever he said for you to do, you were meant to do it.

He would go check on you after this call and deal out any correction in attitude as needed.

For the moment Doflamingo had been haggling with a newer client. Another king desperate for an additional arms shipment which would turn the tide in their island’s civil war. 

And the warlord knew when a customer was about to fold.

“I mean really, what’s the price of peace, your highness?” He’d been smirking so coldly. It was like music sometimes, hearing their resolve wither bit by bit on the other end of that snail. “Pay what I’m asking in full and I’ll cut two more days off the delivery time. Think what this war is costing you already. Every day, every hour as you lose more soldiers and more tax paying citizens. What happens when you don’t even have enough of them left to collect those heavenly tributes to Mariejois any longer?”

“Your current rate is still more than we can absorb. If the total principal could be lowered just a bit more, Joker, I believe we could find a way to make this lump payment.”

“But my ships can deliver more product to you as soon as early next week. In just that many days the tide could be turning permanently for you. Don’t you think that level of service is worth something?”

Almost. They were almost there. So Doflamingo wasn’t going to budge now. He knew when to keep the pressure on.

But with this final deal so tantalizingly close, that was the very same moment in which his office door had swung open. Surprising him as Pica’s broad frame came hurriedly through it. Though turning sideways to fit as he did.

Something was wrong.

He wouldn’t be interrupting if not. Pica was supposed to have gone into the city today with some of the others. 

But Doflamingo still didn’t want to put this call on hold. It’d taken weeks to get this customer’s back so fully to the wall. Including the effort of providing nearly free weapons to the war’s rebel leaders all the while. 

The rebels already would have been crushed if not. So Doflamingo had secretly backed them first, just long enough to create the opposing demand and get to the much deeper pockets of their king they were still trying to overthrow.

And those machinations were all about to bear fruit here.

Reluctantly, Doflamingo raised a hand at Pica. An instruction to remain silent even as the warlord’s own mind began filling with all matter of hypothetical problems his executive may be here to tell him.

He kept haggling with this other king all the while. But Doflamingo could see the urgency building in Pica’s eyes.

Yes, something was very wrong.

And his smirk was disappearing as he now felt forced to push for this sale’s closing faster than he knew he should.

“In all this back and forth, you’re just beginning to repeat yourself. I need that final agreement.” Doflamingo tried, unable to look away from Pica now. “Either I have our ships start loading tonight to head for your port or we cancel this shipment entirely. Nothing will be ready in time otherwise. Do we have a deal?”

“I…I believe I’ll need to consult the treasury again and get back to you in a few days if your price indeed remains firm. This amount would leave us too barren for all other needs.” 

Fuck. And that was the exact kind of delay that Doflamingo didn’t want. With Pica standing there trying to mouth something to him silently as well, distracting him simultaneously.

“I’ll take off five percent. That’s it. Consider it a one time discount.” Doflamingo was trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. Too harsh a hand would just scare this coward away.

“Eight percent.” That king still countered.

And godamn, how annoying. But even then, the account was still too good to walk away from. Doflamingo’s hand pulled into a fist anyway as the blood vessel in his forehead became visible.

He still could not understand what Pica was trying to say either.

“Fine. An eight percent discount if you pay immediately. Next shipment leaves tomorrow morning if the wire payment comes tonight.”

“Done. You’ll have your money before midnight, Joker.” And now the other sounded so confident all of the sudden, as if he’d actually bested the Heavenly Demon.

And that bit of new smugness made Doflamingo want nothing more than to put a burst of bullet string right between that king’s eyes.

“I better. And I have other calls to make.” Was all he said instead of putting the vermin back in his place. There wasn’t time.

“Yes, Joker. Thank-“

And Doflamingo hung up the snail hard, slamming the receiver before they could even finish that false cordiality. 

“Goddamnit what, Pica!?” He barked in the outburst he’d been containing all the while, already standing. Whatever this was had just cost him significantly. Even small percentages were heavy hits when talking about contracts worth more than the yearly GDP of some smaller islands.

And Pica did look properly flustered. But that high pitched voice did not falter.

“Doffy! Trebol and the marine got into a fight! Trebol’s hurt! She locked herself in her bathroom and says she’ll only speak to you. With the rule of blood…we didn’t want to press further…we-”

“They did what?” Doflamingo hissed, not staying to hear anything else when he’d already darted around Pica and back through his office door as instinct took hold. 

His strings could pull him down the corridors far faster than anyone could have ever run. A terrible sneer contorting his face as he went right over the heads of any soul unfortunate to be in his way on his journey through the palace.

He was nearly sliding into your room moments after. The door had already been open as he’d landed, black shoes meeting the carpet while he’d had to use his strings to stop again.

“Doffy!” Diamante said in relief. 

And Doflamingo could immediately see the hints of disaster. Parts of furniture were broken, small items strewn in every direction. Mucus was all over, and a fresh trail of blood was leading to a crouched Trebol on the ground.

Trebol’s voice sounded worse than even usual as his head immediately lifted at the sound of his master’s name.

“Do..Doffy!” He almost gurgled.

And Doflamingo stared. Blood was stained down Trebol’s face, down his chest too as his executive’s eyes were wide at him. The black glasses were missing. 

“Sh..she broke m…my no..nose…”

His fucking nose. Yes, it was crooked. That was where all the blood had come from. Blood and mucus as Doflamingo felt his fists clenching to the point of being painful now.

His own blood pressure was continuing to climb, his heart pounding. So angry that it was now making his skull feel like it was splitting.

Just the purest form of rage consuming him as he would ask them only one word for now.

“Why?” Doflamingo growled, jaw muscles tightening as his fingers began to rise.

He did see that bathroom door closed. The one you were supposedly hiding behind as he began to attach his strings to it.

He was going to rip it from its goddamn frame.

“She must be colluding with Crocodile!” Diamante spat. “Trebol heard them on the phone and entered first to stop whatever it was they were plotting against you! He tried only to restrain her to wait for you, and this is what she did to him!”

Crocodile!? That name exploded through his mind.

Doflamingo’s own eyes widened behind his sunglasses, like he’d been kicked straight in the chest himself. Even as he felt as if his anger was absolutely going to choke him by this point.

As if he couldn’t breathe any longer while his strings tightened further against that bathroom door.

“Bring…me. The. Recording.”

That was the last full words he could manage to them before he yanked his arm back.

The bathroom door exploded outward, wooden pieces pulled and sliced, raining down like paper and pulp as Doflamingo strode forward into that new opening.

His lips were pulled fully back, his hand up like a claw, ready to destroy anything you could possibly throw at him.

You fucking bitch.

He’d brought you here. He’d trusted you.

And you were Crocodile’s!? Was it all a setup!? 

The shower was running. He could see the trail of mucus leading to that opaque sliding glass door. 

Your body had carried it in here. And his fist pulled back, armament coating then covering all the way past his forearm before he shattered that thick glass in one hit.

It broke over you, shards sparkling into your hair, falling down your naked body as he saw your shoulders tense even further.

You were huddled in the farthest corner of the shower, on the ground with your back to him. You were trembling again.

Like he’d seen too many times now.

Too many times to care any longer.

And Doflamingo had stepped into that continuous spray of water, fully clothed as his fingers tightened into your hair, glass and all as he yanked you away from the wall.

He lifted you by that hair momentarily, just before he threw you back down. Hard enough against the pedestal sink on the other side of the bathroom that he heard the gasp as the air was knocked from your lungs.

He saw one of your hands go to your ribs. You were on the floor looking up at him. There was still that residue of mucus on your thighs. And on your breasts despite the water. You were unable to speak when you couldn’t catch your breath.

And as his foot came down to pin you there on your back against the tile, only then was he finally able to see the purple something clutched in your other hand.

You’d had it the entire time. And you now protected it in your grip as if it were some kind of talisman.

Your last hope against him.

And he knew exactly what it was. Something he’d seen multiple times before. The scent of those flowers the reptile so adored still burned into his memories. Purple flowers on a dark mahogany desk, their vase rattling as Doflamingo had spread his legs wide back then and let a man fuck him raw. A man he’d wanted to own so badly. One with a terrible facial scar and slicked back black hair. 

The man that had decided they were no longer compatible. That they never had been. 

The man that hated him.

Doflamingo also now saw the open cuts on your same hand as you clutched Crocodile’s favorite flower. Your skin you’d split from beating Trebol’s face in when you likely didn’t even have the remaining energy for proper armament.

The end of the stem had already been rinsed clean in the shower. But if you crushed all the rest now within your hand, the remaining sap would gush out to enter your wounds. 

That was exactly what the look in your eyes told him now, that you knew this as you clutched that flower.

On your back on the bathroom floor where he’d pinned you, his parasite ability unable to find easy purchase on your spine that was now tight against that tile.

All you’d have to do was tighten your fist. It’d happen before he could do another thing. There was no antidote for this one.

“(Y/N).” And he said it as that new fear cut straight through his rage. His teeth still bared, but his palms now beginning to sweat. The tension in his body was faltering.

“Don’t.” His mouth tried.

Because he wouldn’t be able to handle it. He couldn’t even fathom it.

Not like this. Not this soon.

“Doffy…” His own name was so soft from your lips in return. As if you could feel that shift. The sudden hole in his defense and that pull within his chest again while he stared down at the mess of you. You and that matching pain within your own eyes.

“Let go of it.” He still ordered you. “You can’t do this…”

You can’t do it to me. Was what that fear really meant.

———————————

He’d come in here ready to punish you by any means necessary. For a moment you had felt that. His full rage at any hint of betrayal, his need to hurt you for your daring to ever harm his family.

But he was reacting only to what he saw. Not what really was or had been. You’d already told the mystery caller to fuck off. It didn’t matter who they later said it was.

You didn’t care.

You had already endured so much in your short life, survived too much to ever just kill yourself here and now simply because some stranger told you to. Someone that evidently hated Doflamingo and couldn’t give two shits about what really became of you.

They’d done this on purpose, hadn’t they? They’d known something like this would come of it.

But you’d still been on that call, trying to figure out any of that then when Trebol had first burst into the bedroom.

You really didn’t think Trebol had heard everything either. But you were arguing with the man on the phone as suddenly the Donquixote executive was calling you a traitorous whore and mucus was flying at your naked body.

So of course you’d lost your damn mind then. Because he’d touched you again. It’d been everywhere. And even as worn down as you’d felt, when that mucus was then squeezing around your chest and running in between your legs, you’d still found some kind of emergency supply of haki as you’d finally snapped.

You’d fought that bastard like a wild animal, your injured leg be damned. You’d felt his nose crack and you’d gotten a hold of at least one of those flowers from that stupid plant as you’d escaped.

You’d screeched at them that you would fucking kill yourself and they’d have to answer to Doflamingo for it. Diamante had come in and Pica too in all those dramatics before you’d locked yourself in the bathroom. You’d said you’d only speak to their master and they could royally go fuck themselves.

But you’d still known what Doflamingo would do, even as you’d crawled into the shower. Even as you’d still been trying to get Trebol’s residue off of your body when you could no longer stand.

And when the bathroom door had exploded outward only minutes later, you could hear how taut the strings were in the air. You could hear how hard Doflamingo was already breathing as the shower glass had shattered next and he’d yanked you out and upward by your hair.

He’d thrown you so violently, it’d still knocked the wind out of you. You couldn’t speak before you were on your back with a long black shoe crushing down onto your sternum.

But then he saw that flower.

And you got to witness his realization of what it meant even through all that rage. He’d hesitated. Even for just a single moment as you’d realized that was your only chance to survive this.

He’d commanded you to let the flower go.

And you had swallowed, knowing that you had already tried fighting him. In Mariejois, in Sabaody, and even within intimate moments when he became too rough.

Even if you had been at full strength in this moment again, that path of tit for tat would only reach the same end every time.

You would hit him, and he’d hit you back twice as hard. The two of you could brawl until the entire castle came down around you. It would accomplish nothing.

It would prove nothing.

That was why you knew you had to take a different path this time. You had to at least try.

“Doflamingo…” You said his name again. You knew he was still listening. Because he hadn’t moved.

He was afraid to move.

“Let me up…please…and I will. I’ll let it go.” You promised through the pain.

You could barely breath with his foot still on your chest. He was suffocating you slowly, and you knew what you had to do.

But it still seemed like forever. Forever with your life in the balance as his intent wavered back and forth.

And then something happened.

His foot was off of your chest. And air flooded your lungs as he crouched down to grab you by the arm instead.

Maybe it just wasn’t yet your time. Maybe the anger was too much for him to even think clearly. Whatever the reason, it was a godsend for you at last as he was now within your reach.

And you wouldn’t waste the chance.

Doflamingo’s focus had still been on your hand. His strings waiting to remove that flower the very moment he could. But his movement to crouch down was simultaneous to the moment you sat up and you made your lips hit his. Even before he could parasite string you as your spine had cleared the ground.

That effort had used the remainder of your speed. And that opening was only there because a kiss was the very last thing he’d expect to be given in a fight like this.

At least Trebol’s remnants weren’t on your face. You could only taste Doflamingo then as you put everything you had into this final play.

You knew you had to mean it. It couldn’t be just any kiss, it had to come from your goddamn soul.

That was all you could think of with your eyes closed. How you would kiss a man if you were actually in love. How you would show them what love felt like when given away by you like this.

You had to prove that you were not a traitor. That you never could be.

You heard the sound in his throat that had started as true surprise. Even as you opened your hand to let that flower fall unbroken from it.

You’d never kissed him like this before. You’d never kissed anyone like this before. You knew that you hadn’t. Because you’d never been this desperate, never this afraid or exposed. 

And his confusion was palpable. Both of you then sitting on the bathroom floor amongst the shattered glass as you did finally pull away again.

Just enough to lay your head against his open shirt instead as you felt him breathing unevenly through it.

———————————

And Doflamingo had sat there stunned, even as his strings did remove that desert rose as soon as you had released it. He’d pulled the flower away immediately and cocooned it safely in string. He’d have the whole plant burned and crushed to ashes when this was done.

But he didn’t know what to do with you now. He didn’t know what was the truth and what was the lie. 

His arm had gone around your back reflexively. His fingers over a spine he could still either break or hold closer to further protect you.

“Doffy…we have the recording ready.” Pica’s voice came from the bedroom.

And Doflamingo was grateful. He’d almost forgotten already that there was more evidence. He wouldn’t have to make a decision like this fully on feelings alone.

“Get up.” He told you, not able to look at you now though even as he removed his feather coat from his shoulders and offered it to you.

It’d drag the ground a ridiculous amount with your contrasting heights. But a filthy coat was the least of his problems now. 

He knew you wouldn’t come back out unless your body was covered. But had his men seen all of you already? He didn’t know the exact timeline things had occurred.

“Sit on the bed. We’re going to settle this here and now.” He growled, his grip back on your now feather covered wrist as he mostly dragged you from the bathroom. You with his coat fully wrapped around yourself before he released you onto the mattress.

You made a sound at the continued rough handling, but you said nothing else.

Your eyes were back on his executives. And theirs were on him as the snail Pica had brought into the bedroom now began to play.

Doflamingo moved back away from you and stood to listen. Intentionally equidistant from Trebol and yourself in that moment, waiting on that more objective testimony. 

The new torment that was suddenly your voice and Sir Crocodile’s, as that conversation filled the room from the very beginning.

From the moment you’d first answered and their equipment began recording from downstairs.

———————————

You had to hear it all over. And it came across so painfully clear on that recording that you had been crying when you’d first answered the snail. 

Doflamingo’s head turned towards you right away at that, but you refused to look at him.

You got to hear the stranger talking over you on the phone next. More condescending and patronizing than even you had realized when it’d been happening in real time.

And then came the part where he’d told you to kill yourself. As if he was suddenly your only real friend, as if only he could understand the intensity of your suffering. He’d told you to end your own life before Doflamingo could do it for you. He promised you that was the only way this would ever end.

But you would bet all the beri in this castle that just after that was where Trebol had started to listen in. Because when the stranger began becoming frustrated with you, when you weren’t accepting this supposedly merciful escape he was offering you, he’d told you to poison Doflamingo instead. If you thought you were really so tough. Poison an evil man and do the whole world the favor then. 

Be the marine hero you were supposed to be.

Surely that is all Trebol had heard to come at you in the fury he had.

He may have already been making his way to your room, missing your emotional reaction which burst out from even that insinuation of assassination.

They’d said he was actually Sir Crocodile now. But even if you’d known that, your words wouldn’t have changed. 

You’d raged at that cruel voice, you’d called him a gutless, spineless, piece of utter shit. 

Yes, you were a marine. And you’d goddamn act like one. You might cut an enemy off at the knees if you had to. You might even hate them if they truly deserved it. But you’d do it to their face.

Not a knife to their back, or a poison in their favorite drink.

You would never do that.

And you told him as much. It wasn’t what he expected either. His true colors had just started to show. His temper flaring at your audacity, and what he called your self-righteous hypocrisy…but then even on the call Trebol’s voice could suddenly be heard as he’d forced his way in to interrupt you both.

Screaming at you for plotting against his master, for intending to kill Doflamingo as he’d come after you.

And your voice was breaking as you’d yelled at him in return. It barely even sounded like you at all. You knew that must have been when he’d gotten a real hold on you.

“Don’t you fucking touch me! Not ever again!”

And there were the sounds of more things crashing throughout the room, Trebol’s grunts and gasps as he struggled with you.

And then nothing as the line went dead.

You looked at no one as the recording stopped. 

You were silent.

They all were.

All you’d goddamn done was answer your own fucking phone when it had rang. Every cruel thing the man had said to you you’d rebuffed. You didn’t even know him. And then Trebol had been all over you anyway.

Diamante and Pica had heard his resulting calls for help over their mini snails and joined in. Diamante had stayed with Trebol while Pica had run to go get Doflamingo.

All the while you’d been crawling into the shower with that flower in your hand. An exit you didn’t want to ever take as you tried to remove Trebol from your body.

But you still would have used that poison on yourself if you’d had to. If Doflamingo had been too consumed to do anything but beat you to death. You knew he’d believe the three of them over one of you.

It could have been the end.

It still might be. 

Depending whether or not he now believed what he’d just heard. Or if he’d think it all still some grand scheme. And you an actress just playing a role to ensnare him. The kind of nightmare pirates might put one another through.

But you weren’t a pirate.

And your head lifted slightly as you saw new movement.

Their master was now back in front of you. Fingers under your chin as he lifted it further. So that your wary eyes were then looking up into those crimson lenses.

And his jaw was still tense, his smile non existent.

“We’ve done you a brutal disservice.” Those strange words came so solemnly from his mouth.

And then he let you go again. His head turned to look at his executives. He was standing at his full height.

You’d never seen those three look this nervous before. Not at their own master.

But his stillness was terrifying. You realized that as he didn’t even seem to be breathing while he considered them.

“From now on, no one touches her. She’s my responsibility alone. She answers to me alone.”

And they all bowed their heads immediately, they were on their fucking knees in front of him at that tone.

“Yes, Doffy.”

It was complete and utter submission. The only thing they must have known could sate him then.

And he still waited. Making them stay on their knees like that. 

It was a punishment, a warning in its own very clear way before he did finally inhale again.

And you saw when they visibly relaxed too as he did. Doflamingo had made his point and his hand just rose to begin generating strings again from his fingertips.

The same trick from Scylla as you saw a duplicate of him now taking shape from the floor up.

“I’m taking her back to my room.” He announced to them, still sounding cold but not as completely tense as before. “I’ll make the rest of my calls today through the string man in my office. Go to him if you need me. And get someone to come clean up this fucking mess.”

And as the real Doflamingo stopped talking, the clone started. Voice identical and somehow emitting from it.

“Go get your nose fixed too, Trebol.” It said, frowning. 

You saw that look of real relief form on Trebol’s bloody face then. As if his master was being so kind to him now. 

And maybe he was by Doflamingo standards. He was washing his hands of this. They were all free to go. The clone only told Diamante to take that plant and destroy it as well.

“You’re coming with me.” The real man said back above you though as you glanced up. He was picking you up again, right off of the bed and back into his arms, pink feathers and all with his coat still around you like a robe.

All while his clone moved independently, hands in its fake pockets then, leaving the room via the main door back to the palace hallways with the executives.

But you were being carried to that same hidden passage again which connected your two rooms. By the time he spoke to you again, he didn’t sound emotionless anymore. He sounded tired.

The others were gone. They couldn’t hear him.

“I’m sorry.” He said it so abruptly, you almost didn’t register it. Followed with, “And don’t ever get fucking used to me saying that.”

You stared up at him in astonishment as he moved you through that dark passageway.

Back to his chambers, back to his full protection.

And you felt his hands tighten on you slightly, once the passage was sealed and you were both alone within the king’s suite again. 

The curtains were all drawn shut, leaving it cooler and darker in here because of that. It felt like his den.

Like a sanctuary.

You were still in Doflamingo’s arms as his face pressed down against your neck and he leaned his back against the wall. He breathed you in. Hesitating as if he didn’t want to let you go, like he was delaying it in any way he could.

But eventually he’d lifted his head again to look down at you. 

“Move my glasses out of the way,” he told you then. Both of his arms already occupied in holding you to him.

A request that was easier said than done when you had to fish your hand out of the feathers that were still wrapped around you like an oversized blanket.

But you did eventually manage it. Gently reaching up to touch those somewhat famous frames. And when he didn’t resist, you lifted them all the way up to set them on top of his  head.

He stared at you for a long moment after, his good eye sharply focused, searching within your own eyes really.

Looking for something before he spoke again.

“You’re lucky I know him well enough to tell when he was being genuine. That really was your first introduction to one another…and he misjudged you completely.”

“I don’t roll over easily.” You said flatly.

“I know.” Was all he answered at first though.

And he leaned in to steal your lips briefly then, covering them with his own. But it was different. It was soft.

It felt like that very intentional kiss you’d given him earlier, or at least his best imitation of it.

And when he was done, he still left his face close as well, warm against yours. His next words were quieter, only for the privacy of this moment. 

“In that year you were with Kuzan…I tried to go after Crocodile. I tried with everything I had. I know people still talk about it. But they have no idea. It was…like a fucking war. But I wanted it. I wanted it so badly.”

And it was that stranger smile of his that followed. The one that looked painful. The one that nearly looked wounded. “But he cut me off all at once one day. He told me I was worthless…and he’s insisted on trying to remind me of that ever since.”

And the actual regret in Doflamingo’s tone was surprisingly real, as was the anger that rose to cover it. 

“But their losses become our victories. Don’t they?” He sneered. 

And you felt his fingertips, starting to hurt you again even through the coat. His grip becoming that severe. 

“None of them understand what they’ve created in bringing you and I fully together now.” He murmured against your skin. His lips still drawn back enough for you to feel his teeth. “We’ll outlast whatever their envy tries to throw at us next. As long as you stay loyal to me…then you have my protection. You have my love until the very end, woman.”

And it was another ultimatum without question. To the end…an end he could either cause tomorrow or twenty years from now.

Because it was up to him. No one else. Everything was still about him.

“I understand.” You said without argument though. Because he wasn’t asking anyway. He was telling you how this was going to be. 

He was promising this to you.

You would still resist. You both knew it. You would test the boundaries again and again, flapping your own wings against this shrinking cage soon enough.

But he still liked that too didn’t he? Because a little bird who said nothing, did nothing, and would only lay listless at the bottom of its enclosure at all times wouldn’t be worth having.

So you could thrash and fight, even bite him occasionally if he handled you too roughly. 

But you could never truly leave. You could never sing your song for another. You had to be his.

Only his.

———————————

    T⨂  BE 

CONTINUED

———————————

Thanks for reading!

[five-and-dimes]

Sunbeam

Part 2 of 4

Using the Dreaming Bingo prompt: Healing Touch

Rating: M

Ship: Dreamling

Warnings: Past abuse (not explicit, just implied past warprize things)

Additional Tags: Cat!Dream, Cow!Hob, King/warprize, hurt/comfort

Summary: King of the cow Kingdom, Hob is given a cat person as a warprize, and he'd give him the very sun if he could. But perhaps some sunbeams will be good enough.

Read on AO3

~~~

Dream needs more than just Hob’s milk.

The morning after Dream was given to him, he had called the palace physician to his room. She had brought several books with her, each bookmarked with any information on the health and anatomy of cat people that she could find, even if it wasn’t much. Doctor Constantine was never less than completely thorough in her job. It was how she had come to work in the palace in the first place.

It had taken her thirty seconds to kick the king out of his own chambers.

“I know you mean well,” she had huffed, her nose flaring in irritation that Hob could tell wasn’t really directed at him, “but this will be easier on him if he doesn’t feel outnumbered and cornered.”

Even after Hob left though, she hadn’t stayed in the room long. She had been jotting notes into the margins of one of her books as she spoke to Hob, explaining her concerns and how she wanted to address them in the coming days and weeks.

Now, even two weeks later, it hurt to see the way Dream’s body was suffering. While the malnutrition was their biggest concern, it was more than that. His fur was lank and dull, his skin sallow, occasional patches of skin red and irritated. Ideally, Hob wants to give him a bath, wants to let him soak in warm milk mixed with oils and medication to soothe his pains. But the very mention of a bath had brought Dream the closest to tears Hob had seen since his arrival, his body shaking and his voice cracking as he barely managed to choke out a shaking “Yes, master.” 

So. No bath then.

Still, Hob wants to help however he can, and when he looks out the window and sees the palace gardens bathed in sunlight, he gets an idea. 

It is early afternoon, and Dream has already been fed and woken from a fitful nap. He is now sitting, as he always is when Hob is in the room with him, at the foot of the bed, prim and proper. He thinks he’s seen soldiers standing at attention look more relaxed than Dream does right now, especially when Hob stands from his desk where he’d been reviewing his schedule. And luckily, there was nothing else on the docket today. So he casually walks around the room, collecting a small basket and filling it with a few select items. 

When he turns back to Dream, he just barely catches the moment that his eyes dart down to his own lap, as though he would be punished for simply looking at Hob. As always, Hob consciously pushes down his heartbreak, focusing on offering a gentle smile to try to ease Dream’s fears.

“It is a lovely day out,” he explains casually, “Would you care to join me outside in the gardens?”

Dream blinks, looking confused and caught off guard, but ultimately nods and stands, “Yes, m-… Yes. Sire .”

Hob smiled, and slowly reached a hand out to stroke Dream’s hair once, “Good boy,” he cooed. Hob had asked him not to refer to him as “master” and Dream clearly struggled with it. He was afraid of getting in trouble when he called Hob master out of habit, because to him it was disobeying an order. But he was afraid to not call Hob master as well, because to him it felt disrespectful. No matter what though, no matter what title slips out, Hob simply pets him, either while correcting him gently, or praising him for his bravery.

Slowly, he was flinching less at Hob’s hand.

He was getting a little stronger, too. As Hob leads him out of his chambers for first time since his arrival, Dream follows behind him on his own two paws, their journey marked by the heavy click of Hob’s hooves and the soft tapping of Dream’s claws. Certainly there is still a long road ahead for Dream to fully regain his strength, but for now Hob is proud that he is able to manage even the short to walk to the gardens.

Outside, the air is warm and bright, only the slightest of breezes to ruffle their fur. Hob gives a friendly nod to the various guards as they pass them, searching for the perfect spot to spoil Dream with sunshine.

Eventually, Hob finds a spot that he finds suitable, some fragrant bushes nearby but no trees to cast a shadow on them. He places the basket on the ground and removes a soft blanket to spread over the grass. He keeps his motions casual, even as he shrugs his shirt off in case Dream gets hungry later, and seats himself comfortably on the ground. When he looks at Dream, he finds him standing stiffly, ears flat against his head and staring at where his tail has wrapped around his ankles. 

Smiling, Hob pats his lap invitingly, “Could you come here please, Love?”` He is aware that Dream takes his every word as an order to be followed, but he hopes that maybe if he keeps asking, one day Dream might feel comfortable enough to answer honestly. 

For now, Dream answers expectantly, “Yes, sire,” and scrambles to do as he’s told. At first he moves to kneel between Hob’s thighs, but Hob halts him. He takes Dream’s hand gently, guiding him until he has Dream cradled in his lap, tucking his face against his shoulder and into the sun. 

He feels Dream shiver in his arms, and he pets down his back softly, “There we are,” he nearly whispers, “It’s such a lovely day. Thank you for joining me. It’s nice to enjoy the sunshine with some company, y’know?”

“...Yes, my lord,” the words are choked out, and he feels Dream relax, just a little against his body, the too-sharp bones sinking against Hob’s flesh.

Hob allows them to fall into comfortable silence, waiting patiently for the rest of the tension to slowly bleed from the cat in his arms. Eventually, Hob shifts slightly, reaching into the basket to retrieve a small jar. 

“Dream,” he asks softly, mourning the way he immediately tenses, “I have a salve that I think might help your skin and fur. Would it be alright if I put some on you?”

He feels Dream inhale shakily before nodding against his shoulder, “Whatever you wish, my lord.”

Sighing, Hob knows he will not get a better answer than that right now. He adjusts them just enough to gently push the robe down Dream’s shoulders, shushing him gently when he feels Dream’s breath catch in his chest. He lets the fabric pool in Dream’s lap, not taking it off completely, and then gathers Dream closer, shielding him with his body. He dips his fingers into the jar, coating his hand in the medicated oil, and then begins petting Dream.

He starts with the long stripe of fur running down his back, the black strands dull and dry from neglect. He strokes over where he can feel the prominent knobs of his spine, tangling his fingers down to the roots to rub the oil into where the skin is flaky and irritated. Hob keeps his movements slow and methodical, carefully working the medicine into each strand of fur, whispering soothing endearments and praise each time he feels Dream tremble and shake under his hands

Dream tenses when he moves on to the bare skin of his shoulders, whimpering when he feels Hob spreading the oil over the scars that litter his back.

“There, there,” Hob whispers, “Are you sore? The oil will help, but I can stop if it’s hurting, sweet one.”

He feels Dream shake his head, “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, “I did not mean to disobey.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Love,” Hob reassures, moving his hand away from the scars. He will try there again later, for now taking more oil and working his fingers into the fur at the base of Dream’s neck, “Just relax, enjoy the sunshine. You’re safe, sweetheart.”

Dream doesn’t believe that yet, Hob knows. But he will reassure him however many times he needs until he does. It takes time, Hob occasionally shifting to ensure Dream is always facing the sun as it moves across the sky, the jar of oil slowly emptying as he pets wherever he can reach, wherever Dream is not too afraid to be touched, until his fur is shiny and soft from the medication. He keeps petting him afterwords, reveling in the way Dream has melted against him, the way his skin has warmed beneath the sun, the way his ears are no longer pinned back in fear, but drooping in relaxation. Dream has his chin hooked on Hob’s shoulder, face tilted towards the light, when Hob feels it.

A soft, stuttering purr. It is barely audible, but Hob can feel it where Dream is pressed against his breast. 

Hob feels himself tearing up. He had read about the way cats purr, the sound of contentment and relaxation. He looks down, and feels his heart swell. Dream has his eyes closed, his face tearstained but soft, the light making him look like he is glowing, and Hob decides that he will do anything and everything in his power to make Dream look like that every single day. 

Carefully, he leans down to nuzzle at the crown of Dream’s head, so much softer and warmer than it was this morning. Dream doesn’t move, but the purring gets just a little louder.

[spaceyaceface]

Losing Patience

Sebastian Sallow x f!Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Request: Ominis is sick of seeing his best friends pine for each other, so he forces them to get together. Requested by @scrambled-eggs-y

Warnings: None :)

Also available on AO3

Ominis Gaunt considered himself a patient young man—he had, after all, been friends with Sebastian and Anne for several years. He knew all too well the weary sighs given by professors and peers given after one or the other had done something irritating. His reserve of patience was tried even more when a certain girl joined the vacancy Anne left in their fifth year—it was incredible; he’d used to think that there was only a certain amount of trouble the students of Hogwarts could get away with. Y/N quickly surpassed what he had once thought were the limits. Her and Sebastian were a wonderfully horrible pair. It was fun to watch, really—when they weren’t meddling in Dark Magic, of course. 

But time had passed and the pair had gotten off the dark path they’d been traveling down. Ominis was grateful for this, obviously, but it seemed that the two had chosen a new, almost as horrible path—one that was finally testing his deep well of patience. 

The idiots had fallen in love with each other, and were too stupid to admit it. 

It was sickening, the way they flirted with each other, always toeing the edge while never stepping off it. It had been that way for nearly a year now—it hadn’t taken long for him to catch on. There were inflections in their voices reserved solely for each other, soft tones they used when they thought no one else was listening. One of them just had to take that leap of faith, through themselves off the edge and into the arms of the other that were desperately waiting for them. 

He knew that each of their hesitations stemmed from similar things—both were ridiculously stubborn. Sebastian held fast to the title of the most stubborn person Ominis had ever met. Y/N was a close second. Both were insecure. Y/N was more obvious in this trait, feeling like her status as “Hero of Hogwarts” was beyond her, while Sebastian hid this a bit better. But Ominis knew his oldest friend well. 

Somehow, Ominis found himself stuck between the two of them yet again, listening to them bicker like a married couple as they practiced their charms. 

“Sebastian, the movement is more circular, you’re doing it too boxy, it’s not—”

“This is exactly how I’ve been doing it since second year, I think I’d have figured it out by now.” 

“Oh really? Then why isn’t it working, hm?” 

Ominis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m never going to get a moment of rest with the two of you.” 

Sebastian chuckled. “What fun would that be?” Ominis heard an unsatisfied hum. Sebastian must have tried the charm one more time, once again failing to get the desired result. 

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, Sebastian, give me that.” Y/N leaned over Ominis, grabbing the lock Sebastian was practicing on from the table and placing it in front of her. “Alohamora,” she said, and her spell was followed by a distinct click signaling her success. Ominis could only imagine the satisfied look she was sporting. “Too boxy, see?” 

“You know full well I’ve done that spell right thousands of times,” Sebastian whined. 

“So what is it that’s throwing you off?” Y/N gave an over-dramatic gasp. “It’s my stunning good looks, isn’t it?” 

“More like your horrid spell. Seems like someone was off feeding her hippogriffs before class, did you step in dung or something?” 

The three of them stood up after hearing Professor Ronan dismiss them. Y/N took the opportunity to shove Sebastian’s arm. “I smell wonderful. I know for a fact you like my perfume, you git.” 

“I—shut up, I’m not a git,” Sebastian said, voice a bit tight. “I’ll take you to Hogsmeade this weekend to prove it. You, um, and Ominis.” 

“Fine then,” Y/N said. There it was, that hint of disappointment Ominis knew all too well. 

Idiots. The both of them. 

Ominis tuned out the rest of their conversation as they continued down the hall. At that moment, he made a decision. He’d get them to confess—they likely wouldn’t be any less insufferable once together, but that stupid tension would be gone. 

It was Ominis’s turn for a bit of mischief. 

—-----

The next time Ominis found himself alone with Sebastian was that night in the common room. Y/N had gone up to bed after they had all snuck back from the Undercroft, and Sebastian was just about to do the same when Ominis called after him. 

“What?” Sebastian asked, a bit puzzled. It wasn’t like Ominis to keep him up late.

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” Ominis said, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. 

He heard Sebastian shift uncomfortably. “And what is this something?”

“Y/N.” 

Sebastian took a moment to reply. “Is… is something wrong with her? Are you worried about her? I didn’t think she was acting off, did I miss—”

“Oh, Merlin’s Beard, Sebastian, this is exactly why I need to talk to you about this,” Ominis said, exasperated. 

“Well, if you could enlighten me, I would much appreciate it,” Sebastian spat back. 

“I have never seen you this worked up about anything,” Ominis said. He let out a low chuckle. “Honestly, it’s a bit pathetic. Would you please just get on and tell her how you feel? It’s infuriating.” 

“Hang on, are you implying that—”

“You’re helplessly in love with her? Absolutely.” He smirked. “Though I know for certain it’s much more than just implied.”

Oh, what he wouldn’t have given to see Sebastian’s face at that moment. He could only imagine the fury, the disbelief, it must truly have been a sight to behold. “I’m not… Look Ominis, even if I was… interested in her that way, I would never tell her.” 

“Why?”

“Because it’s obvious she doesn’t feel the same.”

Ominis scoffed and pushed himself off of the wall, standing in front of Sebastian. “You two flirt more than you breathe when you’re around each other.”

“That doesn’t mean anything!” Sebastian said defensively. “That’s just how we are. As friends.” 

“Right,” Ominis said, tone sarcastic. “The two of you are truly duller than I realized. You’re the blind one if you can’t see how she feels about you.”

Sebastian stormed up the stairs to their dorm room without another word. It seemed that he wouldn’t get anywhere with him. Though perhaps with Y/N…

He considered it lucky that they had History of Magic together the next day. She continued taking the class because though Binns was an abysmal professor, she found the subject itself interesting. Ominis took it because it was a great class to nap in. 

He wouldn’t be napping today, though. When he took his seat next to Y/N, he whispered to her. “Tell Sebastian you’re in love with him yet?”

Y/N jumped in her seat, used to Ominis being asleep in mere moments of sitting down. “What—what are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. He’s too coward to say anything himself. Would you please do the honor and admit it to him so you two could get a move on?” 

She leaned down to whisper as Binns droned on. “You know full well that Sebastian is a flirt with everyone. He doesn’t feel that way towards me.”

“So you do fancy him.” 

She huffed, clearly regretting her words. “I’m not telling him. It would ruin our friendship.”

“Isn’t that what you want? To ruin it?” 

“Ominis, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to pummel you with my textbook.”

Ominis frowned, laying his head down and taking a troubled nap. 

—-----

There was a new tension in the air that afternoon. Things between the three of them were… strained. Ominis guessed that by planting the thought that they might have their feelings returned, both of his friends were stuck trying to overanalyze one another. It created a whole new dynamic of overly polite words and gestures. It. Was. Awful. 

For a little bit, he thought this might be it—he could have pushed them close enough to the edge that they had no choice but to leap, but as the afternoon stretched on, he realized he had gotten his hopes up too soon. 

As he listened to Y/N shyly thank Sebastian for holding the door open for her for what had to be the tenth time, Ominis was about out of his mind. He knew that despite the shift in their behaviors, they were no closer to admitting their feelings to one another than they were yesterday. 

A plan formed in his mind. It was stupid, really—but he figured idiotic friends called for idiotic measures. 

“Before we go to the common room, could we make a quick stop?” Ominis said, hoping they’d be willing to follow him. 

“If it’s quick,” Y/N said. Sebastian didn’t argue. 

He kept them chatting with small talk about classes and essays as they walked around the corridors. It was enough to distract them from thinking of his location. Finally, they stood in front of a supply closet, one he and Sebastian had hid in a few times during their early years of sneaking around the school. 

He opened the door and frowned, humming in disapproval. 

Y/N came to stand by his side. “What’s the matter?”

“Not sure. Could I borrow your wand for a moment?” Ominis asked. Oh God, please let this work. 

He heard the shuffle of her robes as she pulled it out, handing it to him. Too easy. “Why?”

Ominis grinned wickedly. “Oh, no reason.” 

Before either of his friends could react, he shoved them both into the closet, Sebastian giving a groan of discomfort as he hit the far wall of the tiny room. Ominis stood in the doorway, smiling at them. 

“I’m not opening this door until the two of you sort yourselves out. You know what I’m talking about.” He slammed the door shut and charmed the lock, leaning against the wall beside it with a sigh. 

—----

When the Ominis closed the door, the pair found themselves enveloped in darkness.  It took Y/N a moment to process her situation—she was locked in a dark room, without her wand. Oh, and Sebastian was there. She jolted forward, realizing she had been leaning back against him, pressing him between her and the wall. His chest had been warm against her back. She was glad it was dark in there. 

She pounded her fist on the door. “Ominis! You prick, let us out of here!” 

Sebastian joined in her shouting. “I swear Ominis, if you don’t open the door I’m going to—” 

He didn’t get to finish his threat, interrupted by the snickering on the other side of the door. Y/N groaned. “He’s not letting us out.” 

Sebastian shifted in the small space, pulling his arm forward apoligizing as he brushed against Y/N’s shoulder. There was hardly room to move in there. She shuffled around facing him right as he said, “Lumos.”

She slammed her eyes shut at the bright light blinding her from the tip of his wand. “Merlin’s Beard, Sebastian.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lowering the wand a bit. She tried to look up at him, white spots dancing in her vision. Godric, he was close.

He frowned slightly. “I still have my wand. I can try unlocking the door.”

“Well, you did prove abysmal at that spell just yesterday, but go ahead.” 

He tried, to no avail. Y/N took the wand from his hand, insisting she try herself, but it still didn’t work—the wand didn’t want to cooperate with her. There was more snickering from outside of the closet. 

Y/N groaned, laying her head back against the wall behind her. “Bloody Hell,” she said.

Sebastian leaned against his own wall across from her. “Now what? Do you… know what Ominis was going on about?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she mumbled. 

Sebastian sighed. “It really doesn’t seem like we have a choice.”

Silence settled between them. It went on for several moments before they both started talking at once.

“I guess I should just—”

“Well, there’s no getting around it—”

They both shut their mouths, staring at one another. “Um,” Sebastian said. “Ladies first.”

“No, uh, you go first. I insist,” she responded. 

He sighed in defeat, arms folded across his chest. He looked away from her, focusing on the corner of the closet’s ceiling. “I… know what Ominis is getting at by locking us in here. I suppose I’m rather… fond of you, and I guess that it’s driving him mad—”

“Fond?” she asked. “Why would that be driving him mad, we’re friends, of course you would be—”

“Ok, fine, fond isn’t the right word for this. It’s um, well it’s more like I’m in love with you.” His eyes met hers for a brief moment, before dodging away again. 

Despite the nerves bubbling up in her stomach, she couldn’t help but start to smile. “Like you’re in love with me?”

He looked down at her again, and upon seeing the smile on her face, he kept his gaze there. “Not like,” he admitted. “I am. I’m completely mad about you, Y/N.” 

She took a step forward as he unfolded his arms. In that small space, that was all it took to be a breath away from him. “That’s good,” she said softly, smile widening. 

He leaned forward, grinning down at her. “Really?” 

“Really,” she said, hands resting on his shoulders. “Because I’m in love with you, too.” 

His lips found hers in an instant, his large hands coming to settle on her waist in an effort to pull her even closer. The first kiss was short, interrupted by the smiles they both wore. But then he leaned down to kiss her again, and oh Merlin, were his lips soft as they brushed against hers, begging for more as he tasted her. His fingers dug into her waist, and—

The door of the closet banged open, light flooding down on them. 

Ominis smirked at the both of them. “There we are. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She flushed, glad her friend couldn’t see the state of them both. He set her wand on the ground beside the door. “Right, well I’ll leave you two to it. As a thank you, I expect you not to snog around me.” 

Ominis turned and left. Sebastian looked back down at her, face red, but smile wide. “We were in the middle of something, weren’t we?”

Y/N grabbed her wand and slammed the closet door shut once more.

[peachesofteal]

Courthouse

Part seven of the Sassy series

Simon Riley/female reader 2.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI (no smut) mentions of blood, brief mention of sex, little bit of angst, fluff, romance. Uncle Johnny, Soft Simon Riley. Note: I wrote this with Haley Reinhart’s version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” in mind. You're the sun.

Wise men say Only fools rush in But I can't help falling in love with you

Theo thrashes in Johnny’s arms, making irritated mouth sounds while squirming his body in a desperate effort to pry himself loose from his uncle’s grip. The man behind the desk gives the lad a kind smile, before turning his attention back to the paperwork fanned out before him, and Johnny huffs in exasperation, his forearms banded around the giant six-month-old who continues his attempts at crashing his head into his uncle’s chin.

“Bleedin’ christ Theo, be still.”

“He wants his mum.” Simon explains, reaching over to wipe some drool from Theo’s chin with his thumb. “She’ll be here in a minute.” He tries to reason, patting Theo’s back to get his attention. He can’t understand him, but you insist on speaking to Theo like he’s an adult, telling him everything and anything about what’s going on at any given moment, so Simon does the same. He trusts your instincts.

The sound of a handle clicking draws his attention and he turns to the two oak panels that slowly part to reveal where you stand on the other side, hands clasped in front of your waist, nervous smile on your face. You’ve left your hair down, a rarity now since Theo has taken to attempting to rip it from your scalp every chance he gets, and your eyes are a little red, like you’ve already been crying.

Your dress is white. A crisp, bright white that reflects the morning sun that streams in through the tall windows. It’s a far cry from your field uniform and tac vest, or the leggings sweatshirt combo that you’ve been sporting around the house. Not that he’s complaining, because he considers every day he gets with you a gift that he’s not sure he deserves, a gift he’s still terrified will slip through his fingers when he closes his eyes. But this, this day, this dress is different. This wedding dress, that hangs delicately at your knees and has intricate lace that flows over your shoulders, is a special, sacred thing that he is still having trouble believing is really happening.

You had been so nervous about it this morning, tutting at Theo while you strapped him into the car seat, anxious to avoid having it smudged or stained. Simon had watched you, indulgently, from behind, as you bent at the waist to give the baby a sloppy kiss, whispering about how much you loved him, how cute he was, how good and perfect he was being, and how he better not torture his Uncle Johnny. You had wrestled Theo into this little dress shirt-pant combo that kind of matched Simon’s, and he had promptly spit up on it during the drive over here, Johnny frantically trying to dab it clean from where he sat in the backseat without you noticing.

When he looks at you now, wearing this dress, he feels like he’s having a heart attack. He thinks he might be dying. Not dying, he tells himself, just getting married.  

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin If I can't help falling in love with you?

“You better get yer fuckin’ hands away unless you’re the one with MD in your title.” He snaps, long strides eating up the distance between him and med tent. The medic, a nervous looking young guy, tries to keep up next to him, hands fluttering uselessly over where you’re bleeding out of your abdomen. Johnny throws the medic an apologetic grimace as a woman, the trauma surgeon on base here, meets Simon just as he’s bursting through the door, two more assists behind her with a gurney. 

“This the gunshot wound?” The surgeon points to the metal transport bed, and he places you down as gently as possible, cradling the back of your head so it doesn’t thunk against the hard plastic. Your eyes flutter open, red stained hand reaching for something. 

“Ghost.” you slur, bloody fingers dragging across his vest. The gurney slides into place in a room, and your body jostles, a ragged moan slipping from your lips at the movement. He glares at the two medics on either side of you, and their faces go white. 

“I’ve got you.” He says, gripping your hand in his, eyes trained on yours. You blink, hazily, mouth moving but no words coming out. Fear, real, shockingly cold terror, snakes through his entire body, and he squeezes your hand so tight he thinks he might be hurting you. A minute, maybe less, passes like this, with him unwilling to tear himself away, until he feels a hand on his shoulder, Johnny’s voice right above his ear. 

“You gotta let them work, LT. They’ll take care of her.”

Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling, so it goes Some things are meant to be

It’s not an aisle in a church. He’s not flanked by family or dozens of friends. Just Theo, a judge-type official, and Johnny bear witness. He thinks you’re supposed to have a bouquet, or someone walking you towards him, but you don’t have either of those, no one to hand you off, no one to tell you how much they love you before shaking his hand like they approve of this. He briefly thinks of Price, who’s known you longer than he has, who’s served as your captain on countless units, and feels a pang of regret. He wonders, if you thought about him being here with Johnny to witness, to celebrate.

It feels loud, for a moment. Like there’s too much going on, like Theo’s soft babbles are actually screams, like he’s not even really here. He fights the blank, white space that’s burning at the edge of his mind, fractured clips skipping through his skull, mixing with his memories until he’s not sure what’s truly going on.

He’s jolted back into his body when your hands take his.

“Hey.” you whisper with a squeeze of your fingers. “You okay?”

“Shoulda got you flowers.” He mumbles, disappointment tinging the words.

“Why?” You give Theo and Johnny an obvious look before swinging your gaze back to him. “Looks like I’ve got everything I need.”

Take my hand Take my whole life, too For I can't help falling in love with you

“What the FUCK is this?” you shake the stack of papers in your hand, and he sits rigidly in the chair where you’ve cornered him. He doesn’t look at you, focusing anywhere else but where you stand in the tent as your voice changes, the tone hitting high notes of disbelief and anger.

“Can’t have ya here Sass.” He trains his eyes on the wall to your left and resists the urge to bolt or worse, grab those damned papers and tear them to pieces. 

“So, you reported an intimate relationship to Price? Just to get rid of me?” He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to explain it. Yes, no. No, yes. He needs you to leave, before it happens, before you’re lost forever. “Oh my fucking god, Simon.” Your laugh is bitter and it breaks him apart somewhere, somewhere deep and buried, somewhere you should have never touched in the first place. 

“Can’t have ya here.” He can’t do this. Can’t feel this, can’t go through with this, can’t get this over fast enough. His heart feels like it’s burning in his chest. The walls look like they’re going to cave in and crush him, kill him where he sits. 

He stands on auto-pilot, a burning panic searing under his skin. 

“Simon!” He hears you yell; he hears your scream but he’s already walking away as fast as he can, desperate to escape your pain, running like a bloody coward. “Fuck you, Simon Riley.” Your words die on the wind, but he hears them all the same.

Like a river flows Surely to the sea Darling, so it goes Some things are meant to be

“I, Simon Riley, take you-“ he stumbles over your name, voice dangerously close to cracking with emotion. “for my lawful wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part…”

“I will love and honor you all the days of my life.” The official prompts, and he opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He can’t look away from you, can’t see anything else but you, the memories of your laughter, of your screams, of the way you sound when he’s inside you. Can’t think about anything except how terrifying it is, to have you, to feel the way he does, to know you in the way he does, to love you in a world like this. 

Johnny clears his throat.

He presses down on your hand that he’s holding, just a little harder, and moves his thumb to where your pulse beats. Strong and steady. He takes a deep breath.

“I will love and honor you all the days of my life.”

Take my hand Take my whole life, too

“You,” he hears you say, voice light and sweet, “are going to be so smart, and kind, and strong. You’re going to be able to be whoever you want to be, do anything your heart desires.” He holds his body incredibly still, standing around the corner just so he can see the sway of your hips moving side to side as you rock Theo. “except maybe, don’t go into the military. I don’t think me, or your dad want you to follow in our footsteps. You should do something cool instead. Build rockets or become an acrobat. Anything you want.” Theo babbles and you tap the baby on his nose, causing him to shriek with laughter, little baby giggles seeping into Simon’s bones and warming him from the inside out. 

It’s a sight he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget. It’s the sight he knows he’ll see when he closes his eyes for the last time one day. He doesn’t deserve this, that he knows. He doesn’t deserve the happy ending, doesn’t deserve to be loved by you, or Theo, or anyone really. He’s caused too much pain, taken too much, hurt too many people, hurt you. 

The glaring reality is that if he was a better man, he’d give you up. He’d save you from himself. Not push you away because you terrify him, no. He’d let you go, let you be free to find someone else, to build your life away from him and the hell that is his existence. 

But he’s a selfish man, not a good one. You, and Theo, are the brightest point in his world. You’re everything. You’re the sun. 

He can’t live without you.

For I can't help falling in love with you

“You may kiss the bride.”

He cradles your face, thumb smearing a runaway tear across your cheek. You’re crying, but trying really hard not to, and you sniffle with a laugh before his lips find yours, the kiss so sweet, so overwhelming that he loses himself in it, sneaking his tongue between your teeth, sliding a palm down your hip to the curve of your ass-

Theo shrieks. He flails in Johnny’s arms, unreasonable and uncontained, so Simon pulls him into his own, cradling the boy against his chest while you try to hold them both.

“What do you say, want to help dad put this on?” You stroke some of Theo’s wispy curls while Johnny pulls something from his pocket, a gold ring, sized for Simon’s finger. He hands it to you, and you let Theo wrap a curious paw around it.

“I have a silicone one for you too.” You say quietly, lowering the band to his ring finger. “But I thought you might want this, for when you’re at home.” You push it halfway on before pulling it off, eyes widening for a moment. “I uh, forgot. It’s inscribed.” He plucks it from your fingertips to inspect it, and the tiny, engraved writing gleams in the light.

‘I got you. -S.R.’

“S.R?” His initials? 

“Sass. Riley.” There’s a timid smile on your face, and he’s lost his breath, again, for the hundredth time today as he stares down at you, unsure if he’s dreaming or not. You pull the ring from his grasp, slipping it onto his finger the whole way this time, stroking the pad of your thumb overtop the gold.

“Do you like it?” Theo babbles in his arms, swinging a small fist into his chest.

He nods and leans forward, ghosting his lips across yours, gentle and soft as he whispers, “I love it, Mrs. Riley.”

For I can't help falling in love with you.

[canonicallyobserving911]

"What do you want?" - A Series of Fics and Ficlets

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

"What do you want?" A Series of Fics and Ficlets - This is a FANON series of “Fics and Ficlets” that focuses solely on Buddie. Unlike CANON, they'll actually talk so they can discuss the things they've left unsaid over the last 6 years. Hopefully, season 8 will include a narrative for them instead of IT BEING FILLED WITH TM'S (SHOWRUNNER) REWRITTEN AND MADE-UP STORYLINES FROM OLD MOVIES 🙄.

"What do you want?" - A Series of Ficlets

Currently 6 works completed; 41.4K Words: Rated; Teen and Up Audiences

"You don't know math!" - 3.3K Words; Rated Teen and Up Audiences: Buck is forced to choose while Eddie might be presented with another option.

"Math is a universal language." - 5K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Eddie reconnects with an old acquaintance and they spend a lot of time together. However, now that Buck’s single, he finally tries to understand math is a universal language but when he sees Eddie talking to another guy, he wonders if it took him too long to figure it out.

“You know, it’s like that thing when you meet somebody and you just… click.” - 5.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: When Buck comes face to face with Eddie’s new friend; he hates it but since he’s only told Maddie about his breakup with Tommy, Eddie’s still under the impression he’s taken. Therefore, Eddie makes plans to spend even more time with his new acquaintance.

"I can't stop thinking about him." - 8.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie are trying to move on but they can’t stop thinking about each other.

“How I hide my true feelings from others.” - 9.6K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie return to therapy but they’re both not telling each other about recent events that happened. Will they finally have an open and honest conversation before it’s too late?

"We need to talk." - 11.4K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences:  After Eddie and Buck decide to take a weekend road trip to El Paso, TX to visit Chris, during the 12-hour drive, they talk about a lot of things they’ve left unsaid.

__________

This is a series of “Fics and Ficlets” that I’ll be writing over the course of the next few weeks and my goal is to keep them under a certain number of words. I’m challenging myself to do it this way for multiple reasons but mainly because I want to see if I can write a full Buddie story by including smaller fics in a series in comparison to the multi-chapter fic I’m still in the process of writing titled, “I’m still in love with you but… I needed to learn how to love myself too!” I only have 9 chapters left before I finish it but once I’m done, I’d like to continue writing Buddie fanfics. However, this time I’ll start with my dislike for the way season 7 ended instead of the way season 6 did. Finally, I have a lot of WIPs that I want to finish and I figured I can turn them all into one shot fics or ficlets to build the full story for Buck and Eddie.

Since these ficlets will be posted in order, it’s imperative to read them one after the other. Each part ends at a specific point with a cliffhanger and the next part will begin with the ending of the previous part. Therefore, parts 1 - 5 should be read prior to reading part 6 and the series will continue in that manner until it’s complete.

Parts 1 - 6 are available on AO3.

[absurdthirst]

Kinktober 2023: October 18th

Day 18: Sensory Deprivation Gags, Service Top/Power Bottom, Bloodplay

Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy, kink shaming?, Tom being a douche, mentions of drinking, tipsy Frankie, assumed prior consent, oral sex (female receiving), sex toys, slight exhibitionism

|| Kinktober List || MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It never fails that a conversation with the guys has to include sex of some kind. Even if it's just ribald jokes and busting each other’s balls as they drink beer out in your backyard around the firepit. It’s one of those nights. The jokes have come out in force since announcing that you and Frank were expecting, all the men who had served in Delta Squad A congratulating your husband on his virility, his obvious prowess in the bedroom while you just hummed happily at the very real prospect of the newest addition to the Morales household. 

“Fish, what the fuck is this?” The slider to the house closes behind Tom and he holds up a book that you know for a fact was tucked into Frankie’s nightstand before the guys came over. You know because you had put it away. 

“What the fuck? Did you go through my nightstand?” Frankie frowns, seeing the book in his former team leader’s hands. He moves a hand up to push the brim of his hat up and scratch his hair underneath before he pulls it back down, a little embarrassed.

Tom ignores the question, obviously having committed the crime since he had been the one in the house and turns to the book to read the title. “Powering From the Bottom.” He reads out loud. “How To Be a Service Top.” His tone is incredulous and he snorts as he looks back at your husband. “Jesus Christ, Fish, wanna tell us something?” 

You hiss in anger, watching your husband squirm uncomfortably. Tom is one of those fuckers who believe that macho men have to be dominant, constantly the ‘head of household’ and would never, ever, be a service top. 

“Red-” 

“Maybe you should read it, Tom.” You speak up, not wanting Frankie to fight this battle alone. It’s not really any of his goddamn business what happens in your bedroom, but since he wants to embarrass your husband, you think you’ll just embarrass him. “Maybe you can figure out why Molly left you.” 

It’s amazing how quickly the air seems to go completely silent. Even the fire decides it’s not going to speak up and crackle. “What did you just say?” Others might be intimidated by the former soldier’s narrowed gaze, but you aren’t. Fuck Tom. 

“I don’t know.” You shrug, taking another sip of your punch. “Told me that she hadn’t had an orgasm from sex with you in nearly eight years.” You snort. “Just that you climb on top of her and ride her for forty-five seconds and think that you’ve done her some sort of favor.” 

“Babe-” Frankie frowns and moves over towards you. Wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you towards him. You know why he’s doing it. One, to get your attention. Two, to remind Tom that you are his wife. Tom’s a hothead and you are pushing his buttons in front of a group of people. But he brought this on himself. 

“No, baby.” You shake your head and turn towards Frankie, kissing the bare patch of skin on his jaw. “He started this.” Looking back at Tom, you huff. “Do you even know what a Service Top is? It means that his focus, his priority is my pleasure. He gets off on making sure that I’m very well taken care of.”  You hand slides protectively over your stomach, reminding everyone that you are pregnant, that it obviously works for you. “It’s not something to be ashamed of. And I bought that book for my husband as a joke, a private one.” You announce to the group. “Yes, he is reading it, but I want to know how you found it when it was tucked into his nightstand in our bedroom?” 

You’ve got him there and everyone knows it. Tom scowls, not happy with the way that you’ve neatly turned this around on him and huffs. “I was just fucking around with him.” He grumbles, tossing the book down into one of the chairs and looks around the group. “What? Drink your beer.” He tells them, annoyed at being called out and even more annoyed that he doesn’t know if you were lying about what Molly said or not. 

You smirk and hum to yourself, feeling Frankie’s fingers pressing into your side as he leans down and presses his lips to yours. You know that your husband is ten times the man that Tom ‘Redfly’ Davis is, and you’ll be damned if you won’t fight for him as hard as he protects you. 

**** “Baby, I want you.” It’s not surprising that Frankie is pressing up against you, his cock rock hard against your ass the second you climb into bed with him. He’s more than a little tipsy and he always wants sex when he’s been drinking. “So fucking sexy.” He groans, kissing the back of your neck and immediately pushing his hands under your shirt to cup your breasts gently. His touch has been lighter since they have been sensitive, but it’s perfect. “Defending me. Want to make you feel good, want to make you scream my name for everyone to hear.” 

The rule of the Morales house was that anyone who drank too much, stayed. Keys were put away and the guest bedrooms and the couches were put to use. No one needed a DUI to pull them off the team or god forbid, kill someone. Even Tom had stayed, since he had one too many. 

“Are you sure?” You ask, smirking when his answer is rocking his cock against your ass. As if showing you how sure he was. “Let me eat your pussy.” He begs, thumbing  your nipple and not pinching since that would make you hiss in pain. 

Frankie’s tongue is magic and you moan softly, making him twitch against you. He loves eating you out, making you cum on his tongue and sometimes would want to just do that, because you weren’t up for sex. He didn’t care, he just wanted you to cum. 

“You want to show all of them how you take care of your girl?” You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder and he’s practically salivating at the idea. 

“Fuck yes,” he groans. “Want to - fuck, you want your toy? Your dildo inside you while I play with your clit? Want you so wet for me when I slide inside you.” 

He always knows exactly what you enjoy, taking note of everything that makes you pant or moan for him. It’s exactly why Frankie is a service top. He’s always in control of you in the bedroom, but rather than using you for his own pleasure. He gets pleasure from your satisfaction. 

With your pregnancy, Frankie has become more attentive than normal. Maybe a little sloppy because of the alcohol, but he’s still bringing his A game. Kissing and nibbling on your thigh while he slowly works the toy in and and out of your lips, he waits until you are breathless to latch onto your clit. 

“Frank!” You know your cry is loud, unwilling to censor yourself in your own home, and wanting those that had heard Tom try to shame him hear how much you enjoy Frankie as a lover. Not faking it, but not holding back. 

Your fingers twist into his longer curls and you love looking down to find his dark brown eyes fixed on your face. Watching as he slowly tears you apart with his tongue and the motion of the toy rocking deeper into your grasping walls. 

Every moan spurs him on, every sigh a sign that he should suck more, nibble or pull back just based on the sound of it. Reading your reactions and your body like a book and adjusting to make sure that you are soaking the toy and the bed beneath you with the evidence of how well Frankie treats you. 

HIs own hums and moans vibrate deep into your pussy, making it throb and clench even more as he works you over. Fully aware of the power that he has over you and even if he is giving, he is also taking from you as well. Taking your sounds, taking the way your hips roll down to chase his tongue. Taking every pulse of slick that gushes from your cunt. He takes all of it with the pride that makes his cock leak into the bed under him. 

You know that some of this is a lesson to everyone in the house around you. None of them, except maybe Tom, are asleep yet. You had just gone to bed when the moaning started. The breathless sighs of his name and the slight begging orders of ‘more’ that seem to fall from your lips every time Frankie slides between your thighs. 

Your cry of pleasure when you fall apart is just that. Pure pleasure. Pleasure from the way that his tongue laps at your clit and pleasure in knowing that you are proving to everyone how being a service top isn’t being weak. It’s the most powerful that a man can be. 

[xf-cases-solved]

i wrote a fic inspired by this post i made, about how william should have been a girl named samantha and how i will die on that hill with honor. see below, or click this link to be directed to my ao3, if you so desire

Title: the bitter and the sweet

Rating: Gen

Word Count: ~2400

Back on the vineyard, before Samantha had been taken and the four of them had approximated something approaching a family unit, Mulder's mother would make homemade bread on Sunday afternoons.

The process had always fascinated him—the way she could parse out units of flour, sugar, water, and yeast and combine them together into something that, only hours later, would have the whole house smelling of an artisanal bakery, the atmosphere somehow made warm and inviting by the wafting scent of baking bread. When he was really little—when the biggest unexplained phenomenon to him was the Tooth Fairy—baking seemed like magic to him, and his mother was its wielder. 

How else, he'd figured, could she be able to take all those separate ingredients—banal and basic on their own—and turn them into something incredible?

Tonight, Mulder's feeling a little like how he did when his mother would make bread, only on a much, much grander scale. 

He's finding himself believing in magic, and this time, Scully is its wielder. It's no great surprise to him that she's powerful—he's known that from the start—but it wasn't until he'd found her drenched in sweat, tear tracks down her cheeks, blood staining the insides of her thighs, and a tiny child cradled protectively against her heaving chest that he'd learned that she was a magician, too. 

Out of two ingredients, Dana Scully has made a person.

Mulder has seen things in his lifetime that go far beyond the laws of nature. He's seen ghosts and ghouls; monsters, both bestial and human alike; he's seen proof of life outside this planet time and time again; he has died, his body buried six feet beneath the ground for months, and he's come back to life.

And yet, somehow none of that compares to witnessing the miracle of the most basic, fundamental tenet of existence: Reproduction. Something so innate—the instinctive need to replicate oneself so that one's lineage may live on in perpetuity. Hundreds of thousands of human babies are born a day; if he had known, like really known, how remarkable that is, maybe he would have decided that anything beyond it was simply above his pay grade and given up trying to understand the Universe long ago.

He hears the front door click shut as the Gunmen show themselves out, and yet he doesn't move just yet. He has to take a breath first—has to give himself a moment to shake his head in awe. On the other side of this doorway is his brand new life, and it's daunting to know you're about to walk into a fresh existence.

But no amount of anxiety can outmatch his need to see her. To see them. 

He'd had such little time with them before, and there had been so much chaos going on around them that he hadn't been able to appreciate what he did get, and he's trying not to feel resentful about it. The baby's healthy, Scully's healthy, and in the end, that's what matters most, but still, he can't help but feel robbed on Scully's behalf. On his own behalf, too, if he's being honest. 

After everything she has gone through—after the multitudes of hellfires she's walked through since the day she first stepped into his office—Scully deserved a beautiful pregnancy, with an equally beautiful birth. After everything he's gone through—after every chance he's lost to show the breadth of his love to the people who own his heart—he deserved to care for her, from week one to week forty, and to be by her side as she performed magic in a clean delivery room, with freshly laundered receiving blankets on hand, and the reassurance of trained professionals nearby should something go wrong. Something so precious should have never been shrouded in so much trauma.

It should have been different. They had earned different. 

But he's not going to dwell on it, at least not right now. Maybe in a quiet moment, when his family (his family!) is asleep and peaceful, he'll grant himself the space to feel the bitter in this sweet. 

But that's for later. 

Right now, he has to go to them; he can feel their thrall like the arrow of a compass being pulled north by the Earth's magnetic core, and this hallway suddenly feels a lightyear away from where he's meant to be, the space between them and himself a wormhole, where on his end there's the life he's led until now, and on the other side lies a brand new world he can't even begin to fathom the extent of just yet.

So he walks through the doorway, bending time, stepping out of one reality and into the next. He doesn't mourn what he's left behind—everything that matters now exists inside this room.

"How's everybody doing?" he asks, and if she can hear the thread of anxiety rumbling through his words like a shockwave beneath a tectonic plate, she doesn't mention it—merely smiles widely at him, the corners of her tired eyes crinkling. She's already so tiny, but the giant swaddling of blankets and baby in her arms covers half her torso, making her look even smaller. 

Small, but so incredibly, incredibly strong.

"We're doin' just fine," she says, standing up from the edge of the bed, a hand gently patting the baby's back through the cushion of blankets. As she approaches, he knows his face must look ridiculous—his head shaking in disbelief, his mouth slightly ajar, even as his lips are turned up into a smile, and eyes laser focused on them as though if he so much as blinks they'll disappear—but he can't help it. He's witnessing magic; of course he's awed. 

The baby snuffles grumpily at being jostled, as Scully moves the whole bundle into his expectant arms.

"Hey now," he mutters to the child. "None of that."

He gets the baby's head settled into the crook of his elbow, and the amount of protectiveness that swells within him is so sudden and intense that it almost takes his breath away. 

Words fail him; there isn't a language, on this planet or the next, that could ever properly convey the weight of his thoughts, so he just smiles at Scully and breaths a shaky, "Hi," before turning back to the baby, his body rocking to-and-fro gently on its own accord, and that's something, isn't it? That he instinctively knows how to soothe.

He surveys the baby's face with the focus one would use to parse out a magic-eye poster. He's searching for familiar features, and memorizing all the shapes and slopes and colors that have come together to create the breathtaking picture before him. A long time ago, he remembers calling his eidetic memory a curse, and at the time it had felt true, because in his line of work he saw so many horrible, wretched things, and it would have been a mercy to be able to forget them.

He doesn't consider it a curse now. He thinks that, maybe, he was actually bestowed a blessing, and he just hadn't realized it because it had always been meant for this exact moment in time.

This is... this is a lot. 

A lot, a lot, a lot.

Mulder has always known that he has a tendency to love at a magnitude so severe it is almost to his detriment; he knows that his heart has always been his biggest strength and biggest weakness in equal measure. Once, not long after a bullet had cracked his skull, he had found his way to Antarctica, armed with a vial of antidote, an unreliable compass, and a decent coat, and through the force of his love, he had brought Scully home with a clean bill of health, say for a bit of freezer burn on her cheeks. His love is so mighty, it is almost a type of magic in itself.

But he has never felt love like this before.

He's not even sure if it is love, the feeling so foreign and all-consuming.

He wants to cry with the might of it—feels so full of emotion that he could stand in the center of a field and scream it at the sky until his voice goes hoarse, and even then the precarious glass of his heart would still be dangerously close to overflowing. For all the things he's believed in his life, the hardest thing for him to wrap his head around is the idea that he is capable of loving this big.

"What are you going to call her?" he finds the words to ask. 

Her.

Somehow, the simple use of a pronoun tilts the world on its axis. He thinks it has to do with abstractions. Since he returned from the dead, they've only spoken about her in the abstract. "The baby." "This child." A nameless, faceless, sexless concept that they knew would come into existence one day, but they couldn't quite understand what that existence would mean. 

But she exists now, and she's a she. 

Boy, girl, both, neither—he'd had no preferences nor expectations, but the concreteness of the identifier has his pulse thudding wildly. Scully—the magician and, until very, very recently, the greatest love of his life—has done the impossible and created a person and that person is his... well, they haven't discussed that yet, have they? What he's entitled to referring to her as.

But then she says, "With your blessing"—she's quiet and shy about this, but still meets his eyes with her usual amount of confidence—"I wanted to name her Samantha." 

In some magazine a million years ago, Mulder had read about the art of human suspension. It originates as a spiritual practice that is thousands of years old, wherein people suspend themselves in the air by hooks embedded beneath their skin, and at the time he had been, of course, open and respectful of the concept, but did not particularly see the appeal. While he understood it in theory, without experiencing it, he couldn't quite see how one could endure such intense pain and be grateful for it. To feel revived by it. To feel complete. 

There are no hooks in his skin—he's not hanging from any banisters, trying to reach enlightenment—but he definitely has a better grasp on the practice now. In six words, Scully has taught him how to feel honored by pain. 

This is, he thinks, the utter definition of bittersweet, because god, it's so bitter, but god, nothing has ever been so sweet.

His instinct is to make a joke, because that's what he does when he gets overwhelmed. Maybe make a quip about seeing some of Walter Skinner in this little girl's face, is there something she wants to tell him...? But, unfortunately, it seems that his throat is closing up, so no jokes today, he supposes. Nothing to cover the rawness of his emotion as he blinks the tears out of his vision so that he can see his daughter clearly.

Because that's what she is—Scully just said as much. This is his daughter, named after an aunt she'll never get to meet, but whose memory will live on through her. 

"She deserved so much better than the short time she got," Scully is saying, and although he wants to look at her, he can't because that would mean looking away from his daughter, and that's not possible at the moment. "Mulder, every step we've taken that has gotten us to this point has been because of your love for her. Your search, your passion—everything that brought us together—it's because of her. And through you, I've grown to love her, too. She had no choice in making her sacrifice, but I want to acknowledge it anyway. I want... Mulder, I want our daughter to carry a name that symbolizes enduring strength, and unimaginable bravery, and, more than anything else, infallible, everlasting love." Her hand comes to rest on his wrist. "But only with your blessing, Mulder."

Mulder closes his eyes, a teardrop or two escaping and sliding down the bridge of his nose as he leans forward and presses his forehead gently against his daughter's. He breathes in deep, centering himself and righting his world with the scent of baby powder. Scully waits patiently, her thumb tracing small circles around the circumference of his wrist joint. Finally, he straightens himself out and looks at her.

Once again, language leaves him wanting. 

He settles on a whispered, shaky, "Thank you," that cracks his voice. 

He's thanking her for the in memoriam, certainly, but for so much more than that as well. 

Thank you, he means, for your magic that brought her into this world.

Thank you, for granting me entry into your body so that I could help you make this child, as much as I could.

Thank you, for saving my life, again and again and again and again, so that I can be here to experience true bliss for the first time.

Thank you, for stepping into my office the better part of a decade ago and, against all good judgment and reason, staying by my side ever since.

Thank you, for letting me love you.

Thank you, for loving me in return.

Scully gives a half smile and a nod; he has no doubt that she hears everything he doesn't say, because while all other languages are limited, they have long since created their own mode of communication that only the two of them speak.

There are conversations they need to have. The trauma of Samantha's birth is still shrouded in mystery; the fact that she wasn't taken from them has created more questions than it has provided answers, and that needs to be acknowledged. 

They have to talk about what happens next. What are their roles now? To the world. To their daughter. To each other.

That can all be discussed later, though, when language doesn't feel so useless, and his heart does feel so bruised and battered from all the bitter and all the sweet.

He does the only thing he could possibly do in this moment, and that's lean down and press his lips to hers. She kisses back, one hand holding him by the elbow, Samantha bracketed by their bodies, keeping her safe.

Since he was twelve years old, Samantha has been his driving force.

Today, she still is, but in a different form. A different life.

Mulder loves his baby sister.

Mulder loves his baby daughter.

He thinks he might go into the kitchen tomorrow, and bake Scully a loaf of bread.

[catboydogma]

another afterglow/another place we know

codywan week 2024 sol master list (solsterlist)

@codywanweek 2024 day 7 prompts, sol edition: modern au: teacher/uni/academia, courting

notes: title from boyfriend by teenage dads (a delightful band). for clarification: cody is a childhood/early teens language acquisition researcher (field research, language games, interacting a lot w kids, teaches reading and writing to struggling teens) and obi-wan is a pedagogy and polisci researcher (diplomatic relations, public addresses, legal/historical jargon; how these are both weaponized and used to defend/keep peace)

wc: 2,122

cross-posted to ao3

The ignominy of it all, really, was that as soon as someone else stepped up to futz with the damn thing, it started working again. Obi-Wan nearly threw his hands up in exasperation, but that would have meant tossing all his notes into the air and his dignity with them. He glanced down at the sheaf of battered papers in his hands, then back up—which was a mistake. He hadn’t taken much notice of the man who had come up to get the projector running, too busy trying to run through his talking points in his head, and then too busy being outraged that the projector had just been working not two seconds ago—

But, well. A man could hardly be blamed for discreetly checking out the… assets… of the department he was visiting. Especially when the helpful man—Obi-Wan took a moment to fervently hope he was a professor, and not a particularly tall graduate student—was, well, bent over the desk right in front of Obi-Wan, clicking into the program and pulling up Obi-Wan’s presentation from his thumb drive. My, but those slacks were certainly well-fitted.

“That should do it,” the man said, glancing over his shoulder at Obi-Wan and giving him a restrained yet friendly smile.

“Ah, thank you,” Obi-Wan said belatedly, holding his notes in front of him like a shield. And, good lord, the top button of that dress shirt really was straining to keep things together. He combed a hand through his hair, almost certainly mussing it out of its carefully-pomaded swoop, and stuck his hand out for a shake. “I’m quite indebted to you…?”

“Cody,” the man said. His handshake was firm. Professional. He had the callouses of a boxer across the backs of his knuckles, and his gaze flicked down to the matching callouses on Obi-Wan’s knuckles. Interesting. “I’m looking forward to your talk, Dr. Kenobi. You build a compelling thesis on the semantics of dogwhistles and the purposes of language used in public address.”

“Obi-Wan, if you please.” Now that Obi-Wan had a name, he could match it to a face—Cody Fett, field researcher in early language acquisition. Whoever had done this man’s headshot for the department page should be shot. It did him no justice.

“Should we give you the room…?” asked a statuesque woman with a ruddily dark complexion and vitiligo marking her face and bared arms. Her grin was sharp, but not cruel.

“Shaak,” Cody hissed, dropping Obi-Wan’s hand as if it had burned him. “Really.”

Shaak Ti—another early language acquisition linguist, but she specialized in very early childhood, coming from a neurology background—inclined her head toward Obi-Wan and winked. “I am simply admiring your spirit of welcome and camaraderie to our visiting professor.”

“Yes, welcome, Dr. Kenobi.” The head of the department, whom Obi-Wan was already familiar with, grimaced artfully at Professor Ti. “I believe this makes it a record for most on time colloquium we’ve had this semester.”

Obi-Wan glanced at the clock, which told him it was five minutes past the scheduled starting time. Beside him, Cody turned his head to “cough” into his shoulder.

“It’s my pleasure to welcome Dr. Kenobi all the way from England… he’s certainly come a long way from the Master’s student who accidentally brought a stack of ‘get well soon’ cards in place of his notes when he came in for orals, right on the heels of recovering from a broken collarbone.”

Ah, he’d known it would be a mistake to ask Mace to give the opening remarks. Obi-Wan suffered through the somewhat embarrassing—but still fond—personal anecdotes with as much stoicism as he could, and was duly proud of himself when he only teared up a little as Mace finished with his recent accomplishments and how proud he was of Obi-Wan; not only as a friend and colleague, but also as a preeminent academic and professor.

“Yes, thank you, Mace,” Obi-Wan said, letting himself be pulled into a brief hug and getting the breath crushed out of his lungs for his moment of weakness. Mace was a demonstrative man; almost despite himself, Obi-Wan found that he’d missed Mace’s particular brand of affection and closeness. “That is very kind of you, I truly appreciate you taking the time to do the opening remarks for me… I look forward to catching up to you after.”

The lecture went quickly, to Obi-Wan’s surprise. This was his first public presentation of his paper, other than a “practice” run at his home university, but an attentive audience made all the difference. It helped that Obi-Wan was particularly enthusiastic about the subject matter. There was a good turnout, too—quite a few professors and adjunct lecturers, a handful of graduate students who were either diligently taking notes or half-asleep on their desks, and a staggering amount of undergraduates, for some unfathomable reason. The attendees laughed in all the right places, were seemingly appreciative of the time and effort Obi-Wan had put into making his PowerPoint presentable—aha—and by the end of it, Obi-Wan found that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

At the end, they still had the planned ten minutes for Obi-Wan to take questions. He made himself comfortable, sitting back on the top of the table at the front of the room and trying not to overanalyze the way Cody’s eyes tracked his movement.

“The note you make about existing beliefs and implicature was particularly interesting.” Cody leaned forward and—good God—rested his elbows on his knees. That top button had to be reinforced with something, Obi-Wan thought dazedly. His dress shirt practically strained across his shoulders. “Would you mind elaborating on the schematic you provide for the inferentialist view?”

“Yes, certainly, thank you,” Obi-Wan managed. That was his favorite bit of the paper, actually, and he’d had to cut a bit of it for length reasons—but this presented the perfect opportunity…

Some sort of activity was going on at the front table. Nefarious, if Obi-Wan had to guess; Mace was having a discreet conversation with Shaak Ti and kept giving Obi-Wan looks that were alarmingly calculating. Obi-Wan soldiered through regardless, answering a handful of solid questions coming from other professors and the note-taking graduates, one very strange question from a half-asleep graduate that had clearly been spurred on by promise of extra credit from one of their professors, and a few of the more entertaining undergraduate questions.

He ended up going well past time, but no one complained—students and a few faculty members quietly slipped out in ones and twos, with Mace and Shaak Ti conspiring all the while. Actually, Obi-Wan was starting to get somewhat alarmed about that. Mace had a bit of a… theatrical streak.

“…but I think I’ll cut it short for now,” Obi-Wan said as he gathered up his notes and ejected his thumb drive. His throat felt rather sore and he grimaced as he took a sip of water. “But I believe the department has kindly organized a spreadsheet for those who might want to sign up for lunch after, if anyone still has questions—was it that brunch place you were recommending just down the way, Mace?”

“No,” Mace said. He didn’t look up from his laptop screen. He didn’t elaborate, either.

Right. Okay. Yes. Sure.

What the hell was happening here?

“I don’t know if we decided on a location,” Cody said. He was eyeing Mace strangely, too, but stood up all the same to assist Obi-Wan in turning off the desktop and projector. “I’ve got some recommendations, if you come up empty.”

“Yes, do that, you have the most wonderful taste,” Shaak Ti said, beaming.

“Hey, Professor Ti?” said a young undergraduate with artfully-dyed blue and white cornrows, “I think there’s a problem with the spreadsheet, it won’t let—”

“Ah, let’s see about that.” Shaak Ti guided the student a few steps away and they bent their heads together to look at her phone screen and whisper about… something.

“I’ll get the door,” Cody said, guiding Obi-Wan out of the room with a hand on his back. His hands were… distractingly broad. “Not sure what Mace and Shaak are on about. We had a location decided practically a week ago—Mace loves that bistro. Something must have come up.” Cody brought out his own phone and started going through his emails, brow furrowed. Ah, it was times like these that Obi-Wan regretted his decision to leave the world of smartphones behind and stick to his trusty flip phone. But, well, he was tired of being made to scan bloody QR codes for access to everything, and he had only been partially motivated by spiting his University in the decision.

“Yes, it’s not like Mace to change his mind quite so last minute,” Obi-Wan said as he squared his notes and flash drive away in his computer bag. He dropped a few pages at some point while juggling his keys and bag, and bent down nearly at the same moment Cody did to retrieve them. They didn’t quite bang their heads together, but it was a near thing, and Obi-Wan found himself having to nervously laugh it off as he accepted the papers from Cody and did not think about their fingers brushing.

“Heck,” Cody said, staring down at his phone screen. The spreadsheet, Obi-Wan presumed, even as he found himself utterly charmed by Cody’s—very deliberate—speech patterns.

“What, don’t tell me it won’t let you edit it, either…?” Obi-Wan came around to peer over Cody’s shoulder, momentarily distracted by the way Cody’s hair curled just under his ear. “… ah.”

“Yeah.” Cody’s phone did show the right spreadsheet, or at least Obi-Wan assumed it was the right spreadsheet—but it looked quite different from the version Obi-Wan had looked at just this morning. Instead of every slot filled out with names of faculty and a couple dutiful graduate students, the only name on there was… Cody Fett. The time remained the same, and so did the title of the spreadsheet—LUNCH WITH DR. KENOBI FROM CORUSCANT U. The location had been replaced by a single red rose and a winking face. Last save… two minutes ago.

“Well, it seems I have you all to myself.” Obi-Wan had the distinct pleasure of watching a tide of gooseflesh rise up the side of Cody’s neck as he spoke over his shoulder and into his ear, still poised to look at Cody’s phone screen from behind.

“Guess so,” Cody said, sounding somewhat dazed. “You know—there’s this nice place just a couple minutes’ walk from here. You like Māori food?”

“I’ve never had the pleasure of trying it,” Obi-Wan said. “I’ve got a good palette and a high spice tolerance, though, so I’m sure I’ll enjoy it. Especially with good company.”

Cody gave him a flat look, but there was a spark of humor in the crinkling of his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re this good-looking, Dr. Kenobi. That kind of flirting shouldn’t work as well as it does.”

“Ah, so it is working!” Obi-Wan said with a sly grin. “But—this is somewhat unrelated, but it’s been bothering me somewhat for a while—how the hell did your department get so many undergraduates to turn out for a colloquium? We’re lucky to get four or five, and that’s on a good day…”

Cody barked out a laugh and lead Obi-Wan to the nearest staircase, holding the door for him and resting a hand on his back again as they went down the stairs. Wholly unnecessary, to be sure, but very much… appreciated. “That’s a good one. Mace had the foresight to attach your headshot and a link to one of your video lectures. I liked seeing you at work—you make public speaking look enjoyable. But some students were fixated on other aspects of your presentation. So to speak.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, flattered, and then—“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Cody said with a knowing look and another one of his small, private smiles. “Might just be a good thing after all that Mace cleared out your schedule for lunch. I swear undergrads are only getting bolder.”

“It is most certainly a good thing,” Obi-Wan protested. He bumped his shoulder into Cody’s and then leaned into the contact, letting it linger for just a little longer than was, strictly speaking, appropriate. “I’m certainly happy with how things have turned out.”

Cody flushed; Obi-Wan wouldn’t have been able to tell, but for how close he was to Cody now. Yes, maybe Qui-Gon had been right about getting a change of scenery. There were certainly lots of very good reasons to move back to the States, and not just because the food was much better…

[desktop-writes]

Static on the Screen | 01

--A Lack of Backup--

<|AO3|Gala Au|SotS|>

(<- Part 2 of 14 ->)

[_|2|3|4|5|6]

{TW: N/A}

[Words : 1,736]

*Note: For any overarching triggers, please click on the Gala Au tab at the top. For warnings regarding this specific fic, please click on the SotS tab.*

Sometimes there’s a moment where you know things will never be the same. A turning point in a person’s life, if you will. It could be as monumental as the moment of the wrongful death of a loved one, leading to an obsession to right the wrong that had happened. It could also be something as trivial as bumping into a person at a coffee shop, leading to finding the love of one’s life. For Barbara Gordon, it was a simple click on a link.

It had started a week ago. Three meta-humans had attacked Jason, Cass, and Damian while on patrol. Seeing as all three family members had some connection to the League of Assassins, the first idea was that they were assassins. The fact that they seemed to glow a Lazarus Green color only provided more evidence for that theory. But as soon as someone verbally confronted them, the theory crumbled under its weight.

“They had called themselves Ghosts,” Cass had signed with their face screwed in confusion. They had emphasized the last word, marking it as important. The rest of the night hadn’t given her much besides debunking the Assassin theory. While she couldn’t do groundwork anymore, she is still one of the if not the best, digital detective on the team. She had made a file and labeled it accordingly, then she had started her search with the keyword ‘Ghost’.

It had taken her 2 days between her day job and getting roughly 3 hours of sleep to find what might have been a lead. A self-published research paper by the Drs. Fenton titled ‘Effective Warding Techniques Against Ghosts’. Barbara had spent 3 hours reading the paper, scanning every detail for information. She could barely find anything useful at the end of those three hours. A lot of it was opinions worded through a scientific lens and not actual scientific facts.

Spurred on by the lack of information, she searched for other papers in their names. Yet, the majority of it was filled with the same content. Descriptions of creatures in agony while being remarked as'manipulative' and ‘non-feeling’ by the two doctors. She knew this needed to be brought up to Bruce and the Justice League as a whole, but she needed more information for the presentation. Thankfully, she had the next day off, and she began a more detailed search of the doctors.

They had documents claiming them to be doctors, with Madeline and Jack both holding doctorates in biology and master's in engineering with minors in Supernatural Studies, but she couldn't find any records of their college days. A handful of papers referenced in the other self-published research papers had Vlad Masters as another co-author, but that dropped after Vlad’s accident. That set off alarm bells in her detective sense, allowing her to dive deeper into her research.

She was nearing the end of her research binge on the doctors and was gearing towards Vlad Masters when she spotted a weirdly named Web link on the last page of her search engine of choice. Thinking it was something similar to the doctor’s papers, she clicked on the link. While it wasn’t another research paper, it was something that grabbed her attention. A halfway-done website wouldn’t have been published unless they were hiding something, so she opened the source code, hoping to easily crack the passcode and start snooping around in whatever was hidden.

The code was surprising, to say the least. The code itself was the same Lazarus Green color as the Ghosts, changing languages every 7 seconds - yes, she had timed it -, and moving in a scattered pattern. The code fought back as soon as the cursor was placed in the text box, with the creator not far behind. With her getting little sleep and the surprise of the abnormalities in the code, she ended up losing against the person on the other side of the screen. With her loss, her screen turned black with a green I-beam in the left-hand corner. A message was written behind it.

<I don’t recognize your system. Who are you? What is your affiliation>

Barbara looked at the question before checking on the burner phone she had bought for this reason. They hadn’t touched any files, even though they had full access to her civilian computer. She went the complement route and hoped to get more information on what lay ahead.

<It has been a while since someone had bested me. You should be proud.>

<I will not ask again. Who are you and what is your affiliation?>

Barbara’s hope of the other hackers’ pride getting to them and spilling what they’re hiding diminished with their quick response. She debated her options mentally. She could lean on luck, tell the truth, and hope the person on the other side is an ally in her search. She could also make up a lie and hope they won’t see through it. While she was debating, a new message appeared.

<You have one minute to respond, or else I will destroy your system.>

It seemed the decision was made for her. Even if she were to call their slightly plausible bluff, there were way too many important files on her computer, including the one she was building against the Fentons. Plus, she had yet to receive a notification on her burner phone about a breach.

<I go by the name Oracle while online. My employer may need this information. Can you unlock my computer?>

<Only if I monitor your actions.>

It was a fair request, one she would make in their situation. From their perspective, she was an outsider wanting to look at something personal to them. She could handle a little monitoring if she could find a crack in this case.

<Deal.>

When the black screen disappeared, a light gray followed behind it, giving the website an industrial feel. Black text filled the tabs across the top of the screen, listing labels like 'Ghost Basics’, ‘Rouge Abilities’, and one with a lock emoji, among others. This was a hero database, given the mentions of rouges.

The database belonged to a group of small-town vigilantes, with the person she was conversing with filling in the guy in the chair role. She could tell they were young, with mentions of having to skip class or needing to find an excuse for the team’s main hero, Phantom. Just reading their rouge descriptions, as sloppy as they are compared to the bat’s, she could tell a lot about their team and how they worked.

She kept reading on about the rouges themselves. Even though the pictures were a blurry mess -similar to the stills she had asked Tim to try and clean up -, she could get some information through the written portion of the reports. Everything thing she was learning was leaving her increasingly shaken.

Needing a break from the rouges list, she looks to the Phantom tab to see if the Justice League needs to extend a hand or if they have it under control. She hovered her mouse over Phantom’s tab, only a tab away from the locked emoji. Right before she was about to click, her screen turned black again. Their previous conversation looked back at her, and a slight weight settled on her shoulders. On the other side of the screen was a child.

A child.

A child on an entire team of children being attacked by beings with the power levels of gods; who are being hindered by the very people they protect. At the very least, Robin had Batman, or even their junior teams, if something happened. She looks at the new message.

<Phantom is off-limits.>

She needed to keep the connection. Something is happening in Amity Park. Something big. She can feel it in her bones. Racking her brain for ways to keep the connection, she thought back to how unorganized and messy their reports seemed. Mentorship seemed like a good way to go with the kid.

<Your Phantom’s guy in the chair, right? I can help you with that.>

The next message was apprehensive, much like talking to an Alley kid. She should’ve expected this. She was a stranger who had attempted to hack into their database and then offered help with nothing in return. It had caught their attention, though, which was good enough for her.

<What’s the catch? Nobody would do that for free.>

<You seem to know a lot about Ghosts. We had a few show up in Gotham recently. You help me relay the information to Batman and the others tomorrow, then we can talk about our mentorship.>

It took a few minutes to get a reply, but that was okay. It gave her time to clear off her desk and start getting the papers strewed about in order.

<Let me talk with my team.>

<Take as long as you need.>

She continued cleaning up her apartment while she waited. While it wasn’t trashed, it wasn’t clean either. Taking empty snack bags and water bottles from the top of overflowing trashcans and putting them in a separate bag was repetitive and mind-numbing enough to pass the time. She set the filled bags by the door and rolled back to her desk, pushing the desk chair out of her way. It would be stupid to go out this late. She was finishing organizing the paper notes she took over the three days when she got a response.

<I accept. I am not giving you more access though.>

Her screen returned to normal; the same gray greeted her back. The only change was a small, lime-green chat bubble in the bottom left corner. She spent the next three hours getting a feel for Pharaoh’s setup while gathering more information on the team for her reports. She still had to collect information for the Justice League for them to look at what's happening ground-level. After three hours, she closed the database.

She told the bats, via group chat, that she had found answers to their meta case that needed to be discussed in person tomorrow. After closing the group chat, she checked the locks on the door for the second time that day. Assuring herself it was locked, she wheeled to her bedroom, locked her chair by the bed, and then pulled herself into bed. She went to sleep relatively easy, unknowing of the bombshell that would be dropped tomorrow night.

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

Chapter 2 should be out by the end of next month at the latest.

[diorkyeom]

THE @diorkyeom / @fairyhaos AO3 FIC REC LIST: PART 3

masterlist. part one. part two.

part three of all the ao3 fics that i've read for seventeen which i've loved, kudosed, and proceeded to download so i'll always have with me! lots of these are fics that have been in my library for a while that i just never got round to reccing, so expect a lot of verkwan in this haha

(list is in order of titles!)

By Any Other Name - bapilli

verkwan, omegaverse, oneshot

i don't even read omegaverse so idk how i even ended up reading this in the first place but. it's actually sooo so sweet. their dynamic is just sososo gentle and hansol just Likes seungkwan SO MUCH and it's So obvious and it makes me want to sob in my hands a little bit. this fic gets bonus points for its hurt/comfort elements and the gentle reassurance it has.

Give Me A Chance To Be Yours - lillupon

meanie, uni au, pining, chaptered

listen guys. there is So Much stuff in the meanie tag that if i rec a meanie fic, you just know it's the best of the best. the whole best-friends-who-act-like-theyre-dating thing is delicious But add that with oblivious mingyu and pining wonu and a confession not taken seriously and jealousy and you have an absolutely stellar fic. and wow, guess what, that's exactly what this fic is

Green (With Leaves) - kaiteki

soonhoon, plant shop au, chaptered (but short)

no bc why is literally the gentlest, sweetest, fondest soonhoon characterisation ever and why is it so accurate???? i Love dramatic soonyoung and dry humour jihoon and their fun little dynamic put into the loveliest friends to lovers plot ever. y'all know that i prefer strangers/ friends to lovers over e2l for soonhoon any day and this fic does it rly well

i'm all about you - checkyeshoshi

verkwan, football (soccer), chaptered

honestly seungkwan as a firecracker of a football coach is something ive Never thought about before but it also makes so much sense???? and hansol just being The Guy dragged into the team's shenanigans is so adorable and very much him imo. also seungkwan basically just gawking at hansol's muscles the entire time >>>

Insomnia - Mistehri

soonhoon, canon au, ib insomnia zero 1, oneshot

soooo soft and soooo sweet!!! i love little canon fics bc theyre always so self indulgent and i love that for the author. also adorable jihoon who can't sleep without soonyoung?? that's absolutely adorable and i cried a bit bc my heart was Melting at how soft they are

pack off the sunset glow - orphan_account

verkwan, roadtrip, non-idols au, oneshot

*clenches fists* i love these gay little boys so so much. it's so chaotic and fun and you literally can imagine everything that happens here and seungkwan being a dramatic mess as usual makes everything soo so much better

PEACH. - petitseok

seoksoo, non-idols, age regression, twoshot

honestly ive never even read those caregiver + regressor fics before but this one :((( instantly the best one of those types of fics ever like. i don't even know what made me click on it but it's So sweet and devastating and regressor!seok now has my heart bc of course this lovely man with big doe eyes should get to act like a 3 year old every now and then to relax

The Tiger On The Mountain - natigail

soonhoon, magical realism, shapeshifter hoshi, chaptered

hnnghghfh listen. people really underappreciate the potential for hybrid fics and shapeshifter fics that hoshi's tiger agenda brings, but this uses it really well! i love the interleaving of fantasy into Totally Normal Lee Jihoon's life and dude,,, the cliché tropes r all just so good

What's In A Name - thanku4urlove

verkwan, non-idols, fluff, crack, oneshot

seungkwan is so!!! himself!!! in this fic and i literally even have one section of this fic screenshotted bc i screamed about it to my friend since it was such an on-point seungkwan characterisation. also user thanku4urlove literally writes the best verkwan fics. i think i've recced their fics in every list so far

your name is a triangle - universefactory(jaeminjeno)

soonhoon, idolverse, established relationship, oneshot

mild misunderstandings and soft relationships. that's it, that's the fic. soonyoung is Sad and Sulking but jihoon is there to knock some sense into him and all is fine once again :D okay but also the way that the members r just so caring in the fic is vv sweet too