#grown up jobs are a foreign concept to them

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Request from @bisexuawolfsalt: May you please write a Bucky x virgin!reader who’s never been able to get herself off?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female virgin!reader

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: masturbation, fingering

Everything about you was different. You'd always felt it. You never fit in with the people you'd grown up with. Friends had never felt close. You were sheltered, your parents had a habit of being overprotective, helicoptering over you until they were in a fatal accident just before your eighteenth birthday. That's when things changed for you, not just what you'd lost, but your body too. You were different, but not in the way you'd thought all your life. You were powered. You kept to yourself throughout college, barely keeping anyone around you as more than an acquaintance. Relationships were a foreign concept to you, be it one of friendship or romance. You'd experienced neither.

That was your story, until you found yourself in New York City in the middle of a Chitari invasion. When you back up an Avenger with your powers, you get noticed. Tony Stark found you and brought you in. It took some convincing, you weren't ready, you were afraid. You'd hidden yourself with a job in the New York Public library. But eventually you agreed to move into the Stark Tower.

That's where you first met Bucky. You had gotten to know Steve, Natasha, and Tony pretty well. Steve had come to knock on your door one day and brought Bucky with him. He had returned from Wakanda, free from his Winter Soldier programming. He didn't look as frightening as people had described him. There was a kindness behind his brilliant blue eyes, an intelligence and a sadness that drew you in. He was a solitary soul and so were you. 

You felt comfortable in his presence. He said very little, in fact he barely made eye contact initially. Steve had encouraged him to make a friend and Bucky had chosen you, you didn't pester him about his well being, didn't cajole him about attending therapy, in fact you didn't bother him at all. You were the perfect friend. These were the reasons you believed Bucky had chosen you.

In reality Bucky couldn't get enough of being around you. He was drawn to you and you to him. Finally he had confessed his feelings to you and you had kissed him. Only Steve knew about your relationship with Bucky, you kept things private. You spent all your down time with Bucky but the two of you hadn't slept together, yet. Bucky had insisted that you wait until you were ready, after you'd told him that you hadn't been in any relationships in the past.

Today hadn't been any different from any other, not really. You'd spent time training in the gym with Steve, you'd done some reading, having decided to pursue a medical degree with your interest in science. You had a lot to learn, but you decided to take a break and grab yourself a bit of food. You walked into the kitchen where a group of SHIELD agents were also eating and talking. You blushed profusely when you heard their topic of discussion… masturbation!

“I love my Lioness. I swear if men’s penises were made with a vibration setting, I'd actually consider being with one,” one of them mused.

“Oh sweet girl, I’ve been married for five years, and let me tell you, sometimes only you have the means to get the job done. I mean I love my human dildo, but the rubber one gets the job done much better. It's got a suction up, so just slam it against the wall and go to town on it," her older colleague chimed in.

"Ah, you kids and your new fangled inventions and toys. I'm pretty old school, my fingers have been doing the job just fine for me all these years. Batteries not included," she smirked.

Their words made you blush, you had no idea what a Lioness even was, you cowered in the corner trying not to eavesdrop. The last thing you wanted was to be involved in this conversa-

"Hey!" You heard Piper, one of the agents calling your name. "What's your preference?"

You mostly kept to yourself, the other agents had no idea of your childhood or your lack of experience and you'd kept to yourself to avoid questions exactly like this.

“I - ummm…” you started stuttering nervously, eyes darting around for an excuse to avoid answering the question. You hoped no one would notice you biting your lip and wringing your hands with anxiety. “You know…”

“Come on girl, are you saying that hunk of yours is that good?”

“What?” You were shocked by Piper’s comment. 

“Barnes, is he as good in bed as he looks like he would be?”

“What-”

“You don’t need to pretend, we’ve seen the two of you holding hands and smacking lips.”

You blushed, you had no idea that other people were aware of your relationship. But they couldn’t know that you hadn’t sealed the deal, could they?

“You have to give us some details,” they laughed good naturedly. “Is he that good that you don’t need to … you know, take care of yourself every now and then?”

There was no malicious intent in their questions, they were just making jovial conversation and including you, but you just wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. You wanted to tell them that Bucky was good, but you knew that they weren’t asking if he was a good person, they wanted to know if he was good at sex. You weren’t so out of touch with the world that you didn’t know what they were insinuating.

“He’s an amazing person-”

You were cut off by their beepers sounding off at the same time. Saved by the bell.

“See you around.” They smiled and winked at you as they left to see to their duties.

A silent sigh of relief escaped your lips as you gathered your meal and sat down in the vacated dining area. Your heart was no longer pounding on the inside of your chest, but your brain was in overdrive as you ruminated over the conversation between the agents. Without realizing it, you were thinking about what masturbation would actually be like. 

You weren’t completely innocent or devoid of sexual urges, you had admired both handsome men and beautiful women, some of whom had even had you aroused. But you hadn’t dared act on those urges, mostly because you had no idea how and you were too ashamed to ask anyone you did know. You felt embarrassed that you had reached the age that you were without having had any real sexual encounters. You had been hesitant to explore your own anatomy, even in the privacy of your own home and now you’d reached the point in your life where you were too afraid to try it alone.

Your lunch remained half uneaten as you pondered your dilemma. Your interest had definitely been piqued and you started thinking about Bucky. He had been patient with you and your reluctance to engage in more intimate behavior. He had been incredibly understanding when you’d admitted to him that you were a virgin and hadn’t pushed you into any kind of non consensual conduct.

Everything you’d seen on television or read about, the act of sexual intercourse, the pleasure that came from an orgasm, you wanted to know how it felt. You felt a stirring between your legs at the very thought. But where would you get the information to do things right? You had so many questions. You thought about looking online but the computers in the Tower were all networked, and JARVIS had the ability to look into any search history. The thought of someone finding out terrified you. No, you would have to try something else.

This brought your thoughts around to Bucky. After careful consideration, you determined that Bucky was probably the best person to discuss your areas of learning. You knew that he was a little more experienced than you were and if you were to share a future with him, you would eventually engage in more intimate activity. So he would be the perfect person to ask. You picked up your phone and typed out a message.

You: Can I ask you something? It’s a bit embarrassing.

Bucky’s phone pinged as he sat listening to a discussion between Sam and Steve. He enjoyed watching them battle wits, as long as he wasn’t asked to take part. And when he did, he always sided with Steve, regardless of what his actual opinion was. He took his eyes off the pair to see your face light up his screen. Your face never failed to make the corner of Bucky’s mouth quirk up, as hard as he tried to hide it. 

Bucky had never met anyone quite like you. Despite the trauma and loneliness you had suffered, it hadn’t made you cold or hard, in fact he thought you were the single most kind-hearted and loving person he’d ever met. Your intelligence surpassed that of many and he was almost shocked that you had chosen to bestow your affection on him. You were his angel, sent from heaven to show him what real love was. He texted you back immediately.

Bucky: Anything. 

Bucky’s whole attention was on you now, your question had piqued his interest far more than the conversation between Sam and Steve ever had.

You: How do you masturbate?

Bucky’s eyes were ready to pop out of his skull as he read your question.

“Buck?” Steve called his friend again, trying to get his attention.

“Yeah?” Bucky cleared his throat, tearing his attention away from his phone.

“Can you settle this for us?”

“Yeah, I agree with Sam,” he answered.

Sam and Steve watched him get up and walk away with their jaws on the floor. But Bucky had no time for nor interest in their reaction. He was focused on your question.

Bucky: What makes you ask this question?

You: There were some agents in the kitchen and they were talking about masturbation…

Bucky: And you are curious?

You: Well yeah. So are you going to answer the question?

Bucky thought for a moment before responding.

Bucky: There isn’t just one way to masturbate. 

You: Care to elaborate?

Bucky: Most people use their fingers. Now they have all these toys.

He thought for a moment, before sending a follow up text.

Bucky: Back in the day, we would make do with what was around. You just need to use it right.

As much as Bucky longed to offer you a hands on demonstration of the concept, he knew that he should give you the space to learn and experience things at your own pace, particularly with regards to your sexual relationship.

Bucky: You need to figure out what YOU like.

You bit your lip as you read Bucky’s answers, your fingers hovering above the screen as you tried to work up the courage to continue your conversation.

You: I don’t know what to do.

Bucky: You just have to try things out and see how you feel.

You typed out your response, you felt a tingling between your legs and an unfamiliar dampness. It took you several minutes for you to press send.

You: Will you show me?

Bucky’s mouth went dry as he read your reply. He felt himself stir at that thought of your question. He read your words over and over, contemplating his next move.

Bucky: Are you sure?

Bucky didn’t want to pressure you, or make you do anything you didn’t feel comfortable with, but the thought of being closer to you, more intimate with you made his body react and he could feel blood pumping south.

You: Ordinarily I’d probably use a Google search but I’m not particularly where I should be looking. Also most things are probably not targeted at women past their teenage years. Also I didn’t particularly want to leave a trail of cookies in my search history.

Bucky wasn't quite sure he understood all of your message. I was rather old fashioned, and even though he had some understanding of the modern world, he didn't feel entirely comfortable. He decided to help you the best way he knew how.

Bucky: Meet me when you're done with work?

You: Sure. Where do you want to meet?

Bucky: Your room. 6pm. Wear something comfortable.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you read his message and answered.

You: See you soon.

Anticipation and anxiety had you back in your quarters much earlier than the time Bucky had advised. You decided to be prepared for his arrival, so you took a shower and performed all your necessary grooming rituals. You weren’t entirely out of the loop with regards to sex, but clinical application was very different from actual intimacy. The thought of Bucky’s touch excited you. Your relationship with him mostly involved emotional intimacy, he was nervous too, worried about hurting you physically. He had been happy to let you take the lead for the physical aspect of your relationship.

The thought of his touch elicited a tantalizing reaction from your body, the warmth, the wetness between your legs was exhilarating. There was an urge to touch yourself. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought about this before, even tried exploring your own body, but you’d never quite achieved the intended goal. Today felt different. You could feel yourself pulsing in a way that you’d not felt before. And if Bucky wasn’t able to help you understand your own body, you were certain that no one would.

You put on a slightly oversized t-shirt, it was loose enough for you to move with ease, but fitted enough that your figure wasn’t hidden. You grabbed a pair of booty shorts, choosing to slip it over your hips without any underwear. The feeling of them against your uncovered core made you feel wicked. Your heart was still pounding and you needed something to relax, so you grabbed a bottle of Pinot Noir and poured yourself a generous glass.

A knock at the door made you jump, and the contents of the glass sloshed around dangerously. You took a small sip before putting it down on the counter of the small kitchenette in your room and went to answer the door. 

“Hi.” You barely breathed the word as you found Bucky at your door.

He looked ethereal, he had clearly taken the time to go back to his room and prepare for your rendezvous after spending the day training new recruits. He slipped past you with a gentle greeting. He had washed his long hair which was loose and still slightly damp. He had donned a maroon Henley which you had told him was your favorite and as he brushed against you, you caught the scent of his cologne which did nothing but increase your arousal.

“How was your day, Doll?” Bucky asked, giving you a gentle peck on the cheek.

“Seriously, you want to ask about my day?” you said nervously, wringing your hands together.

Suddenly you felt out of your depth. How could this beautiful specimen of a man possibly be here for intimate relations with you? You turned around and took a mouthful of wine, coughing slightly as you swallowed.

“Hey, easy there, Doll. Being drunk isn’t helpful. You know,” he paused for a moment, “we don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close to his chest. You could feel his heart beating as your head rested against him. It was calming and you looked up at him.

“I want to.”

“If you change your mind at any time, you will tell me, right?”

You nodded, appreciative of his understanding.

“Sit down for a minute. I’m just going to set up a few things.”

“What kind of things?

Bucky held up a few candles. “I thought they’d make you feel more comfortable, relaxed.”

You watched Bucky place candles around your room and then dim the lighting. His movements were elegant, so smooth. You marveled at his grace and agility, his touch was delicate and you wondered how his hands would feel on your body. When he was done he came over to sit beside you as you clutched your wine glass.

“Oh Bucky, I’m sorry, here, let me get yo-”

You stopped as he put his hands on your shoulders. “Listen, before we start, no matter what happens today, I’m just here to help you… you know, please yourself. That doesn’t mean that we need to go any further. You don’t owe me sex. Got that?”

You nodded, feeling more relaxed, like he’d taken the weight of expectation off your shoulders. “Yeah, okay,” you whispered.

“Anytime you want to sto-”

His words were cut off by your lips on his. “Sorry,” you pulled away slowly. “You were kinda freaking me out.”

Bucky chuckled at your shyness.

“So what now?” you asked, uncertain of how to proceed.

“Do you feel…” He wasn’t sure how to ask you if you felt turned on.

You shrugged. “Every time I think about this, I feel nervous, but also kinda tingly.” Subconsciously, you squeezed your legs together seeking the pleasure that came from the friction.

Your reflexive moments didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky. “You feel good?”

You nodded. “Will you kiss me?”

Bucky smiled, cupping your face with his hands, pulling your lips towards his, caressing them with his tongue before gently slipping it into your mouth. His right arm dropped down, coming to rest around your waist. Both of you lost yourselves in the kiss for a few minutes before Bucky pulled away. “Want to keep making out?”

“Well, it is nice, but I’m ready. What do I do?”

“Do you want to take your clothes off?”

A soft blush crossed your features, Bucky could see it in the glow of candlelight. You started taking off your t-shirt, raising your arms to pull it over your head. Bucky’s eyes lingered over your breasts, trying not to stare as you struggled with the neck. He eventually tore his gaze away to help you complete the task. Bucky tossed the shirt aside on a nearby armchair and turned back to you. You could help but try to cover yourself with your arms.

“You look beautiful, Doll.” Bucky murmured. “What can I do to make you feel more comfortable?”

“I mean, I feel kinda exposed. Maybe if we were on even footing it would be less awkward?”

Bucky laughed, “so you want me to take my top off?”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

Bucky used one hand to swiftly shed his Henley, letting you ogle his chiseled chest for a moment.

"Why don't make yourself comfortable on the pillows.” He nodded his head up to the top of the bed.

You followed his instruction, crawling over to the top. You’d spent many an evening with Bucky buried under the covers watching movies late into the night. Several times you’d woken up the following morning wrapped in his arms, but today was different. You sat back against the stack of pillows making yourself comfortable.

“Aren’t you coming?” You asked, realizing that he was still sitting at the end of the bed.

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline. “Well, if you want me to…” he answered, voice suddenly a little shaky.

“Were you planning on sitting there with all your clothes on, watching me get myself off. I mean that’s kinda off putting.”

He walked around the edge of the bed and climbed on to sit beside you.

“If you take off your pants, I’ll lose my shorts.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Doll.” He smirked before shimmying off his jeans.

As hard as you tried, you couldn’t help the flush on your face as you stared at the outline of his bulge. Bucky smirked.

“Like what you see, Doll?”

There was something in his tone that made your insides feel tight, like there was something inside you trying to escape and you kept squeezing to stop it. Your body responded to his words in a way you’d never felt before.

“Your turn,” he said quietly, not a command, more of a request.

You lifted your ass off the bed and pushed your shorts down, over your thighs, sliding them over your knees and let them fall over your calves. Bucky helped you to unhook them from your feet before tossing them to the foot of the bed, just in case you wanted them again. He took a moment to let his eyes rove over your naked form, oh how he longed to touch you, but today was not for him to indulge his fantasies. Today was for you.

“Will you sit with me?” you asked.

“Can’t get a lot closer than this, Doll.” He was sitting right beside you, his thigh touching yours.

“Can we sit like we did the other day? When we went to the beach?” You remembered how it had felt to sit between Bucky’s legs, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. You felt safe from the world. It’s not that you needed Bucky to keep you safe physically, you were perfectly capable of looking after yourself, no, he made you feel accepted. It was a feeling you wanted to hold on to forever.

Bucky let you climb between his legs, taking a deep breath as your ass brushed against him, “Okay?” he asked, his hands holding the top of your arms gently.

You nodded. “What now?”

“Well… we just need to figure out what you like, what feels good for you.” He paused, trying to figure out how best to advise you. It wasn’t like there was an official manual to be followed. “May I?” He put his fingers around your wrist, asking for permission to guide your movements.

His palm radiated warmth and you felt goosebumps erupting across your arms. “That feel good?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t we start up here?” He guided your hand up to your neck. “Start with soft touches.”

Following Bucky’s instruction, you traced the muscles along your neck and across your clavicle. A soft sigh leaves your lips as you reach the center of your chest. Bucky’s eyes flicked to your face as you closed your eyes and leaned back into him, his chest moves up and down slowly. His sturdiness and strength only served to amplify your arousal. He saw you bite your lower lip as your fingers grazed the skin on your breast. Naturally you cupped it, massaging the tissue slowly. 

“Try pinching your nipple,” he whispered in your ear.

You do as you’re told and find yourself whimpering quietly. The feeling between your legs amplified ten fold, clenching needily.

“And the other side too, Doll.” Bucky muttered, his fingers sliding up and down your upper arm, the same arm you were using to touch your own body. “Feel good?”

“So good,” you sighed.

You leaned back again, the delectable sensations had you arching your back and now that you had moved past your breast, you noticed that the level of pleasure had changed a little, dimmed slightly. Bucky watched with rapt attention, mentally noting what you responded to for future reference. He resisted the urge to bury his face in your neck, press his lips against your sweet smelling skin. Your fingers skated quickly over your abdomen and made their way between your legs.

“Take your time, Doll. From what I've learned, getting a woman all worked up makes things more… intense.

"Before you touch down there, try rubbing here," he moved your hands to your thighs. "Just on the inside, Doll, just like that. You can use your fingers, or your whole hand. Try and see what you like."

You sighed, trying out the different techniques on the flesh of your thighs. Bucky’s skin itched with desire, there was nothing he wanted more than to put his own hands on your thighs, but he had promised you and he would keep his word.

“I like it more with my finger tips,” you leaned back into him, looking up into his eyes with a smile.

As you did, you noticed something pressing into your lower back. You pushed against it, curious about its shape. A shuddering breath and strangled moan escaped your boyfriend’s lips.

You looked back up at Bucky with surprise and you saw the blush on his face. It is a little embarrassing that it took you so long to realize what was touching you.

“Is that…”

“Yeah…you can just ignore… him. He shows up sometimes without invitation,” Bucky mumbled.

“Do you want me to-” you started asking if he wanted you to touch him, but Bucky cut you off.

“No, today we’re here for you. Focus on your own body.” Bucky shifted his hips back to avoid further friction but that didn’t quite stop his body reacting to you.

Bucky’s fingers skated across your skin with the lightest of touches, his breathing heavier than it was before as he watched your hands stroke over your inner thighs, edging closer and closer to your leaking core.

“Buck-” you whined quietly.

“Yeah?”

“I want…”

“Go ahead, start with one hand, maybe?” he suggested. “Feel over the outside.”

You hummed, arching back against him, and earning a groan from Bucky.

“If you feel comfortable, you can put your fingers between the folds and try rubbing your-.”

“Clit?”

“Yeah.”

“Wow, there’s a lot… it’s really wet.” You comment as your slick coats your exploring fingers.

“That’s good,” Bucky said encouragingly. “Have you found your-”

You gasped and grabbed Bucky’s muscular thigh as your fingers brushed over your sensitive bud for the first time. Your pussy clenched needily at the sensation. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled darkly.

You continue moaning as your fingers rub circles over your pulsing clit. “Oh Bucky…”

He groaned at the way his name left your lips, filled with such longing. He panted softly as his fingers dug into your flesh, he had moved them from your arms down to your waist and it was taking a lot of self control for him to not let them roam over the rest of your body.

“It feels, I … I -” You couldn’t find the words to express what you needed. The new deletable sensations were something you’d never experienced and it was almost overwhelming.

“Use your words, Doll. Tell me what you need.”

“Inside, I want something inside.” The throbbing at your core was getting stronger.

“Good girl, that means you’re doing it right.”

“How do I do it?”

“Move your legs apart a bit more.”

You obliged and Bucky moved his legs under yours so you could hook your ankles around them for support and open up for yourself.

“Ready?”

“Yes,” you said with more confidence, it felt good, you wanted this.

“Try putting one finger in first. Go slowly.” He put his hand on yours, directing your finger along your slit before helping you push into your entrance.

Your thighs tightened as your finger entered this new territory.

“Try to relax, Doll. Take your time.”

Your finger slipped inside, you took deep breaths in an attempt to slow your pounding heart. Bucky couldn't help himself, he put his hands on your thighs, almost a subconscious movement as he focused on your activities. Watching as you dragged your finger in and out of your dripping pussy.

"That's right, just like that." Bucky crooned in your ear. 

His lips felt soft on your neck. You didn't notice how he palmed himself at the same speed that your finger was disappearing inside you.

"If you want, you can put more fingers inside you."

“Umm hmmm.” You didn’t need his guidance to know what you wanted. “Keep talking though.” His voice in your ear was serving to be more an aphrodisiac than you’d expected. You changed the speed of your trusts, suddenly aware of a new feeling that you couldn’t quite identify.

“You like how that feels, Doll? Try hooking your fingers up slightly.” 

He knew you’d found the right spot because of the way you bit your lip and squeezed your eyes closed, pushing back into his chest.

“You’re allowed to make noise, Doll. Actually, I encourage it.”

Your hips began to rock of their own accord and you could hear Bucky panting behind you.

“Oh God,” you whined. “Bucky…”

“I’m right here, Doll. You’re doing so good,” he moaned. “Use this hand, here.” Bucky placed your other hand over your clit, letting you take over rubbing the hard bud.

“Bucky…”

“Yeah?”

“Bucky,” you whimpered desperately, brows knitted together. You had no idea what you wanted from him. “Bucky-yy.”

“It’s okay, Doll. You’ve got this.”

You did, because without warning you felt yourself hurtling over the edge of a precipice you didn’t know you’d been standing on. Your walls pulses around your fingers as your body undulated to the feeling of ecstasy spreading out from your core through to your fingertips. Your powers crackled in a glow that surrounded your body.

As your breath finally settled down, you relaxed back into Bucky’s arms, a ridiculous smile spread across your face. Bucky’s arms surrounded you, holding you making you feel safe and supported.

“So? How did it feel?” Bucky asked, a tad impatiently.

You laughed bashfully in response, words not quite able to describe how giddy you felt in that moment, until Bucky was laughing along with you. You caught his lips as he turned his head to look at you, expressing your thanks with an affectionate kiss. As you leaned back, you were reminded of Bucky’s situation. 

“That was amazing, Bucky. But what about you?” you asked.

“What about me?”

“Don’t you have to- I want to feel you… inside me.” Your voice dropped in volume at the end of your sentence.

Bucky shook his head. “Next time, today was for you. Besides, I kinda came when you were…” His voice trailed off looking a little embarrassed.

“Oh, sorry.” 

“No, it’s not your fault, well actually-”

“Hey!” you pouted.

“In a good way. You look beautiful."

"Thanks for not judging me."

"Thank you for accepting me. For trusting me."

"Of course, Bucky. What happens now?"

"After we get dressed, we can order some food and watch a movie?"

"And maybe plan for when we can do this again?" You asked shyly.

"Sure thing, Doll."

You were glad that you'd had the courage to ask Bucky for his help, and hopefully some day soon, you'd be able to feel even closer to him that you'd done today. 

[kikiwritesfanfic]

The Lovebug Virus - Chapter One: Intrigue

Yandere! Sun and Moon x Reader

Masterlist || Read it on AO3 || Chapter Two (coming soon!)

*****

No one usually took the time to look at Y/N. She was an empty, shell of a person with little interest in what others her age would find entertaining.

She didn't go out to eat and drink with friends. The thought of going out to make conversation with strangers was a foreign concept to her. The mere implication of loud music and drawling small talk sent shivers down her spine.

No, what Y/N spent most of her free time doing, usually involved quiet spaces with relaxing music - hidden away under a blanket with a book or her laptop and no expectation of the exchange of dialogue. She would partake in gardening to get her daily intake of sunlight, and then you would find her right back inside - cozied up with a stuffie and relaxing.

Most others would say that she lived a lonely life. She didn't mind, really. She never had any reason to believe that the way she went about her days was depressing. The hours spent daydreaming and falling into different worlds brought her joy. 

Her parents had always left her to her own devices growing up. They would buy her toys and games and encourage her to play outside with the neighbors - but Y/N was never interested. So they had promptly given up and resorted to allowing her some space of her own. Other parents would question their parenting methods, although these were mostly snarky older women that felt the need to insert their input where nobody asked for it. Y/N always heard those conversations. Her parents always defended her.

They weren't the best parental figures in the world, but they allowed her to learn and grow on her own. She never saw much of an issue with it. She enjoyed it, honestly. But as with anything, there was a catch.

Should a single grade slip from its perfect little pointed "A+," she would kiss her freedom goodbye. Her privacy, independence, and otherwise happiness were privileges - that was made clear from the beginning. So she learned quickly that anything less than perfect was unacceptable and wrong.

When the time came for her to think of college, she didn't really have much outside of her quaint little world that she wanted. But her parents insisted - so she looked into robotics and engineering. 

This had surprised everyone that knew her (even though that wasn't necessarily a lot of people). Her parents were proud and they boasted about the decision to anyone and everyone that would listen. One of her parents' friends had asked if they were putting a lot of pressure on her for bragging about her career choice, but Y/N was close enough earshot that she had meandered through the kitchen and denied such a claim nonchalantly.

Going to college proved to be more of a positive thing than she ever would have imagined. Despite her quiet demeanor, she made a friend rather quickly. Said friend was the exact opposite of Y/N - loud and boisterous, indulging in "normal" college behavior like it was her lifeline. 

Kat had grown to become Y/N's best friend - even with all odds stacked against their friendship. College had introduced them to each other, and they spent a lot of their free time together now. They considered each other best friends - after all, living two completely different lives meant they never ran out of things to talk about and show each other.

The only small, minute detail Y/N found herself grumbling about quietly was the fact that she needed a job. Her parents promised they would cover her tuition, allow her to live with them rent-free, and even buy her groceries for her - as long as she kept up the garden she so dearly loved. But that left no money for her to buy more books, or keep up with her various subscriptions online. Privileges her antisocial self felt she needed. The things she had spent her whole life using to keep herself happy. Activities that allowed her to shove away the feelings of loneliness that so desperately threatened to spill over into the content she felt for the life she lived.

It was the only reason she stood where she did now, staring up into the soft white, glowing eyes of a sunny-themed animatronic as her heart hammered in her chest. There was absolutely nothing she had experienced thus far to properly ready her for this change in her life. She wondered silently to herself why she would agree to take on such a challenge - but Kat's voice echoed through her head like the ghost of a disappointed mother.

"You need interaction, Meatball! There's so many things out there in the world and you keep yourself cooped up in your room all day!"

"Well, my room doesn't disappoint me, or try to roofie me when I walk away to use the bathroom," she had said in response, gathering her homework from her desk and neatly placing it in her three ring binder. Kat grabbed a pillow off of Y/N's neatly made bed and chucked it at her.

"That was one time! And I was fine! He was just jealous of the attention I was getting from his girlfriend," she joked. But her giggling was replaced with a sigh as she watched Y/N pick the pillow up and place it exactly where it had been before Kat threw it. "Come on, girl. You said it yourself - you need the money. You only have to keep the job for three months. That's how long the contract lasts. Then you can happily quit if need be." 

Y/N's grip on her binder tightened at the thought of being bound by contract to a noisy, bustling daycare as a security guard. Small children always made her uneasy. They were unpredictable - running around and happy one moment, throwing themselves on the ground and crying the next. But as her eyes drifted down to the book lying on the edge of her desk, she sighed. All of the characters in all of her books needed to go through character development. Maybe now was her time? 

"Alright, KitKat. Get me an application."

"So like I said, you don't have to interact with the kids much. That's Sun's job. You just have to make sure that meals get here on time, cleanup is done right, and that this hunk of junk works the way it's supposed to," Max said, jabbing his thumb up at the robot. Sun glared at him, or so Y/N assumed he did. His arms crossed and faceplate turned towards Kat's older brother, his rays shrinking back slightly. But his smile remained unchanging. 

Why did FazCo think a non-expressive faceplate was a good idea?

"So, um... Do I need to walk around and watch him, or...?"

"Oh god no," Max responded, typing vigorously on the keyboard in front of him. "Do you see the size of this damn place? You'll only need to watch from the cameras here."

"Language, Mr. Diaz," Sun chirped from his spot, still standing on the opposite side of the security desk. Max laughed and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, and he's a stickler for the rules," he mumbled. Y/N took a moment to look at the other monitors on the desk. They all displayed different cameras overlooking the daycare and its attachments. There were several pointed at the main play area. But there was also one in each of the party rooms, a few in the theatre, and some as far out as Kid's Cove. 

Y/N took note of each camera and tried to figure out where on the walls and ceiling they were. She only stopped when she realized the yellow jester bot was still looking at her. Again, that's at least what she assumed. His eyes held no irises - only a faint white glow that appeared to shift every so often. She opened her mouth to speak, but the oddly-colored and bulky watch on Max's wrist chimed. He groaned as he looked at it.

"Dammit," he hissed, making Sun mutter another chastise in his direction. He ignored it, typed something else quickly on the computer, and then grabbed his security hat from where he left it next to one of the monitors. "Something came up, so I gotta go." He then snapped as if he remembered something important - reaching into one of his pockets and pulling out a dark purple lanyard. "This is your temporary security badge until we get you fully put into the system," he said, sounding distracted. Y/N reached out to grab it, but Max didn't let it go immediately. "Never go anywhere without this, you hear me?"

Y/N felt anxiety prick at the base of her spine. "Y-Yeah, I hear you," she said hesitantly. Max let go of the badge and rushed out of the daycare without another word. 

"Oh, don't worry about him, new friend!" Sun exclaimed suddenly, startling Y/N. She ogled at the animatronic as she pulled the lanyard over her head. "Welcome to the daycare!" He stretched his arms up above his head dramatically, reminding Y/N of one of those water spouts that people put in personal ponds and lakes sometimes.

"Thanks," she mumbled, biting her tongue before she could embarrassingly mutter a 'you too' in his direction. She sat down in one of the office chairs and looked at the monitors again. Sun didn't walk away to continue on with his job - instead opting to lean down on the desk and place his eyes right above the edge of the screen Y/N was looking at.

"New friend," he singsonged, listing his head to the side once she peered at him. "Wanna come play a game with me and the little sunbites? Our old handler would play games with us."

"Old handler?" The question slipped from her mouth before she even had a chance to think about it. Sun's eyes widened (the first bit of facial expression she'd witnessed from the bot) and he stood back up to his full height. 

"Y-Yeah, but that doesn't matter!" he stuttered, waving his hands in front of himself as if physically shooing the question away. "Anyways, we can play hide and seek, tag, or even cops and robbers!"

If the unease wasn't present in the form of expression of Y/N's face, the heat rising to her cheeks definitely was. "I don't know," she said hesitantly. Her eyes darted to the rowdy children screaming and running around the colorful play space. Sun's rays retracted behind his faceplate slightly. 

"Oh," he said, deflated. Y/N felt pity flutter in her heart. Why, she couldn't tell. But something about the way his demeanor changed at her rejection of the games reminded her almost of... herself. 

"Why would anyone want to play cards with you? That's a boring game."

"A book club? But kids your age should be running around a playground."

"No, coloring is an inside game. We're playing outside."

"Actually," Y/N said, standing from the chair and pulling a few of her belongings from her pockets to place on the desk. "Do you know the game telephone?" she asked, and somehow Sun's smile seemed to grow wider.

The solar animatronic gathered up the excited children - guiding all the ones that wanted to play into a big circle in one of the cushioned play areas. The ones that didn't he sat down at one of the plastic tables to color, rendering the large daycare quiet besides the never-ending looped theme that played from some hidden speaker overhead. Y/N watched him as he interacted with the young ones, finding herself surprised that he was so gentle with them. 

Of course the daycare attendant would have to be gentle. But something about the way his voice changed when he spoke, or even the little hand gestures he used to keep their attention on him - it made her curious about his programming. Advanced AI was still something relatively new when it came to commercial use. It felt like only a few months ago that chatboxes utilizing AIs were first introduced to the general public. It had quickly gotten out of hand and forced several companies to close their doors due to being sued for copyright infringements and other various crimes. 

But not long after that, corporations latched onto the idea of being able to replace humans with technology. It was beneficial to them - not having to worry about human error in places that cost them millions in losses for that exact reason. Several protests emerged, but they were incapable of rallying enough support to prohibit the advancement in research and programming. Some loophole about original work and free speech - Y/N didn't really remember. 

It didn't take much time for robots to start to replace simple jobs. Unimportant roles like gas station cashiers and janitors were replaced with animatronic versions, and it had worked so well that the furthering of said technology couldn't be stopped. 

Fazbear Entertainment latched onto the idea quickly, especially given that they had been working with AI for years under the table. One thing led to another and now? Well, she was looking at the result of such changes.

"With a show of hands, let me see who knows how to play the game telephone," Sun said, looking around at all of the bright little faces. Several hands shot into the air excitedly. A lot of the older kids had played, but many of the younger ones looked around at their peers quizzically. "So a fairly new game to most of you, I see," Sun continued.

He explained the game in the simplest terms possible, which only furthered Y/N's secret fascination for the bot. She spent the entirety of his explanation just taking in his appearance with more detail. He definitely looked the part in regards to a FazCo animatronic. That much was obvious. But the thought took too long to actually hold weight in her head.

It's not that Sun didn't have mechanical clicks and a voice box full of static - he was definitely an animatronic. But when compared to the others within the pizzaplex, there were definitely major differences. The others - the Glamrocks - were bulky and wore 80's themed garments that reflected the vibe of the entire mall.  They had expressive faces and a lot of preset voice lines. Sun just didn't look like he belonged in the lineup.

Although, that fact was at least obvious to the higher ups, as the advertisements for the obnoxiously inclusive, over-glorified mall never included the daycare attendant. Y/N remembered seeing one of the unskippable ads before a youtube video once. Nothing was mentioned about the daycare - not even in passing did they mention that the plex offered childcare. It made her curious now, but at the time she hadn't thought much about it. 

She played along with the kids in the slow paced game - giggling slightly every time the child next to her whispered something she knew wasn't the phrase Sun had started with. The sunbot always played up whatever was whispered to him at the end of the line, covering his unchanging mouth and tilting his head to the side - even retracting his rays as he did earlier. 

If FazCo had such an intelligent form of AI running their daycare, why hadn't they tried to utilize the same programming for the other animatronics?

After a while, most of the children grew bored of the game - asking Sun if they could leave to color or play in the structures again. He seemed hesitant to allow them to at first, but soon they stopped putting effort into the game, so he eventually dismissed them all. Y/N went back to her seat at the security desk just as the first few parents showed up to pick up their children. Y/N learned from Sun how the security bands worked, making her feel quite dumb for not realizing that each child wore a colored bracelet that held all of their information. 

Soon, all that remained of the earlier bustling daycare play area was one rather quiet child. She hadn't left Sun's side from the moment she arrived after being dropped off from school. She had short, dark hair with blue at the ends stuffed under a baseball cap of the local team. Currently, she was following Sun around like a puppy with separation anxiety - her blue eyes desperately following each movement of the solar animatronic's hands as he cleaned. Y/N couldn't help but find her fascination with the simple tasks amusing because she related to her curiosity.

Then the notification popped up on the monitor in front of her that the girl - whose name was Rosalie - was now in queue to be picked up. Sun lifted his head from the table he had been wiping down and smiled at the little girl. "Rosie posie, looks like your mom is here!" he said brightly, picking the girl up and placing her on his shoulders. She squealed with delight as he lead her over to the cubbies that contained her backpack, shoes, and other various personal belongings. One of those belongings was a dark blue plush, but Y/N couldn't tell what it was from where she sat. 

A yawn forced its way from her mouth as Sun finished with checking Rosalie out from the daycare. He talked with the girl's mother for a while - only deepening Y/N's fascination with him. He could speak with children fluently - making jokes and pulling off silly voices to keep them entertained. But he could also sound completely serious and relay information to adults without puns or snickering.

It was like he was just another human. 

"Have a Fazerific day, Rosalie! See you tomorrow!" Sun called out of the door. He shut it, and immediately let out a satisfied simulated sigh before turning towards Y/N. 

She dropped her head down and tried to busy herself with the keyboard in front of her. She didn't know why she was embarrassed to have been watching the animatronic - he probably didn't mind, given that children stared at him all the time. But the warmth crept up to her cheeks nonetheless.

"New friend, do you need help learning the proper way to sanitize the daycare?" he asked, approaching the desk again and resuming the same position he had earlier. 

"Wait, what?" Y/N's confusion must have been extremely visible, because Sun faltered for a moment. 

"Your end-of-day duties involve cleaning and sanitizing the daycare with me," he informed, tilting his faceplate to the side slightly. The exhaustion from interacting with people all day tickled the back of her mind, but she quickly shoved it aside as Kat's words about her needing interaction echoed in her mind. 

"O-Okay," she stuttered, standing from the office chair and making her way around the desk to join the solar animatronic.

Despite being a fairly large space, the duties of cleaning the play area weren't as daunting as one might think. The ballpit had a special mechanism that allowed all of the colorful plastic orbs to fall through an invisible hatch that could only be opened with a swipe of Y/N's keycard. Apparently, there was a large area beneath the daycare that would sanitize the balls before sending them back through a hidden tube to refill. The plushies and pillows that filled a tent at the far side of the bright space would be sprayed with a disinfectant that hid underneath the security desk. Y/N supposed the hardest task was actually vacuuming the mats - but given that there were multiple vacuum units in the supply closet and two people to split the daycare floor, it went by rather quickly.

Neither Sun nor Y/N spoke much besides clarifying questions and little corrections in cleaning methods. It would be a comfortable silence had the endless loop of the silly daycare theme not been blaring overhead still. Y/N made a mental note about asking Max if it could be shut off once all the kids were gone. 

But she realized after a while that although she was cleaning in silence, Sun had actually been mumbling to himself. Between variations of the cleanup song he sang earlier to the children and comments about how messy things were - it almost sounded as though he was talking to himself. It was odd to hear at first, but it only reminded Y/N of the way she would do the same thing when going about her usual chores at home.

By the time the two had finished cleaning, Y/N's feet hurt. But something buzzed through her body as she looked at the clean space, proud of the hard work. The ache in her muscles wasn't too far off from the same feeling she got after getting all of her garden beds ready at the start of a new season.

"You did amazing, new friend!" Sun praised, throwing his hands above his head. He followed closely behind Y/N as she made her way back to the security desk. "The routine went by so much faster with your help!"

"Oh, I'm sure it wasn't that much faster," Y/N responded, rounding the edge of the desk to collect her stuff. "So there's nothing else I've gotta do now?" Sun's rays shrank back a bit.

"Well, not exactly," he said slowly. Y/N looked up at him, a little surprised by the hesitance in his voice. One of her eyebrows quirked up to urge him to continue. His fingers smoothed over the ribbons on his wrists as he stared on - unblinking white eyes giving away no emotion to the thoughts running through his mind. "N-Nevermind," he said suddenly, placing his hands on the desk with a tap.

Y/N couldn't help her lingering stare before she turned her attention to the monitor so she could clock out. She was tired, but for once it was a good tired. Sun followed at her heels after she collected her belongings and walked to the entrance. It made her think of the way Rosalie was following him around earlier. 

"Friend?" Sun said quietly as Y/N reached the large wooden doors. She turned to face him.

"Yeah?"

He once again fiddled with the ribbons on his wrist, but she still couldn't tell what he was thinking. It only intrigued her more. "Make sure to get a good rest in before you come back tomorrow!" he said in a chipper voice, dropping his hands and subsequently his anxious fidgeting. Y/N sighed, plastering a lazy grin on her face.

"You too, friend," she said, mirroring his nickname for her as she slipped through the doors - completely missing the way Sun's rays rotated around his head a few times as he processed her words.

Y/N's stomach growled as she entered the main entrance of the PizzaPlex. Excited voices drifted up to her ears as children and their parents lined up to get their own wristbands - the variation in color depicting where they were allowed to go. She descended a flight of stairs and contemplated getting something to eat here before she went home. The smell of pizza was extremely tempting.

She let it win - sliding past the people in line to swipe her badge and enter the main area of the plex in search of the greasy, triangle-shaped treat. When was the last time she indulged in unhealthy food just because she could?

It didn't take long for her to spot one of the areas advertising food. It was actually getting to it that was proving to be time-consuming. There were so many people rushing about as the last concert of the night was preparing to run. Y/N let her thoughts drift back through her day as she dodged and weaved through hyper children and eerie staff bots that she swore stared at her a little longer than usual. 

Sun certainly was... something. She could get used to working with him easily - his demeanor was warm and inviting, and her fascination with his programming would surely keep her entertained. She wondered how long he had been in use, once again flitting over the question as to why his programming hadn't been utilized with any of the other animatronics. 

Y/N let out a shocked squeak as her shoulder connected with someone else. A frantic apology escaped her lips as she looked up and locked eyes with Max.

"Oh, it's you. Sorry, was distracted," he said, glancing back in the direction he was heading in. He certainly looked distracted. And tired. Being closer to him than she had earlier, Y/N took note of the dark stubble growing on his chin and baggy circles beneath his eyes. He smelled faintly of cigarette smoke, but so did a lot of other people. And he at least did a good job of covering it up with a light cologne. 

His eyes snapped back to Y/N suddenly and he gave a halfhearted smile. "How was the first day? The thing didn't give you too much trouble, did it?"

"Wha- Sun? No, not at all," she responded quickly. "He was actually somewhat delightful," she added, thinking of how soft he had been with the children.

Max's gaze lingered on her as the silence between them stretched awkwardly. Then he hummed, but he didn't say anything more. So Y/N spoke up again. "I hope whatever was so urgent earlier went over well?"

The way Max's eyebrows furrowed confusedly made her second guess her statement. But then recognition glinted in his eyes and he chuckled. "Oh, yeah! Was fine, fine..." He paused. "Just something stupid - easy fix."

Y/N felt her heart start to hammer in her chest as anxiety lulled through her body. She hated small talk. 

"Well anyways, I've still got some stuff to take care of," he said, much to Y/N's relief. "I'll try to stop by tomorrow to make sure you know the last of your responsibilities with this job."

"Sure, okay," she responded, trying not to sound desperate to get away from him. He turned to leave, calling out over his shoulder as he walked away.

"And tell Kat I said hi."

*****

The pizza was exactly as Y/N thought it would be - greasy and bland. 

She still happily snacked on it during her drive back home, steadily bobbing her head to the beat of her favorite song. She couldn't wait to lounge around in her sweatshirt and shorts again.

When she walked through the front door, though, she was immediately bombarded with questions about her first day. Kat had come over with sorbet from her favorite place to celebrate her having landed the job and surviving her first shift. Y/N's mother was almost in tears from being proud - much to Y/N's dismay.

She knew it was all an act.

But she allowed herself to play along. She was proud of herself, after all. The last time she attempted to get herself out there in the world, she had chickened out before she even made it to the building. 

And here she was, with a new job and not a single anxiety or panic attack in sight.

After answering her parents questions and accepting their hugs, the two best friends retreated up to Y/N's room.

"And how's the animatronic? His name's Sundrop, right?" Kat asked Y/N, taking her usual place sitting on the daybed with her legs folded beneath her.

"I think it's just Sun. But he's absolutely amazing, Kat! You should've seen it!" She sat down at her desk, distractedly swirling her spoon around in the last bits of her mango sorbet. "I'm so curious about all of the programs that had to be written for him. He's got to have thousands."

"You're such a dweeb," Kat responded, grabbing the stuffed animal nearest to her on the bed and snuggling it.

"Probably," Y/N responded after throwing the now-empty sorbet cup away in the small trash can under her desk. Her hands wandered to the drawer on the desk - pulling out one of the notebooks and flipping to an empty page. She had to get started on her fall garden before the temps started to drop, so she went through and listed the things she really wanted to grow. "But he's just so soft with the children. I didn't expect a robot made of something so dense and virtually indestructible to be so... caring."

"It's all in the programming, you goober." Kat shifted to lie down. "Speaking of, have you figured out what you want to do for your project yet?"

A soft sigh emitted from Y/N. "No," she said simply, pushing the notebook away and bringing the end of the pencil to her mouth. "I just want it to be something that's never been done before. Something... original."

Kat laughed. Y/N was sure she meant nothing negative by it, but she couldn't help the embarrassed hurt that settled in the pit of her stomach. "There's nothing original these days," Kat said. "Don't stress it too much - I don't want to have to coax you out of another panic attack the day before it's due."

"Yeah, I guess so..."

The rest of the evening was spent watching the first few episodes of an anime Y/N had promised Kat she would indulge in with her. But her mind wandered back to schoolwork.

She had absolutely no idea what she would create for the project. She wondered if maybe she could figure something out with building a small robot that could perform basic tasks like bringing objects to its owner or recognizing shapes and colors. But all of that felt far too basic. 

Here she was with the opportunity to show her worth - and she couldn't even come up with a single idea.

With one more hug and a last congratulations on her landing the job - Kat left for the night. Y/N wandered back up to her room and focused on planning out her fall garden before switching over to her homework for the evening. After a while, she grew restless as she thought about going back to the plex the next day.

Y/N had barely spent a few hours with the solar animatronic and she was already looking forward to seeing him again. She was so eager to know more about him and how he worked - from the programs and protocols he had to the personality traits he could mimic. She thought about the interactions Sun had with the children again and how gentle he had been. 

God, she wasn't normal.

Long after the sun had set and she had grown tired, Y/N finally began her bedtime routine. She hoped Sun would be able to answer her questions about his programming tomorrow. And if he couldn't, she would just ask Max herself and see what he knew.

******

A/N: So! How are we feeling about the first chapter?? I've been so excited to show you guys!!! I hope it met your expectations and that it was a far better show of my actual writing talent hahah

Remember, my Tumblr asks are OPEN for the characters of this story! So if you'd like to ask any of the main characters some questions, feel free!

Anyways, as always, likes, comments, kudos, and reblogs are GREATLY appreciated!

Stay sweet, my lovelies~!

The taglist peeps! @senyahgirl @rose-blot @sunyandmony (message me or comment to be added!)

[phoenix-fell]

Anti-Bumbleby criticisms answered with BB analysis - Big post

As expected, as Bumbleby gets more attention from the show, the anti-BB crowd have surfed in on their tidal wave of bitter lemons. So, I’d like to put my degree, job and training to use and compile my thoughts down in one place - a one-stop shop if you will - it’s long and will be largely unfiltered as I tackle the weirdest and most common criticisms and BB analysis. (I kinda miss Bumbleby analysis Megaposts, I might make one sometime to go alongside this as a point of reference as most I’ve seen end around Vol 6).

TIA for anyone who actually takes the time to read my ramblings and please feel free to give your thoughts/analysis and I’ll edit it in. FIRST EDIT - 8th Mar 2023 presenting labels and sexuality in Remnant - 4th from end.

Credentials: Double major 1st class grad in Literature and Creative Writing, specialising in fairy tales and WLW representation in media. Recipient of dissertation award exploring character psyche and the presentation of psychological themes. Literary critic, writer and content specialist. 

Let’s start off with a cracker from Reddit!

“Why couldn’t the BB scenes be more of a background thing? Why do they need to focus on them like they’re a main plot or something?”

Is... Is it stuffy under all that homophobia? I could easily rhyme off a string of sarcastic quips like ‘gee, I wonder why, it’s almost like it’s important to the development of two of the main characters or something.’ But it’s so lost on some people that I’mma spell it out:

We’ve seen Blake and Yang’s trauma painted across the screen from ‘Burning the Candle’ when Yang first confesses her abandonment issues, to the White Fang / Adam arcs that gave us a picture of the abuse Blake has endured - not just as a Faunus, but from her partner (“Adam used to get into my head, make me feel small.”), right through to their separation that dealt with their respective issues with running away/being abandoned and the shared trauma which has tied them both together indefinitely. They’ve been apart, they’ve repaired their relationship, they’ve grown together. In a current volume that’s so inherently focused on character’s individual development, seeing Blake and Yang together was almost inevitable as they’ve been so completely involved in one another’s development throughout the entire series. This is without going into their fairy tale allusions that tie them together which I’ll go into further down or the references to Yin/Yang and numerous romantic tropes that show how integral they are to one another’s characters. Contrary to belief, it’s not romance for the sake of romance - in this instance, the romance very much strengthens their development individually.

Asides from all of this, it was decided from the very beginning that Yang would lose her arm (foreshadowed in the Yellow trailer). The moment they decided that Yang would lose her arm protecting Blake, was the moment a decision was made to invariably tie these two narratives together on a very fundamental level.

But also, don’t clown yourself into thinking you’re not a homophobe if you think any LGBT content belongs in the background whilst also rejoicing any onscreen developments between straight ships.

“If BB was meant to be a thing then they wouldn’t have had Sun as a romantic interest.”

Is there a universe where love triangles and bisexuals are a foreign concept?

But in all seriousness, I think that certain corners of fanbases seem to struggle with any concepts that are non-linear; something I often see with anime. By ‘linear’, I mean: love interest introduced > build up > canon > together forever. As opposed to ‘non-linear’; a character that goes on their own journey of discovery and, through which, has more than one interest and path over time and has the ability to change their mind. The show was never a ‘romance’ as a primary theme; it’s an action/adventure which has some romantic subplots. But to honest, Blake changing her mind shouldn’t really be this much of a shock to the fanbase given that our FIRST ever interaction with Blake, in her TRAILER, is her changing her mind about her partner (and first romantic interest) and deciding to pursue a new journey. A scene which is actually referred back to in the Season 6 opener when Blake uncouples the train and sees what she believes to be a hallucination of a hooded Adam on the opposite carriage, foreshadowing the importance of that original decision later in the series (“you didn’t leave scars, you just left me, alone”). 

The arc that follows Blake thereafter is inherently tied to Adam (amongst other important themes), who is predominantly based off Gaston and the rose (or curse of the rose) from Beauty and the Beast. Blake and Yang are interchangeably alluded to as both Belle and the Beast throughout their character arcs from as early as the Red Trailer: “Black the beast descends from shadows / Yellow beauty burns gold.” and as recently as Blake describing Yang to the Hunter Mice in Vol. 9 Chapter 1. I can rhyme off these allusions until I’m blue, but again, I may save this for a master post.

The story that Blake is based on is a love triangle - she was never meant to have one set path from the beginning and romantic interests were always meant to play a huge part in Blake’s story/development; she was always going to have a romantic decision to make after conquering the curse / Gaston. Blake being haunted by her first romantic interest is foreshadowed in the ending of her trailer and first referenced in her conversation (with Yang) at Mountain Glen, and becomes an undeniable path of exploration once Yang loses her arm to Adam at the end of Volume 3. Let it be noted that Sun was present when Yang announced she was going to find Blake at the Battle of Beacon - a decision was made here for Yang to be the one to lose her arm protecting Blake, as was Adam’s poignant promise to take away everything Blake loves - “starting with [Yang]” or, otherwise, the solidifying of this romantic subplot. Which, again, is called back to with the infamous line: “What does she even see in you?” besides the obvious subtext, it’s setting the stage for these parallels between Adam and Yang, past and future, the previous love interest identifying something in Blake that used to be reserved for him, now directed towards Yang.

This season began with Blake declaring that Yang “seems scary, but isn’t”. Because, once Belle knows the Beast isn’t scary, she allows herself to fall in love (conveniently, this is said whilst walking through a fairy tale).

I could go into a big post about romantic foils and the ways in which Yang, Adam and Blake are all foils to each other but I might make a separate post instead for anyone new to the FNDM. Either way, I feel it’s worth mentioning as it’s Blake who directly compares Yang to a past love interest who was designed with semblances and characteristics that mirror each other. Point being, no one should be shocked that Blake has multiple interests given the character and fairy tale she’s based off and heavy allusions where Yang is concerned.

“Oh yeah, because Yang ‘literally purred at guys in their underwear’ Xiao Long and Blake ‘literally kissed a boy’ Belladonna are clearly bisexual because of [insert out of context reasons]” and “yes but Monty said...”

1. You mean... the one, and only one scene in 9 entire volumes where Yang shows any interest (albeit jokingly) in a guy, and the literal scene directly before she sees Blake from across the crowded room and proceeds to never express interest in men again? (Ignoring the very obvious implied trope here). And, in fact, only expresses interest in a woman from this point onwards? This is your frame of reference? Personally, I find it quite lovely that Yang’s perspective is never the same from the moment she sees Blake. Asides from this, while ‘bisexual’ is the label that these guys have gone with, Yang’s sexuality hasn’t been confirmed outside of being sapphic - it’s not outside the realm of possibility that she is, in all likelihood, lesbian. It’s important to note here that any young character expressing an interest in a man would not invalidate that same character being a lesbian. In fact, if we apply this to real life, it’s not uncommon for people not to realise that they’re queer immediately (I myself didn’t until I was 21). But in the opening episodes of the series especially, I’d very much chalk this up to writers exploring the characters.

2. As for Blake - there are, from what I remember, three kisses in the entire show so far. The one between Jaune and Pyrrha - on the lips after prolonged romantic allusions between the two (their romance is explicitly referenced by Nora - “practice what you preach, Pyrrha.” - almost fitting that it’s Nora to call out the Bees in Season 7 - A Night Off, no? Neat little parallel for y’all). The one between Ren and Nora after trying to work out the status of their romantic relationship - again, on the lips. And the one where Blake says goodbye (and thank you) to Sun by kissing him... On the cheek. (So hot, I know). Which is immediately followed up with Sun telling Neptune “it was never about that”. One of these is not like the other, can you guess which? I’ll wait.

As for referencing Monty - I could go on all day about this one, and the quote most notoriously used is ‘they’re a sisterhood’. Firstly, let me just say that I find it disturbing that anyone would use the show’s deceased creator as ammunition, whilst also disregarding his other comments on LGBT rep - specifically, ‘maybe there are LGBT characters there now / they’re just kids rn and figuring it out / it needs to be earned’. But also, it’s really disturbing and egotistical that anybody would pretend to know what Monty wanted better than the crew he handpicked, worked with, collaborated with and was friends with (special mention to the fact that his own brother is one of the cast). If you truly want to honour his legacy, then show respect to the people he put his trust in.

“I don’t have an issue with BB, but why does it always have to take away from Yang’s moments with Ruby?” / “All Yang’s feelings for her sister transferred to Blake.”

One from the hall of fame. The age old question of ‘can a girl have a romantic partner and still care about her family?’ I wish this wasn’t a serious question, but there are actual sides of the Fandom that seem to think that Yang’s forgotten about her sister that she raised because she has feelings for someone and that the sole purpose of Yang’s existence is to be her sister’s keeper.

I’mma address this on 3 fronts. 1 - Logistically, the episodes for RWBY, excluding the intros, are 15-20 mins long currently and typically oversee several different storylines particularly as the cast grows larger, leaving us with... What? About 5 minutes of team RWBY interactions? It’s not a lot of time to pack in character development, relationship development, plotline, strategy etc. so often if they’re wanting to develop more than one relationship, they will alternate between putting these themes in the background (such as the yellow in Blake’s sword, references from other characters etc.) and foreground, and some developments have to be shoulder-to-shoulder to fit them in. This isn’t an indicator of how much one character cares for one another and is more a demon created by people’s perception of how they ‘think’ a protective sister should act.

Additionally, it should be noted that Yang fawning over Ruby and not allowing her to develop other relationships outside of her sister, would actually offer us nothing from a development perspective for both Yang and Ruby’s characters and would, instead, steer these two strong female characters down a path of co-dependency. 

2 - It feels like a very easy excuse for Anti-BB folk to throw out there, conveniently forgetting how great of a sister Yang actually is (contrary to the number of RWDE videos I’ve seen arguing otherwise, as this is an essay I could write in itself). These very often take isolated incidents out of context and conveniently forget important information like Yang 1. Literally sacrificing herself twice to protect her sister 2. Sacrificing her entire childhood to raise her sister and 3. Importantly, the fact that Ruby is her (self-sufficient) Team Leader needs to be factored into their dynamic, as Yang gives her space to find herself as a leader and steps in when her sister actually needs her - not when the audience thinks she does. People hear ‘protectiveness’ and seem to think that this should mean that Yang should be overbearing. 

3 - Anyone who says this doesn’t have siblings. I have older and younger siblings and, having largely raised my younger sibling, I can safely say that I still love them even when I’m in a relationship. I also feel extremely secure in arguing/disagreeing with any of my siblings because I inherently know they will still be there at the end of the day - a sibling love goes deep (referencing ‘Fault’ from Volume 8). However, in a romantic relationship that is not established and very new... you will feel insecure, that’s normal, it doesn’t have the luxury of established stability that siblings do, and therefore you will overtly express more anxiety about this as a result. It’s a very strange concept that if you have a sibling, you need to give them all of your attention and ignore any love interests. Yang has gone through her own traumas, she has every right to care about others, heal herself, and have a life that isn’t defined by being a caretaker for her sister. ESPECIALLY as she already gave up her childhood to fulfil this role, unselfishly AND as the person she’s bonding with is best poised to understand Yang’s trauma. Yang as a character deserves to receive the love she constantly gives out. Again, this is a demon born from the fact that it either doesn’t reflect the relationship commentors have with their siblings, or the fact that they’re *imagining* how that relationship should be.

Bonus picture below: Yang putting aside her anguish for Summer Rose, who she considered to be her mother, to prioritise comforting her sister about that same loss.

“I hate BB shippers because they pass off BS interactions as platonic. BS made more sense, there was no build-up to BB until Vol 6 and they let the BS build-up go to waste to force BB.”

First off, there’s nothing wrong with BlackSun as a ship. Shipping shouldn’t be dictated by canonicity and people have the right to ship it and to their opinions. And while a few of these seem to have referenced BS, I don’t actually think that BS shippers are at fault for the hatred coming this way, but rather that the ship seems to get used as ammunition from the Anti-BB crowd - to summarise, Anti-BB and BS shippers are not synonymous. I personally don’t ship BS, but I do enjoy the debate and actually think that Sun is a very important part of Blake’s development and arc. There did seem to be some form of mutual attraction between Blake and Sun. Had they gone down that route, I wouldn’t have hated it, I just never felt excited by it, which seems to be a large consensus amongst BB fans. An appreciation whilst feeling there was a better alternative.

Believing all the development between Sun and Blake was ‘wasted’ is also very closed-minded given how much he helped Blake in the White Fang arc and also disregards the importance of their friendship. BS has the potential to be one of the best and most supportive friendships in the series, I stand by that.

That said, I don’t think it’s entirely wrong to acknowledge that a lot of (not all) interactions between BS were platonic from Blake’s pov while Sun’s feelings were more explicit. The only real hint I saw of Blake reciprocating was a blush at the Vytal festival. Maybe the dance at a stretch, but there’s hints at both BS and BB and I will fight you on it. Now, it might be a question of timing; Adam was still a prevalent threat during this time which will have been weighing on Blake given the resurgence of the White Fang, and is clear when Adam rocks up seeking vengeance in Volume 3. For this reason, I honestly think it would have been disingenuous to have explored Blake in a full relationship with anyone at this point given these loose ends, and Blake undergoes a lot of development over volumes 4-6 as a direct result of this.

Additionally, if BB didn’t begin until Volume 6 then that means that BS had 4-5 volumes to happen - 2 of which where they were in their own arc, separated from the main cast. It didn’t happen. What happens instead is Blake’s guilt over Yang weighs heavily on her while she deals with her arc and Sun helps her come to terms with this, ultimately redirecting her back to her team, and Yang, while Sun’s interactions with her become increasingly platonic from his side.

Lastly, the only way you don’t see build up for BB, is if you actively will yourself not to see build-up. If you replace Blake and Yang’s moments with Sun, I don’t feel there’d be any misunderstandings on how these moments are supposed to be interpreted. Take off the hetero goggles, and we’re cool. 

But on a sidenote and personal pet peeve of mine, the cries of ‘BB is forced while BS had build-up’ will forever irritate me - BB has a slow burn, a full arc, developed from a friendship and partnership as well as several tropes and allusions without going into too much detail. BS, firstly, never ended up happening, but it starts when Sun runs past, winks at Blake, magically knows she’s a faunus, then proceeds to follow around a girl he doesn’t know for two days who, at his own admission, didn’t speak that whole time. But... BB is forced? I’d say it’s subjective, but logic defies when this is the barometer for a natural introduction of a romantic pair.

“BB is ‘queerbait’”

Let’s address the ‘Goliath’ in the room, shall we? ‘Queerbaiting’ gets thrown around like a reflex at the moment by pseudo-fans who I don’t believe actually know the gravity of their statements or the meaning behind the word. I often see this slur paired with BB being strung out to keep the shippers watching. Now, there’s an essay in itself that could exist in this section, but are people really still clowning themselves that a show that’s explicitly shown that it wants to have queer representation in the cast and foreground is ‘queerbaiting’ it’s audience? Even weirder for me is the part of the FNDM saying that it’ll be baiting if they make BB canon. Please stop this nonsense and do some research.

Now, one thing I would like to tackle is that, sadly, some will still see pairings on the show through heteronormative glasses, so let me use that here. If the pair were a m/f couple and had several seasons of development and increasingly intimate moments, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that 1. It was heading in the direction of canon and 2. That it was a slow burn romance that’s building to its’ climax. Interestingly, the show actually does use the hetero goggles to frame BB on several occasions by paralleling this budding romance with several straight ships such as Arkos and Renora. Why? Because this is a narrative technique often used by writers to frame LGBT romances to separate them from ‘just friendships’ and, let’s face it, use an unconscious heteronormative bias to their advantage.

“BB is badly written, they barely interacted in volumes 1-3 then didn’t speak for two volumes.”

Tickle me pink. Volumes 1-3 are a very strange reference point for ‘in-depth’ development between characters. Crumbs, sure. The odd scene, absolutely. But let’s be real here - the show started as a low budget web series with an onus on cool fighting scenes and, most importantly, the episodes were around 5 minutes long whilst entertaining teams RWBY and JNPR, the White Fang, the Vytal tournament and several other plots. Nobody particularly interacted much but the writers did the best they could with what they had and the rest is left to us, the audience, to interpret that relationships are developing off-screen. Though from a critique POV in the interest of fairness, I would say the current season is a breath of fresh air by re-focusing the plot on the central characters as I think the show can sometimes be guilty of taking on too many plotlines.

As for volumes 4-5, while they’re in different continents, it’s obvious that they’re prevalent in each other’s arcs. Whether it’s Yang admitting she’s struggling with Blake’s abandonment - in the same episode the first lesbian character is revealed confessing their feelings to Blake (sidenote, all of team RWBY left Yang, and it’s Blake she’s mad at, this was always meant to be framed differently to her other teammates and IMO the struggle they go through is meant to frame the characters coming to terms with the depth of what they mean to each other), the parallels of them both getting onto the ship (named ‘Pride’ - wink wink), or Blake actively struggling to talk about Yang, yet referencing it when Sun is hurt (“Not again!”) showing it’s at the forefront of her mind. All of which culminates in their reunion in the Vol 5 finale.

Is it the best writing ever? No, nothing’s perfect. But they do explicitly use parallels throughout the series to drive the narrative forward as a foreshadowing tool to strengthen subplots.

“Blake being bisexual makes no sense - she was interested in Sun, it just seems so out of the blue, she and Yang just seemed like friends to me.”

Funny, because she and Sun seemed like friends to me too.

There are so many things I wanted to fire back at this, from the insinuation that if a woman first shows interest in a man then it’s out of the blue that she’s bisexual now that she’s showing interest in a woman... Like, how do you think it happens for bisexuals IRL?! Did you want her to burst onto the scene in Volume 1, announce she likes men and women, and then express explicit simultaneous interest in both of them? Start a harem? Proposition a throuple?

This particular take amuses me most of all as someone who is very openly bisexual. Yes, she and Yang seemed like friends. Great friends, in fact. That hold hands and blush and want to spend all their time together. And check each other out when the other isn’t looking. And make excuses for casual physical contact and flirt and giggle like a couple of giddy teenagers. Just like me and my ‘best friend’ did, before I realised I was bi. I’m sure that a lot of people thought it came out of the blue for me too. Blake being oblivious to being bisexual until it becomes too obvious to ignore is actually a very realistic scenario.

Bonus headline - just because you don’t understand/identify with something, doesn’t mean that it’s not good representation or realistic. I feel it’s also important to mention Blake’s VA, Arryn Zech, is bisexual and has spoken numerous times on the matter. The reason I bring this up is because it’s clear that the way in which the bisexuality of her character is presented on the show is actually something that’s incredibly important to Arryn - because good representation is significant. 

Presenting labels and sexuality on Remnant: A Theory and - “BB is a terrible representation of LGBT and your critique ignores the female and LGBT people that have spoken out against it.”

They say, to someone who is both female and LGBT. Credit to the Anon who charged into my inbox to accuse me of the above - hope you enjoy. Now, there’s a couple of things I’d like to cover before I go into how sexuality is perceived in-universe. The first is that if you use this argument against someone who is queer without seeing the belligerent hypocrisy of your statement, please check yourself as, clearly, you only care about LGBT voices on representation when it aligns with your own rhetoric and ready to dismiss any narrative to the contrary from that same community.

Secondly,  the queer/LGBT community is a vast and vibrant community of *individuals* with their own opinions and own voices. I didn’t nominate anyone to speak on my behalf, just as I don’t speak on the behalf of the rest of the community. Moreover, any art is open to interpretation. My opinion does not override theirs, nor does their opinion erase my own. And, believe it or not, it’s quite possible to have two or more differing opinions within one community without being at war with one another. I respect their opinion, just as I hope they respect mine.

We clear? Great. Onto the analysis! Huge shoutout to @crimsonxe​ for the brilliant discussion and assistance with the analysis in the comments that helped me construct this section! You’re awesome.

Let’s dive in with the headline - Homophobia doesn’t appear to be an issue on Remnant and labels don’t appear to exist, in the sense that it doesn’t appear anywhere in-universe. Now just to pre-emptively disclaimer: this may change, but in 9 volumes and however many supplementary materials, we’ve not heard any labels or had any representation of this type of discrimination. If that changes, I’ll happily remove this. 

So why is this important, you ask? Ultimately, when you take away the inherent ‘fear’ that a lot of the LGBT community face IRL along with prevalent ignorance towards the community and society’s insistence on labelling sexualities and gender identity, it creates a world divorced from our own and is, from a narrative point of view, a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it allows the characters to explore themselves in a non-discriminatory environment that is inherently more fluid and free, whilst the audience will inevitably want to compare that to their own experiences. But we can’t - not properly - due to the still very real stigma and discrimination that exists in our own world. Instead, what we see are characters who express an interest in other characters and find other ways to allude to their preferences or identity. A prime example of this would be May, canonically a trans character, who does not use this term in-world but instead says, “To the Marigolds that meant I wasn’t their son, and I made sure everyone knew I wasn’t their daughter.” This is a theme that is poignantly reflected in the accompanying media for the series - such as the books; for instance, Coco, canonically lesbian, referring to “breaking the hearts of many women.”

How does this tie into the relationship with Blake and Yang? Glad you asked. If you bear in mind that Remnant has a very fluid outlook on sexuality and more of a ‘love who you love’ ethos which is blind to gender norms, it immediately subverts the assumption that interactions between m/f are romantic while f/f are platonic. It’s an open field, if you will. BB is a steady build from partner/best friend (though I’d argue that at least Yang had an immediate attraction, with Blake figuring herself out) with interactions that become increasing more intimate. Eye rolls and jokes become winks and innuendo (“I love it when you’re feisty!”), nudges become intimate hugs (Burning the Candle), become hand-holding (it isn’t coincidence that these two have held hands more than any other pair in the series), becomes pining, blushing, forehead touches (BB and Renora - remember those parallels), which evolves into flirting and... More. And yes, some of their interactions will still resemble the friendship they built their foundations on. But in a world where labels don’t exist, that journey from friend-to-lover is much more subtle and embedded in a gentle upwards curve of increasing intimacy.

“BB is only happening because the horrible BB fans demanded it, the show caved and gave in to the toxic fanbase, it wasn’t planned from the beginning.”

I’ve seen this in so many places, like a broken record. I have no doubt that there are BB fans that are fanatical, and I’d never justify the behaviour of any so-called fan that resorts to death threats or violence in any way. I’m hoping this surely must be a minority that has, hopefully, shrunk over the years as the audience has matured. However, this also really isn’t how shows work... 

As many have pointed out in recent weeks, the show would be a very different landscape altogether if CRWBY were, in fact, that easily swayed by fans; namely, I’m thinking of Clover/Qrow, Pyrrha, Penny etc. While I don’t doubt that show-makers pay attention to the fanbase where needed and where it’ll be beneficial (seeing how fans react to developments, if allusions are clear etc.), sending death threats or whatever is actually much more counterproductive than anything else. But also... You’re not on the crew, you’re not part of those discussions. I feel confident that Miles, Kiersi and Kerry aren’t writing BB content with a gun to their head.

Lastly, the ‘it wasn’t planned from the beginning’ war cry is a tale as old as time. Like Beauty and the Beast. (See what I did there?) Asides from the fact that 1. Yang and Blake were actually the first created out of the team, and made with each other in mind, regardless of in what context (check out the original character designs/concepts) 2. Even if it wasn’t planned from the beginning, what difference does it make? There are tonnes of examples where the writers have felt the chemistry between two characters as the story’s gone on and decided to put them together (case-in-point from outside the anime world.. Chandler and Monica from Friends). In fact, while some writers like to plan every element of their plot from the beginning, there’s a great many writers who allow the characters to steer the plot as they grow - especially arcs with romantic undertones. The series was made predominantly for the action - it’s not a romantic series, so if they didn’t plan it from the beginning that wouldn’t be unusual, especially given that the episodes of the first few volumes are literally 5-10 minutes long. But regardless of whether the romance of the two was planned or not planned, it does not make it any less meaningful.

But let’s be real, the issue at heart isn’t that they weren’t sucking face in the first 3 seasons, it’s that they thought Blake would be with a guy, and she chose a girl. To which I say... Get over your bruised ego, and move on.

“BB fans deserve the hate they get because of x, y, z and cos it has toxic shippers.”

And you’re... Not... Toxic? If you’re an Anti-BB shipper and go out of your way to stalk and comment on BB tags/accounts just to harass shippers etc, then are you any better than the toxic fans you supposedly hate? To me, following BB tags and looking at BB content whilst being an Anti-BB shipper is so weird, why you trying to hurt your own feelings?

Also, saying that innocent shippers who are just living their best life should bear the burden of the toxic FNDM, is literally the definition of tarring everyone with the same brush. Some of us just want to eat our crumbs in peace, and from our POV, you’re the toxic ones being disrespectful. Bonus point: others being toxic does not give you licence to be hateful to anyone you come across that doesn’t agree with you.

“I’m no longer watching the show cos it’s trying too hard to be ‘woke’”

This ain’t an airport, you don’t need to announce your departure. But since you are, if your issue is the gay representation in the show then wake up and look around... We’re everywhere. The show is literally just reflecting the diversity you see day-to-day; but you keep sipping that haterade, my dude, we’re here to stay.

[quotidianish]

Usually there’d be some goofy ass art to go with an analysis of tf2 characters but art block is knifing me up right now so have headcanons which get a smidge too personal with the immigrant experience

The Defense class is my favorite out of the three, not only because of their in-game mechanics, but because of the potential they have for character. All of them are, in some way, more normal than the rest (or appear to be in the case of Engineer). Demoman’s just an alcoholic (nothing inherently wrong with addiction anyway), Heavy’s just real passionate about his job, and Engineer is, deceptively, rather level-headed. Just based on inference I like to think they are three people fundamentally damaged by the concept of the “American Dream;” to be religious and good and serve your country, no matter how bad it may treat you. On one hand, you’ve got two immigrants, and on the other, you’ve got a natural born Texan, raised in the Bible Belt, so of course said dream will impact them differently. Seeing both Demo’s and Heavy’s families, it’s safe to assume they’re both raised with a very collectivist mindset. With the Engineer, it is mere guessing based on the stereotypical image of a Bible Belt family. Being an immigrant in a country which doesn’t share your ideals is a rough integration process already, nevermind the potential discrimination their status as foreigners might lend them to (it’s the 70s cmon man). Hence they do not stay in America because they genuinely view it as home; they stay in America out of sacrifice; money is made for their families, be it in the Heavy’s case a necessity, or the Demoman’s, to please. Neither of their beliefs align with America’s, nor their physical appearance mimic that of a stereotypical American. Both of them have probably felt outcasted before- especially regarding their appearance- and this is no exception. The United States is but a well-paying prison. For Dell, though, it is, without doubt, his home. Bee Cave Texas basking in all its fine American  beauty. Regardless, it’s not as perfect as he was raised to think. (I’ve less to say on behalf of him, actually. I didn’t grow up in the Bible Belt, so lots of these ideas are mumbo jumbo from book and media portrayals.) He’s grown up in the perfect American family, a providing father, a loving mother, the face of every American cartoon and magazine. Good people with a faith in god, what more can he ask for? He didn’t exactly feel as though all the values he held truly represented him as a person. Maybe it’s a repressed homosexuality thing, or growing up as a little girl and deciding it wasn’t right for him thing, or generally realizing that his ideas were pretty outdated; especially when interacting with the rest of the Defense team. All three of them are from different continents, and still manage to find they have so much in common. MAN the POTENTIAL for CHARACTER (going insane. Truly the guys ever

[iedolon]

ENTRY 01: COMING TO TERMS WITH HIS ROLE.

even before he embarked on his orbit,  aphelios was predestined to become a warrior.  I’ll touch on this in a later post,  but ever since birth,  he was described as a child who was physically gifted  “like the moon of stone”  whereas alune was magically gifted  “like its spiritual reflection.”  the burden of expectation and greatness is a heavy fate that weighs down his shoulders and seeps its way into every little thing that he does;  being a normal child wasn’t an option for him when the priests had sung praises to their people of the turning tide meant to be theirs,  of a brighter future carved by these blessed twins. 

it has taken over everything he’s known and ever will know,  and stains his ability to receive help or care without thinking that it is meant for the assassin whose identity he adopts on the battlefield rather than for himself.  they are two sides of a coin,  always parallel and never intended to meet one another;  confrontation of these identities is prohibited and even more dire is the need for both to never stray.  that is where he will see his love,  in the venerable nobility of a hero,  the praises of the damned.  aphelios,  a mere man,  can find his heart elsewhere.

" the pressure to be exemplary weighed heavily upon aphelios. he practiced tirelessly with mystical moonstone blades, spilling his own blood in training so he could spill that of others to protect the faith. intense and vulnerable, he bonded deeply with his sister in lieu of any other friendships. "

and so he strives to perform his duties thoroughly,  seeks to secure the hopes and dreams ushered into their hands for the prospect of a utopia's freedom, and fears the day where they fail.  growing up,  aphelios and alune were surrounded by the notion that they were blessed,  that their very existence was a sign that something greater was on the horizon for the lunari.  that perhaps this was the mark of a new dawn outside of the ruined shadows they have been forced to simply survive in.  in his younger years,  he chased love and praise that was only given when he performed well,  when he worked tirelessly,  when he spent dusk till dawn marking the same motions in a dance that left his body bloodied and torn.  and every day,  he thought this would give them some sort of merit to be human.  perhaps if he showed how much he had grown,  how hard he had toiled,  that there would come a time where they would be told that they had worked enough. 

rest was never a promise fulfilled,  though.  often,  he couldn’t even return to the safety of the temple to talk to alune, to see her.  to be finished was a foreign concept:  there was always something more to learn,  something more to practice,  something more to perfect.  no,  he would rest when he died.

" his slashes followed arcs he had practiced for years until even he bled, training to the verge of self-destruction. "

to protect himself from growing jaded,  aphelios has learned to distance himself from his duty.  it’s simply a job to him,  one that is necessary and integral,  and the success of which earns his loved ones peace and safety.  to become numb is an idea far too dangerous to risk settling in his bones and to find understanding in it would turn into exhaustion and settle as resentment in an already weary man.  finding justification in the ways that his body crumbles with every task completed,  every hour practicing,  is something he finds easily in the comfort that it all will pass.  that this day is long,  but he will soon shed all responsibility and heartache come morning when he is finally given a moment to breathe.  

" he opens his mouth to thank you, but he sees your expression twist, though you try to hide it. you fight the fear, punching your shoulder where the Burning Ones’ spears cut through your cloak. trying to remember the pain. reaching for it. you don’t want to kill him. but you must. your face is too numb for you to feel the tears… instead, you feel mine. "

it’s also a point to note,  which i will dive a bit deeper into in a post about aphelios’ relationship with his faith,  that he is led by alune’s instruction.  solari targets for assassination,  as well as the continued reminders that it is their shared duty,  all culminate in the buildup of aphelios’ thoughts with his work as just that,  simply work.  a task to be completed,  a mark to be dealt with,  all in the name of striking at the heels of the forces that have such a firm hold on their peace.  in doing so,  it also prevents him from fully coming to terms with the sheer weight of life that he is taking away.  duty is his most potent anesthesia,  above even the noctum poison,  something that renders him unable to speak nor argue against before he has swallowed the flowers that leaves him mute.  silence is all that’s needed for an assassin,  anyway.  be a weapon and not the warrior,  think nothing of the mission,  and fear none but the master.

[occult-roommates]

A new beginning to an old story

Around five days after their walk in the park, Athena felt ready to invite Akva to her new apartment. The reason it took so long is mostly because she needed to clean it first, and also for Akva to have some free time in between her retail job and flying lessons, but now it was time.

Athena: Tadah! Akva: Oh wow, congratulation on getting your own place. It's actually pretty decent. Athena: Why are you surprised by that? Akva: Cause like, have you seen my apartment? I live with six grown adults and one baby, but we only have two bedrooms but Charlie refuses to share hers except with the baby. We barely have enough space, privacy is like a foreign concept to me now after living like this for more than three years. Athena: I mean, I'm just saying, I only have one bedroom, but I think it's spacious enough I could get at least one roommates. Akva: Also, I was about to ask how you can afford it, but I mean, it's the spice district, most people in the area don't make that much money in the first place. Athena: That's because Paisley pays me good. Like I said, I could have a roommate to make it easier but I don't absolutely need one. Especially since in college I had one that must be from Hell. Like imagine a dude who refuses to shower more than once a week in spite of being a gym rat, would leave his dirty dishes everywhere to the point we had bugs infestation multiple times, and would punch holes into walls on a regular basis. Even had to bail him out of jail after a DUI with the money I needed to pay for a new computer. Oh and also he'd let his used condoms around the apartment as a way to assert dominance over my "beta" ass. Akva: Cause this guy was getting laid???!!!

Anyway, Athena kept showing Akva around the place. It wasn't that decorated to her personality yet, 50% because she couldn't afford it yet, 50% because the landlord wouldn't let her repaint that sickly green or move the furnitures around that much.

Then, the two women sat down on the couch to continue their little chat.

Athena: Fun fact, you can see by the window the exact place where that plane landed in the Myshun river a few years ago. Akva: Oh wow, that's cool. I remember recently, Ralf and I went to an aviation museum that's in southern New York in hope of seeing part of that plane, but turns out it's in North Carolina. We still had fun though, after the museum we went to eat at the shadiest roadside dinner known to man. Athena: Who are you talking about? Akva: Ralf is my new father figure, you should meet him, he is really nice.

Akva then leaned in for a hug. It felt good to finally have a close friend back in town. It felt even more special now that she knew Athena was actually happy and not just pretending. Though, it did messed her up that she literally had no idea what she was going through. Then again, in her defense, she was living on the other side of the country, even if Athena was visibly unhappy, she couldn't have known. Yeah, they did saw each other from time to time, like when they briefly dated which caused Akva to get pregnant, but still, she could have very well hid how she felt.

Akva: And you know, it would feel even more special if instead of introducing you to him as my friend...

Akva tapped her laps and told Athena to sit here, so she did. Now that they were in a more intimade position, step 2.

Akva: I'd introduce you as my girlfriend.

Athena looked at her all red and then, they made out on the couch, as the cameraman panned away as to not creep on them. Maybe their first attempt at dating did not ended up super well, and let's be real, ruined Akva's life for a year, but this time is the right time. Round 2 will be different, round 2 will have a happy ending.

Prev - Next

[hornyhermitry]

Concept: Golden Kamuy OC

Former mine worker now turned scavenger, Minna Bernie has grown a little too fond of Hijikata Toshizou, a regular for the custom ammo sold in the junk store she runs with a younger assistant picked off the streets a few years ago. Upon her father's death when she was still young, the weapons she inherited from the Prussian officer sent overseas to improve international relations made her some money, but not enough to sustain a long-term income. Being a foreigner with no social backing, she took to working in the mines, hidden from the public eye and where her shorter build gave her an advantage. Digging underground equipped her with good physical strength, but it also took its toll on her health as the years went by. In her mid 30s she stopped working in the mines and, thinking back to how well the old weapons sold in her younger years, began scavenging corpses of dead soldiers in the wilderness to restore and resell. There she came across an injured young man left to die by travelers who had hired him as their bodyguard because of his tall and massive stature. Taken in by her for a few weeks, he recovered from his injuries and decided to repay his debt to her by helping her build a little junk store. The short ex miner and the giant bodyguard became an odd pair of friends who couldn't look more different. Now having to sustain two people, and one with a significantly higher need for food, the scavenging was not enough anymore. Minna eventually managed to strike a deal with the local coffin-maker to give him a share of her sales for him letting her ransack through his "clients'" belongings before he puts them underground, thereby unlocking a guaranteed a solid supply of goods to process, work up and put up again for sale, even if it was for a fee. Stuck with chronic lung issues and an eyesight bad from working around coal and black powder all her life, she spends the majority of her days tending to restoring the scavenged goods, but loves to go a little wild sometimes. Jesting about being blind to his age because of her bad eyesight, Minna enjoys a little banter with the former vice commander of the Shinsengumi and seeing him a regular in her shop due to her fair rates and the custom supplies she makes for him. Because of that, there's nothing to spice up her day like old man Hijikata occasionally dropping by for a little chat but ultimately inviting her along to go on a little job together where they can test her goods but she can also strip the bodies for a restock.

Some day I'm gonna polish this enough to put it out as a fic, but not this day🤠 Anyway, the two of them were beautifully drawn and pulled into reality by @http_ne0

[saltycharacters]

Oogh Lovin Baizel and the species concept! What does their diet consist of? Is there any way for them to avoid what happens to them over time? Do the hearts work like- if 1 stops it's ok bc there's others or if 1 stops they all stop?

SO glad you like my silly n weird ideas :""] Regarding the hearts question, it depends on how long they've grown at the time and which heart gives out, the front one / further back / etc - the reason they have so many hearts in the first place is to help pump blood throughout such a massive body. And the longer they get, the more work has to be put into that. So, if they're around 20-30 ish years old or less, they can probably survive a heart or two dying on them because the other hearts can pick up the slack (although the extra strain can promote further heart failure). But with each added foot, the amount of work/ importance each heart is deligated increases, and that makes it much harder to recover from a failure.

Essentially, at some point each heart has to mantain a body section alone and if that stops, then there's a domino effect that affects every heart preceding it since the blood exchange from section to section halted. If this happens though, there's a chance of survival if the hearts near the front/head are ok, as cutting off blood flow to the brain is definetly fatal. The other sections will die off but, as the hyperfauna weasels are literally predestined to have that happen at some point in their lives, it's not the end of the world. They even have systems that can function indipendently regardless of what happens to the body (cough cough. Waste disposal) so the biggest change just becomes limited movment.

For the question about preventing the fates of hyperfauna weasels, assuming that you mean as they are now and not by manually altering the entire species via selective breeding/ bioengineering, there IS. a theoretical way to manually stunt growth (also via bioengineering) but, it is VERY difficult to control the outcome over time, and without careful planning (like, what parts of the body are suppose to be stunted and what parts need to develop to survive? How to prevent this manual cell death from reaching something vital? At what age should they be stunted? At what age CAN they be stunted, before these alterations become harder to induce? etc) it can result in a load of problems that make their life over time a miserable one (or just kill them straight off).

Also, hyperfauna weasels are notorious for being difficult to work with medically/bio-manipulatively because 1] their skin is VERY thick, needles need to be long but strong enough to pierce them and NOT break on the way down (also few people can find their veins) 2] any effect needs time to travel throughout their entire body, which can take a WHILE (and depending on how long the effects are suppose to last, their former half could've already worn off while the latter is still feeling the effects [this makes anesthesia difficult bc it needs to be powerful enough to hit everywhere while not being so powerful that it causes heart failure]) 3] their cells are super stubborn/hard to change and it's difficult to intruduce new instructions to them, not to mention they're so hellbent on forever-growth that they're super hardy, multiply and die off quicker than any changes can be induced in them, and kill most foreign objects without prejudice.

All this to say they're a nightmare to manually bio-alter and your best bet would be to manipulate them at the embyonic stage, where they're most cellularly vulnerable / suseptable to change, and if all goes well you can artificially cease their growth after a point, but in terms of lore-reasons this hasn't happened yet. It's mostly because those who DO know about this species, at least by the time this kind of technology was available, just. don't really have the (cough. financial) motivation to do this. Bio-engineering companies are mostly about profit, and this kind of job would require bringing back a near extinct species (not impossible, just a chore) that needs a LOT of resources to mantain, monitoring over a LONG time to see if their alterations worked, and they'd end up with a lot of failed experiments that live almost forever before they get one that lives a reasonable, sustainable amount.

For the last question about their diet, they're omnivorous and can eat a lot of what normal weasels eat already :] although their portions have to be HUGE (even standing on all legs they can be over 5 ft tall, plus all that body length means a LOT of) so in a pinch they can eat most any kind of meat, plant-matter, even fungus.

[the-firebird69]

Yeah believe it or not off the clock and they think they're unionized or something and they're not really and she's a huge a****** to him all the time. So we're going to fire her. I'm tired of these people you're off the clock and you want stuff and that case.. it's supposed to be force yourself to do stuff and you never do anything that does anything like that this is horrible. Other people too same stuff in space after they're getting fired

We have a list of stuff to announce and one of them is we got to get going on the list now there are too many people are running around with idiotic threats are telling us about so we're going to get them and take out the threats and Max are and foreigners are they don't shut up for the price of nothing it's ridiculous and we are going after them okay is everything they mentioned there's a huge number of people who don't get it and I'm going to explain it to them

Today is a decent day there's a lot of people in line to take a beating and they won't stop doing it and we will make him pay for all of their last night and stuff today

-one of the things we're doing is when they come up and threaten him we are warning them with what the punishment is if they continue we are telling what the excessive threats punishment is and if they continue after that we will pursue other avenues meaning to understand and take their stuff and so far none of them is have passed it all and they say they've been hearing it forever and they're not telling the truth.

-another one that wear contouring very stiffly and penalizing them for are veiled threats we are not going to bow to them and we're not going to adhere to what they want and we're not going to do what they want and they just keep doing it and they're getting hit. We also don't like how they're treating him with regards to his home life they are ridiculous people and they don't have him in anything that fits or works right and he hasn't even grown and they're complete assholes and haven't gotten anything from it not even a psychological effect so we are going to take them to task and right now actually and they do not have concept of what they're talking about most of the time they are it's terrible bunch of people.

-the other thing that we are enacting and Max started doing was he is going around and forcing the law as it's written violated all the time and they are getting snagged for tons of stuff huge huge numbers of them all over Florida and it's continuing

-right now the clearing of the brush is complete to the south of home Depot and it's a very large area and it is about $7, 000 metric tons and I don't think they know what that is but that is a lot he says and it's about 7 piles 400 ft high I'm taking away of debris and it's being launched for use in the power plant and what happens next is dredging what's going on because the boats are out of the way most of them got out of the way and instead of their hands in their pockets the most part and really they put in a good day's work and it is a real reason and they're not getting relieved they have different crews but really they don't have enough so would you understand it's exhausting work here we really really need more people they are trying to send them down and they're coming down slowly and it will be a trial there's a lot of them coming down and what happens next is there are houses to be removed and lots of them it is a huge huge job and it is becoming bigger and bigger every moment because of people going out and doing their job in identifying houses that are to be removed it's Non-Stop okay the threats and the idiot stuff and we are moving in and pulling them out it is illegal and it is treason and you do get killed doing it by the way Satanist

-they're a few more things happening I'm going to get going on it we are filling up on all the stupid comments and taking it all in they are extremely obnoxious today cuz they feel they have an invasion that will work and they got the idea of the numbers and they do understand what they're spending and people will see that they're trying to get rid of them and it's the AI people and will be a big fight between them and we really really needed it very very badly

-as a matter of records going on and people have very bad records here they have criminal records and they're not making it they are getting arrested constantly and they're going to go to prison and they're going now a huge numbers to them by the way are going to prison in jail and they think that it's a good thing to mess with our son and they get to completely killed and really has not helped them other things happening

Check out and post some more

Thor Freya

These people are massive assholes okay these people are out to lunch too it's really awful what they do

Hera

So checking up on it and we're going to panel as people

Olympus

[seijorhi]

Cry-Baby

A commissioned continuation of this soulmate AU by the lovely @pokemonfreak666 - thanks for your patience, bby!!

Bakugou Katsuki x Female Reader, Kirishima Eijiro x Female Reader

TW non-con, nsfw, double penetration, rough fucking, minor mentions of blood, kidnapping

The water’s not hot enough. 

It should be; it should burn. The knob’s twisted all the way up, steam rising in billowing clouds, fogging up the bathroom mirror, but it’s not hot enough. You can still feel them on you. Everything else – the blood, saliva, their cum, you’d watched it swirl down the drain, sitting on the shower floor, arms curled tightly around yourself as if that was the only thing keeping you from falling apart and shattering entirely.

But the water’s scalding, and you can still feel your soulmates’ hands crawling over you…  their mouths… their cocks tearing you apart from the inside out. Why won’t it wash away? You’ve scrubbed and scrubbed, your skin’s red and raw but the filthy feeling won’t go.

And they’re just outside. Sitting in your bedroom, or maybe wandering around your living room, sprawled across your couch flipping through channels on the TV. Maybe they’re out there looking at the pictures that line your walls, you and your family, your friends. Fuck, maybe they’re in your kitchen, rifling through your fridge for a late night snack after fucking their soulmate six ways from Sunday.

You can’t go back out there. You don’t want to see them.

Is it awful to hope for some kind of horrifying villain attack or massive accident to force them to go and leave you in peace?

… Would they? 

You can’t imagine Pro Heroes not running off to do their duty, but before a few hours ago, you couldn’t imagine them holding somebody down and raping them either, and clearly they had no qualms about doing that, so maybe your Heroes aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. 

Then again, what difference would leaving make? They know where you live, probably where you work. There’s no anonymity anymore, it’s not like you can just slip away and hide from them. 

You’ve been in the bathroom too long already, you know that – you can almost feel their anxious energy seeping through the crack in the door. Too much longer and they’ll surely come bursting in. 

Patience clearly wasn’t their strong point, and it’s nothing short of a miracle they let you come in and shower alone. Kirishima at least had been more than eager to come join you, grinning widely and tugging you by the arm towards the bathroom– it’d been Bakugou, watching you pale and flinch through red, unreadable eyes who’d reined him back in. 

Maybe he saw how scared you were, how fragile the thread that was holding you together was. Maybe he thought that gifting you these precious minutes alone after what they did would in any way come close to starting to mend the damage they’d just wrought. 

Maybe he just hadn’t cared enough beyond getting his dick wet. 

You’d grown up thinking your soulmates would make you happy, love you in a way that nobody else ever could. The possibility of ever deliberately hurting them seemed like such a foreign and uncomfortable concept to you. But obviously they didn’t care enough about your feelings or your lack of consent to stop them from forcing themselves onto you, maybe you were nothing but an object to them. Something to take and fuck, because naturally you were made for them.

What did it matter if you didn’t want it? 

Your eyes drift down to the timers on your wrists, run down to zero. A quaking sob rips from your throat and you bite down harshly on your bottom lip to stifle it. 

“Why am I even here? In less than an hour you’re gonna meet them, and what am I supposed to do then, hmm?” your friend had asked with a laugh. “Be the world’s most awkward fourth wheel?”

You’d laughed with her, knocking your shoulders against hers with a fond little smile, “Well if they’re gonna be in my life for the long haul, don't you think it’s important that they meet the person who matters to me the most right off the bat?”

You’re terrified of going back out there and facing them, but what other option do you have? The only window in the bathroom is too high and too small to squeeze through, and even if you could, getting an apartment on the seventh floor had seemed like a great idea at the time, but it doesn’t exactly lend itself to an easy getaway. 

The flimsy lock on the bathroom door is all that’s keeping them out – with their strength it’s hardly much of a barrier at all, but it’s all you have.

Here in your bathroom, under the scalding water, you’re safe. They can’t hurt you.

You’d like to think that now they’ve gotten what they wanted, now that they know that you can’t run and their reputations can’t be tarnished, they’ll go. And there’s a little voice inside your head that tells you it’s a stupid, foolish hope. You know that the moment you set foot outside that door, things’ll never be the same again.

A few years back, you read an article on some tabloid website about an up and coming Hero who’d disappeared out of the blue after joining Hawks’ agency as an intern. Supposedly, they were soulmates, and once the Pro realised it, he’d swooped her up and taken her to some secret safe house to hide her away from the rest of the world, supposedly ‘for her own protection’. It was all rumours, of course. No way for them to actually prove the theory – and no one actually cared about some missing, low level Hero at the end of the day. It was news for a week and then everybody moved on.

Are they gonna do the same thing to you?

Spirit you away to some hideout where they can keep you all to themselves – so they can fuck you whenever they want without having to worry about you running off? You’ll never see your family again, or your friends… they’ll be your entire world, and just like that intern, everybody else will forget you ever existed.

Or maybe they’ll be satisfied enough just forcing themselves into your life, letting you go back to your job, your boring, mundane nine to five, never knowing when they’re going to pop up and take what they want. They’ll come over and play house, acting as if this is a normal relationship, waiting for you to come around and accept them. 

Love them. 

The thoughts makes bile rise in your throat. Your entire body aches from inside out. There’s bitemarks and bruises littering your skin, marks that won’t fade for days… you can’t let them do this to you again.

As if they can hear your panicked thoughts, a knock sounds on the bathroom door, and your heart clenches.

“Hey, babe?” Kirishima calls out, “You okay? You’ve kinda been in there a while…” 

That same voice, chanting breathlessly above you, “I love you, I love you– f-fuck– I love you!”

Panic, cloying and sharp tears at you. You try to answer, tell him to leave you alone, that you need more time, but the words catch in your throat and all that comes out is a pitiful squeak and he knocks again, louder, more insistent and it’s too much.

They're gonna break down the door and hurt you again. Hot tears well up and spill down your cheeks with an audible sob, and you clutch at yourself tighter, willing them away–

“Babe? Talk to us, sweetheart, you’re making us worried.”

The door handle jiggles insistently, and you bury your face between your knees breathing rapidly, they’re gonna break it down, they’re gonna break it down, they’re gonna–

“Move, Kiri,” Bakugou snaps.

You don’t register the snap of the lock breaking or the frantic footsteps that approach, the harsh sound of your heaving gasps drowning out all else. Then suddenly there’s strong, muscular arms pulling you out from the water with a muffled curse.

It’s Kirishima who’s holding you, you realise as a flash of blond darts back behind you to turn the shower off. And it’s suffocating, the way he clutches at you, big hands running along your back, pulling you closer, holding you tighter, words of comfort you can’t hear over the pounding of your own heart spilling from his lips. 

And then Bakugou’s face is filling your vision, the scowl on his face growing more pronounced as he studies you – shaking, teary, eyes wide and swimming with fear– 

Something inside of you just gives and you don’t fight it when the darkness swallows you whole.

—

When you come to, you’re lying on something soft – a bed, you realise, but not your own. There’s an arm slung over your waist; corded with muscles, tan, covered in fine, golden hair and faint white scars; Bakugou’s.

Which means that the warm breath gently tickling at your neck must belong to him as well. 

You’re not naked at least; a quick glance down at your body revealing they’d dressed you in one of your old tees and a pair of panties. You’re not sure whether that observation is supposed to calm or unnerve you; you’d rather be clothed than not, but the thought of your soulmates rifling through your things, dressing you while you were unconscious… is not a pleasant one. 

“You’re awake.” It’s an observation, not a question.  His voice is gruff, an edge of sleepiness clinging to the words, but it lacks the heat you’ve come to expect from the explosive Hero. He sounds comfortable almost – at least that’s the sense you get as his face presses up against the nape of your neck, his arm drawing you closer with a low groan.

Still, you haven’t uttered a sound. 

It feels surreal, lying there in your captor’s arms – and he is your captor, soulmate or no, there’s no denying that fact anymore. There’s a part of you that realises that you should be panicking, kicking scratching and clawing because you don’t know where you are, but it’s certainly not your apartment and you definitely don’t want him touching you after what he’s already put you through. 

But rather than the sheer, unrelenting panic that had gripped you before, it’s just… nothing. Dormant, lying simmering just below the surface, and you’re almost scared to draw breath, to shatter the sweet, tender facade between the two of you.

There’s no point in asking where you are, no point in demanding he let you go. They’ve shown you that what you want doesn’t matter here, so instead you ask the obvious question.

“Where’s Kirishima?”

Bakugou grunts, burrowing himself closer. It’s not cold in the room, but his bare skin burns like a furnace, just on the wrong side of comfortable. “Makin’ breakfast.”

Breakfast. 

You swallow tightly, but Bakugou isn’t done. 

“Scared the shit out of us, fainting like that,” he scoffs. “Should’a fuckin’ known you’d need us to come take care of you.”

His fingers, resting over your stomach, dip lower, sliding roughly beneath the hem of your panties as he grinds his hips along your ass. He’s hard already, you can feel every inch of it, long and thick pressing insistently up against you. 

Shame and indignation flare up like a match struck, but before you can even open your mouth to snap a retort, Bakugou yanks his hand out of your underwear to stuff his fingers inside your mouth.

Your first instinct is to bite down, but the blond at your back just growls, “Suck,” and you’re not stupid enough to think that hurting him (or trying to at least) is going to stop what’s about to happen.

Or maybe you’re just scared to test exactly how far you can push them before they really hurt you. 

Obediently, your tongue swirls around his thick digits, hollowing out your cheeks and earning a grunt of appreciation from your soulmate. 

“Always thought that my soulmate was gonna be someone strong,” he mutters, his hips still rocking up against yours. “Somebody who could keep up with Kiri ‘n me, hold their own in a fight. Never thought you’d be some weak as shit, quirkless little cry-baby.”

It stings more than it has any right to. 

Slowly, his fingers slide from your lips, a long, thin glistening strand of saliva connecting the two. It’s hard to fight the whine that escapes you as they return to your pussy, angrily shoving aside your panties before thinking better of it and ripping them off of you completely. The warm puff of breath that ghosts across your skin sends shivers down your spine, and though you can’t see his face when he speaks next you can tell that he’s grinning.

“But fuck, sweetheart, you’re goddamn perfect – everythin’ we didn’t know we needed.”

He kisses you as his index and middle fingers plunge eagerly into your cunt, not the rough, biting kisses he’d gifted you with the night before, no. These are almost tender, sweet – or at least as sweet as a monster like Bakugou is capable of – entirely at odds with way his calloused fingers curl inside of you, fucking you, stretching you out while he cruelly thumbs at your clit.

Katsuki wants you strung out and whining for him. For Kirishima.

He wants you helpless.

“We’re gonna keep you nice ‘n safe, baby. Won’t have to worry about a goddamn fucking thing ‘cept keepin’ your soulmates happy.”

It sounds more like the passing of a sentence than a reassurance, but you can’t tell him that you don’t want this. He knows – he has to by now. He just doesn't care.

You don’t hear it when Kiri comes back, not when Bakugou’s sucking at your neck, your pussy throbbing with need as his fingers drive relentlessly into you, hitting your g-spot with every flick of his wrist.

You might not have noticed the redhead lingering in the doorway, his cock tenting in his pants, eyes dark and glazed over as he watches the show unfolding before him, but Bakugou certainly does.

“Oi, shitty hair. You just gonna stand there and watch or are you actually gonna fucking do something?” His voice is rough and a little breathless, closer to a growl than speech – it makes your gut clench, a shiver run down along your spine.

When your eyes finally do meet Kirishima’s, your heart squeezes, your stomach flipping. Kirishima’s staring at you like a wolf readying itself to pounce, like he wants to devour every inch of you and savour the taste.

He grins widely, pink tongue darting out to lick his lips.

Bakugou’s the one with the bad reputation – as explosive as his quirk, brash at the best of times and overly aggressive even with his friends – you have every reason to be terrified of him, even before he broke into your home to take you. 

Kirishima might be kinder, gentler with his touches (at least, he tries to be), but you’re a fool if you think you’re any safer with the redhead. 

“Thought you said you were gonna wait,” he says, advancing towards the two of you as he kicks out of his shorts, but the grin on his face doesn’t waver for a second. He’s not nearly as put out as he pretends. “I could hear the pretty little thing moaning all the way in the kitchen.”

Shame would be enough to flood your cheeks with heat, but it’s the sight of Kiri’s cock, flushed an angry red, veiny and thick, hanging heavy between his muscular thighs that does the job. The spit in your mouth dries, your heart thumping unevenly even as pleasure pools in your gut courtesy of Bakugou’s attention. You let out a sharp shriek as he quickens his pace, one hand reaching to grab at his wrist, the other clutching desperately for purchase at the bedsheets, but it’s not enough. 

Heat burns at your core, and unwittingly, you find your hips bucking up against him, fervently searching for more.

At your back, the blond chuckles, you feel the deep vibrations echoing through your chest, “Yeah, well you were taking too long.” 

There might be more that he says, but at that moment he slides a third finger into your dripping cunt, calloused fingertips slamming against your tight, gummy walls and you’re robbed of the ability to think. 

Your first orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, the building pleasure snapping like an elastic band stretched too far. A strangled moan slips out of your lips, and you don’t even notice the teeth sinking into your shoulder, Bakugou once more staking his claim as you cum for him. You quiver and quake in his grip, your cunt tightening around his digits and sucking them in further with a lewd squelching sound that you might be more embarrassed about if you could focus on anything but the pleasurable aftershocks of your peak.

All the while, Kirishima drinks you in, salivating at the sight of your drooling, fucked out expression, the syrupy slick that’s all but dripping out around Bakugou’s thick fingers, still stuffed deep inside of your pussy.

And maybe if he were a better man, he might allow you a moment to breathe and hurtle back down to earth, but patience has never been a virtue of his. He lunges forward faster than a man of his size has any right to, jumping onto the bed and all but tearing you out of Bakugou’s hold. You’re still reeling, panting and sore and dizzy with pleasure as Kirishima’s lips crash against yours, stealing what little breath you have left in a burning kiss.

Your attention’s caught on the way his tongue’s sliding against yours, trying to coax you into kissing back, the sharp, minty taste of him – you miss the way he grasps at his flushed, leaking cock, dragging it along your puffy slit. You miss the sound of Bakugou shedding his own pants.

You’re still weakly trying to push at his chest when Kiri slides his cock into your warm, welcoming cunt, his low, guttural moan lost to your lips. And despite Bakugou’s attempts at preparing you, it still burns, the sheer girth of his fat cock filling you up and stretching you uncomfortably. Tears sting at your eyes, a whimper catching in your throat as he hums in pleasure, grabbing your hips and pulling you closer, impaling you further onto his length.

Yet you’re not given a moment to accommodate the massive cock inside of you – not as you feel another blunt, flushed cockhead pressing up against your already stuffed pussy. Realisation hits a moment too late, your face blanching, your heart skipping a beat as panic – sheer panic – chokes at you.

You try to push back from Kiri’s embrace, only to feel Bakugou once again pressing up against your back, trapping you between them. You squirm in vain, trying to kick and push, fighting even as the blond’s cock, not as girthy as Kirishima’s but still far too big for you to take with Kiri still inside of you, starts to force its way into your plush, velvety walls.

“F-fuck, she’s tight,” he grunts as you arch up against Kiri, your tits, still covered by your thin, cotton tee, squishing up against his bare chest in an attempt to writhe away from the overwhelming feeling of fullness, the burning, stinging, throbbing pain between your legs.

But your soulmates are far from considerate, not even as you start to wail, your nails raking down the redhead’s broad shoulders. 

“Your pussy’s a fuckin’ dream,” he continues, swearing with a hiss as he finally bottoms out.

It’s too much, you feel like you’re being split in two. Every twitch and throb of their dicks, every vein, every inch of them is pressed too tightly against you, your walls struggling to take them both. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, oh god it hurts so fucking bad, but neither one of them care as you start to sob–

No, Kiri just kisses away your tears, taking your face in his large hands and cooing sweetly when you beg them through gasping, heaving sobs to stop.

“You’re doing so good for us, baby. Look how well you’re taking our cocks – it’s like you were made for us,” he laughs at his own stupid joke, and all you can focus on is the pain as he starts to draw his hips back, your oversensitive walls screaming in protest. “We’re gonna make you feel so fucking amazing, just wait.”

And it’s not his wide, beaming grin that shatters you, or even the hunger blazing in those crimson depths. It’s not Bakugou panting at your back, his hands coming up to shove your top up so he can palm greedily at your tits, or even the lewd almost feral sounds the explosion Hero’s making as he and Kirishima settle into a maddening rhythm, not allowing you a moment to catch your breath and steady yourself as they fuck you.

No, it’s the sheer, feverish love you can see written across his face clear as day, the softness with which he holds you, even as he chases his own pleasure.

This is their version of love, and you – quirkless, weak as shit and entirely at their mercy – have no hope in hell of escaping it. 

[sweetestlamb]

Try A Little Tenderness

Summary: Han Seo gets treated with kindness and affection and he doesn’t know how to process these foreign feelings. Also he gets a first eye contact of the mafia couple. 

Author's note: A few of you said you would like to read this so I popped it out real quick in between real life and all that mess, I did something like this for IOTNBO and really enjoyed that sometimes it’s fun to see a relationship from an outsider’s pov. I also saw a few people say that they ship our puppy with a certain someone so I threw in some crumbs because the visuals would be very pretty and good for my health. It has talks of past abuse (see psychopath brother) but I don’t think it’s any darker than the regular show. Happy reading! 

He keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, for them to realize that he's nowhere near good or smart enough to keep alive such less work so closely to them and listen to their plans. They trust him, he can tell by the way that conversations don't taper off if he comes into the room with another question about how to use the copy machine- there are so many buttons and it's confusing figuring it out by myself.

This first time he sheepishly asks for help after reading articles online and coming no closer to understanding the massive machine, he expects more fanfare; a slap on the cheek, a rap on the forehead or just a simple sigh and "idiot" that he would smile in the face of but the word would stick to his heart for days on end. His eyes were glued to the ground after his inquiry so he missed whatever look they originally gave him but surprisingly enough Ms. Hong stepped forward, he almost flinched as the hand approached his view but instead of pain he just felt warmth on his shoulder.

Guiding him with the hand on his shoulder, she led him back over to the machine and patiently explained all the buttons to him, even smiling gently when he pulled out a little notepad to write down the many directions.

"You really only need these three buttons this is the power button, but this thing is ancient so sometimes it may need a good kick." He jumped marginally at the loud bang of her foot against the side, quickly writing that down as well.

Really old. Needs kick.

"Then you press this button to choose the amount of copies, choose double or single sided and choose with staple and that's it." His eyes darted rapidly trying to keep up with her directions while taking his notes. It sounded simple enough but his brother had taught him that if there was a way to fuck something up, he would find it, naturally. So his nerves skyrocketed when she turned to him with a grin and said, "Are you ready for another test? Make 20 copies of these." She handed him a small stack of papers. 

His heart jerked in his chest and suddenly he was fifteen years old again staring at a test sheet and knowing none of the answers. It was hard to study with the fear of Han Seok barging into his room at any moment to do another sick experiment on him, once he had sliced his finger just to watch it bleed. He'd told his father that he accidentally cut himself while cooking and let the shame wash over him as he got a look that screamed that he was incompetent and pathetic.

"Han Seo? Are you okay? You seem like you're a million miles away." The pretty lawyer's concerned voice brought him back to reality and he could feel the stares of the other men in the room on his skin, Vincenzo being the heaviest. He really didn't want to look stupid on front of the man for some unexplored reason. He swallowed hard before facing the machine, feeling like he was going off to war.

He pressed the big power button, shaken when nothing happened but suddenly remembered his notes and with an almost unnoticeable glance he found his answer, swiftly kicking the beast of a copier he watched it roar to life and almost on autopilot he mimicked the motions that Ms. Hong had just demonstrated and watched in terror as the paper was swallowed and the copies were spit out from the compartment in the bottom.

I did it.

Everything seemed to be in order and the machine hadn't exploded. Yet. 

"Oh."

The triumphant smile that had graced his face slide off like rain on a windowpane.

"I messed up. I'm sorry. Please let me try-"

He was bowing before he could stop himself, shame a familiar friend at this point in his life. There were very little moments that he didn't feel a tsunami of shame crashing over him in a thick heavy sheet.

"You just forget to select stapled. But that's minor, we can just staple them by hand." She responded nonchalantly picking up the copies and bringing them over to the table, "Good job though. Next time you'll probably get it perfect right?"

It was pathetic. He was pathetic. There was no reason for pride to grow in his chest like a mustard seed, he had only completed a basic task. Something that even a monkey could, actually monkeys could do even more complicated tasks.  It was nothing to be proud of. He shouldn't have been smiling as largely as he was, they would think he was insane and kick him out.

But.

She'd said he did a good job. That wasn't a phrase he was used to hearing, he wasn't someone who did anything worth praising. He shuffled away back to the shelves that needed to be organized in alphabetical order, moving a large file to the front of the row unaware that there was an equally huge smile on his face. It stayed there for the rest of the day.

Working there was different from working with his brother. Astronomically. Nobody hit him there, even when he made mistakes. Instead he just got three heads over his shoulder helping him fix said mistake or Mr. Nam pushing his chair out of the way and taking over with only a gentle chide of, "Be careful next time." And it's clear that they all care for and respect each other. It's evident in the way that there's no clear hierarchy at the law firm, when they have meetings they alternate on who makes the coffee for the team, take turns buying meals and they are all allowed to speak and share their ideas without waiting for approval. It's nothing like he's used to and it makes him wonder if this is normal and what he's used to is...not.

It's enough to overwhelm him.

Then something catches his attention in the peripheral of his eye, Ms. Hong impatiently goes to take a sip of her coffee ignoring Vincenzo's firm warning against doing so and she flinches at the heat of the beverage, sticking out her tongue instantly after the first sip, blowing and huffing theatrically- something he's grown used to seeing from her. This isn't what shocks him though, it's Vincenzo's reaction. Immediately he walks over to the water cooler, filling a little paper cup before bringing it back over to her and thrusting the cool liquid into her outstretched hands.

"I told you to be careful." He says voices filled with exasperation as she gulps down the water, shooting him puppy dog eyes.

"I thouf it mould be cool enouf." She replies around her extended tongue and he watches the interaction with wide eyes, that only grow larger when the murderous Mafia member picks up the lawyers mug of steaming liquid and starts to blow on her coffee, his lips puckered into a perfect o. Ms. Hong watches absently as if this is expected behavior and after a few minutes, Vincenzo takes a sip of her coffee deeming it cool enough before handing it back to her. She takes a sip dangerously close to the spot his mouth had just occupied and hums at the temperature, shooting him a brilliant smile. To his utter surprise the usually stoic Mafia member smiles back fondly, before walking off to make a call. Ms. Hong watches him walk away before realizing that he's watching their interaction and a delicate blush blossoms in her cheeks before she stutters walking off to her table.

He glances between the two with his head tilted. Feeling curious.

Once he starts looking it's almost indecent how often the two touch each other, Vincenzo's hand never too far from Ms. Hong's back or arm and she never reacts to the sudden touches, no flinching or tensing up when a foreign hand is suddenly on her person. That's a new concept for him, he doesn't like surprise touches.

Then there's the fact that Mr. Cassano never allows Ms. Hong to hold anything, when she comes bustling through the doors with bags in her hand the smell of pasta permeating the room the older man is already making his way across the room tugging the bags from her hands wordlessly. He places them carefully on the table before smoothly dragging out her chair and guiding her into it with a hand on her waist.

"I brought your favorite. Authentic Italian food." She smirks up at him, opening the containers and he feels his mouth water at the tantalizing aroma that fills the room even more than before.

"It smells amazing! Where did you find authentic Italian food?" He asks inserting himself into their conversation and for a minute, he second guesses himself gearing up for a blow. But it never comes and Ms. Hong waves him closer, pushing a container of thick noodles in his direction.

"Are you hungry? Here have some!" She shoves chopsticks into his hand and watches him eagerly and he can do nothing but follow her orders, stuffing the tomato sauce drenched noodles into his mouth. When he looks up he sees that they are both watched him avidly, awaiting his review and he smiles around his bulging cheeks putting up two thumbs.

"It's delicious! Best Italian food I've ever had!" He stares excitedly and he's unprepared for Vincenzo's sudden glare, it's the first time the man has thrown such a look his way he gulps nervously at the unnerving sight.

"What- did I say something wrong?" He warily asks watching the Italian man angrily stomp off whilst muttering something indecipherable to him but that makes Ms. Hong smile mischievously, grabbing the container and chasing after the fleeing man.

"Stop being a snob! Have some, say ahhhh!" He can't comprehend the sight that he's watching, dumbfounded as the petite lawyer hangs on Mr. Cassano's arm and tries to feed him the Italian food.

"No! I don't want it, stop! Why do you keep bringing that here?" The Italian Mafia boss whines pushing her away but he notes that he never pushes her too hard, his shoves are very soft barely rocking her slight body. When she starts to chase him around the room, Han Seo can only watch in shock the behavior too childish for him to reconcile that these are the same people who have been thwarting all his brother's plans. Not even Mr. Nam entering the office is enough to stop their shenanigans and in the end it's Vincenzo who admits defeat, backed into a wall. Han Seo waits for her to give him the food and for this moment to come to an end. But neither one of them make a move, frozen against the wall staring at each other looking a million miles away.

It's then that it clicks for him.

They are more than just partners. 

When one of the various plaza tenants burst through the doors only then is the tense moment severed, Ms. Hong jumps back flustered thrusting her hand at his face and Mr. Cassano has to open his mouth lest he get smashed in the jaw. He watches amused as a grimace crosses the older man's face as he swallows the food as if it's poison.

Ms. Hong flies across to help the cute pianist that he's seen around a plaza a few times. He stares at her from under his bangs, looking away when she catches his eyes. Coughing loudly he walks away to do something important that doesn't involve losing his wits because of a pretty girl. Maybe he can talk to Mr. Cassano later just to ask about her, there's nothing wrong with being curious about your neighbors after all.

He doesn't know where else to go so he comes to Jipuragi, letting out a sigh of relief when he sees all the lights off. He pulls the key that Mr. Nam gave him from his pocket, still in disbelief that they trusted him enough to give him a key to the establishment. He had blinked away tears when the older man pushed the small metal object into his hands, it felt like a huge responsibility. Almost like he was being accepted into their makeshift family. It was far more than he deserved. 

Sitting down on his chair, he lets the agony wash over him. His cheek is throbbing, sore and swollen from the open handed slaps against the skin. Their stocks had dropped again from all the accusations and bad publicity, and his brother had once again taken it out on him berating him like a dog before kicking me out. It's nothing new, nothing he's never experienced before but it feels worst. Now that he's been around people who don't treat him like he's dirt, it hurts even more to go back to the old ways. He's so lost in thought he doesn't notice the door opening or the person creeping inside.

"What are you doing here?"

He jumps at the unexpected voice, twisting in his seat panicked. His heart rate settles once he sees the cool eyes of the man he's grown to respect. Vincenzo Cassano. He slumps in his seat, no excuses coming to mind and then it's too late and the other man is crossing the room and taking a seat across from him.

Those cold eyes narrow as they search his face, "What happened to your face?"

Images of his brother looming over him and slapping him on the ground flood his mind, along with his screams of pain as he pleads for him to stop. Then visions of a much smaller version of himself pleading similarly as his brother pulled his hair and laughed at his cries. He's crying before he ever realizes that the tear has condensed. 

Vincenzo tenses across the table, looking lost and uncomfortable.

It only makes him cry harder. It's so much better than getting hit.

Without a word the Mafia boss stands up pushing his chair away, stomping powerfully to the door. He watches alarmed before finding his voice and calling out, "Where are you going?"

The man looks at him darkly answering, "To kill your brother."

He gapes at the statement said so matter of fact and a bubble of laughter rises to the surface, making him chuckle through his tears. He rears back further at the other man's blatant confusion following his outburst, feeling freer than he's ever felt because this is the first time someone has tried to defend him.

It feels nice. Better than nice, unbelievable.

His heart thumps as he looks at the other man that he has every reason to be scared of but instead he feels safer than ever in his presence, it almost feels like what a brother should. A real brother not the one that he has who would kill him tomorrow without batting an eyelash.

"He's not done suffering yet. But thank you." Vincenzo shifts awkwardly at his show of gratitude never accepting of thanks something he has noticed while observing the enigmatic man, he vaguely wonders what this man has been through to make the complicated person he sees in front of him. Maybe one day he'll ask.

"Well if you're going to stay here, there's a bed up there."

Impulsively he replies, "Have you ever used it before? Is it really okay for me to use?"

He's met with a puzzled look, which he returns with a calculating one and then he spares a quick glance over to Ms. Hong's table and the gears click and Vincenzo is tomato faced and yelling, "Watch your mouth you brat! Do you want a beating?"

It shouldn't be funny with his face still throbbing from a beating just hours earlier, but he laughs so much his stomach hurts and that pain dulls the ache in his face.

"Oh my goodness what happened to your face?" He's barely able to get out an answer before Ms. Hong is jogging across the room, ever so gently catching his face in her small warm hands. Immediately he's reminded of his mother and he has to look away before he embarrasses himself.

He mumbles a lie about tripping but she's already sending a ferocious knowing look over to her partner and he watches their silent conversation with large eyes, until her voice breaks the pregnant pause.

"I can't wait until we kill that punk. How dare he put a hand on you? I'll go get some medicine, you-" she points to Vincenzo, "get him some ice before it starts to swell." The man automatically follows her instructions, looking like a dutiful husband.

And that's how Mr. Nam finds them, Vincenzo pressing ice wrapped in towels against his cheek as Ms. Hong squeezes creamy ointment onto her finger and smears it across his cheek. He blames his glossy eyes on the pain in his cheek and not the one in his chest.

It's his first time walking around the plaza and he tries to ignore the suspicious eyes that trail him, he knows that they know him as their enemy's brother and underling so he doesn't blame them for not trusting him, he would do the same. The clang of piano keys catches his attention and leads him to the source of the noise like a siren luring lost men, he watches transfixed through the glass as delicate fingers fly across the keys in a frenzy. It’s mesmerizing. 

He was forced to get piano lessons when he was younger, he was surprisingly good at it even better than Han Seok thus his brother became enraged and smashed his fingers putting a permanent end to his lessons.

The music lulls him into a sense of comfort so much so he doesn't realize when it ends and the small pianist notices that she has an audience.

When he finally looks up and catches her eye, he freaks out expecting her to look at him like all the others have today so he's unprepared for the door to slide open and for her to beckon him in with a crooked finger. He walks in almost as if in a trance, she's so pretty it's almost unnatural a supernatural glow surrounding her in her white flowing dress.

"How does it feel working at Jipuragi?" She asks suddenly catching him off guard, he sputters before taking a deep breath and looking away before replying, "I feel useful. It's....new."

That's all he can disclose and honestly it's more than he intended on saying but a knowing smile stretches across her pale face.

"Vincenzo, he's someone special who can make others feel special too." He smarts at the clear adoration in her voice, of course. She liked Vincenzo too. Every woman at this plaza probably did, the Italian was much more appealing than he would ever be- naturally charismatic and handsome, every woman's dream.

He smiles defeated stepping further into the space, running his fingers longingly across the piano keys. Something else that just wasn't meant for him.

"You like him too. It makes sense, he's really cool." He whispers, self deprecation swaddling him like a blanket. 

It's obvious who else he's referring to only Vincenzo and Ms. Hong seem to be in denial at this point everyone else assuming that they're already dating.

She doesn't deny his accusation. It's his own fault for having hope but that knowledge does nothing to tamper the hurt that rumbles in his chest. 

She hums before walking closer to him, fingers trailing across the black and white keys.

"I did. But they're good together."

He stills in shock, lightly pressing down on the key beneath his finger the sound vibrating through his skin. Then she presses another key that rings harmoniously with his and he can't not look over at her and he jolts breath stuck in his throat when he finds her already staring at him with a serene smile, "There are a lot of interesting people here though, someone else has caught my eye."

He plays the final note to fulfil the chord they started and their eyes never leave the other, music floating on the air between them.

Full. He’s never known what that felt like before but now he feels full of everything and he can't go back, can't ever go back to the way things once were.

There’s no looking back, only forward. 

[sofiaaaaaaaa03]

Teaching Din Earth Music

Pairing: Din djarin x earthling!gn!teen reader (platonic)

Word count: 1,151

Rating: G

Scenario: You try to teach Din about earth music during one of your trips.

Authors Note: Hey lovelies, I hope you're having an amazing day. Please remember to drink water and eat something. I hope you guys enjoy this, sorry it's a bit tiny :)

Ever since Din caught you listening to earth music you’d grown more comfortable playing it while he was on board. On particularly long trips you made it a habit to put on some music to make the ride more entertaining. It was really only used when the two of you were too exhausted from chores or missions to bother making conversation. You enjoyed it, really. It reminded you of your home and your time on Earth. Now more than ever, wherever you go you notice the absence of music in the strange, hostile planets Din takes you compared to where it always seemed to follow you on Earth, playing in the air of cafes, stores, restaurants, and oh the car rides you and your friends used to share.

A tight lipped smile spread across your features. You wondered how they were doing. It’s not everyday your friend mysteriously disappears, let alone getting stranded in space in your case. But you consider yourself lucky. You glanced towards the Mandalorian beside you, piloting the ship. He’s shown you kindness in many ways, and took you in while you try to find Earth. It was a planet Din was unfamiliar with, even going as far as to say that it was considered a myth across many cultures in the galaxy. It would have been a waste of time for him to go out of his way to follow a silly fantasy. However, you could only assume something about you reminded him about himself when he was young, because despite this, he trusted your word, and genuinely wanted to help you return home.

In some weird trade off, you taught Din things about your home planet that were foreign and honestly strange in his opinion. A world where a majority of its denizens remain on-planet the entire time? He couldn’t believe it. He simply refused the concept of social media and antagonized the habits of posting oneself on vacation. Something about exposing your location. You didn’t mind it all too much to be honest.

Your favorite thing to teach him was earth music. It was so much more distinctive to the music you heard around the galaxy, where saloons played Jizz like there was no tomorrow. It was good music, you’ll admit, but nothing was like the variety of the music back home.

The data pad Din lent you laid on the ship’s mainframe, “Okay okay. You’re probably not going to like this since you have the mentality of a 40 year old man, but hear these out. A lot of people my age enjoy these songs back at home.”

It was natural to begin with songs that were trending the last time you were on earth. Din enjoyed some of the more upbeat songs, like Tongue Tied by a group called Grouplove.

“This is what we consider a coming of age song.”

Din gave you a questioning look and you continued. “On Earth we pass our time watching movies, stories acted out by humans that are recorded on a camera.”

“Your planet has too much time on their hands…”

“C’mon Din it’s not like everyone does it!” You defended, “People do it for a job, and only qualified people can. Anyways, that’s not the point. Some movies I grew up with have a point where the main character suddenly grows up, not age wise but mentally. Usually it's through conquering a fear or obstacle in the movie, and when that happens we-”

“Put a song like this in the movie?”

You made a little scoff, “Yeah, in the movie.”

“I suppose… it does evoke emotions like it wants you to. Put on another song, maybe one adults listen to.”

You paused for a moment to recollect the songs your parents would play back at home. They had a variety of artists that they listened to, but you smiled and tapped the data pad to play a song you think Din may like.

It seemed that The Chain by Fleetwood Mac intrigued Din, who tilted his head as the melody began. You waited until the chorus ended to ask Din of his opinion. He gave a nonchalant shrug and claimed that it was interesting before asking you to put on another song.

“Is this really what people my age listen to?”

“Honestly most men I’ve met your age listen to hard rock, but it’s their taste!”

“Earthlings listen to a rock?” Din turned to you in surprise and shook his head. He took the data pad from its place and looked through the playlist you were making. “No wonder you haven’t been off-planet yet.”

You took the data pad back from him and stuck your tongue at him, “I’ll have you know that 553 of us humans have been to space, thank you.”

You tried a couple of Journey songs, some that Din asked you to write down for him to listen to later, and showed some Queen classics. You noticed that Din wasn’t much of a fan for songs that were fan favorites like We Will Rock You or Bohemian Rhapsody (You genuinely thought you’d get him for the last one. All of your schoolmates would go nuts for that song) , but he did enjoy other classics like Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, Fat-Bottomed Girls, and Radio Ga Ga.

“What were some songs you heard growing up?”

“Hm… to be honest I don’t remember all of them. The music all seems like a blur to be honest, guess that’s what happens when you grow up, things become a blur. Anyways,” You listed off some songs, making small talk about it but caught Din’s look of confusion and decided to play some off for him.

The razor crest was filled with a large assortment of music, ranging from ABBA to Harry Styles. Some songs, Din could get the concept very easily by listening to the lyrics while in others he asked you about its meaning. Songs about love, you’d noticed, were the hardest for him to decipher, even if the lyrics were plain as day.

After some time, you decided to ask him about it while Dancing Queen was on.

“I don’t understand,” You turned your attention to Din when he spoke, “If they want to dance with someone they should just go find someone. What’s the point of singing about it?”

You “They’re not singing about dancing with just anybody. They want to dance with someone who will be with them for the rest of their lives. Their special somebody. Y’know?”

“Hm.” He didn’t make another comment. There was nothing to fill the void aside from the occasional beeping of machinery. You wondered what was on his mind as you stared at the helmet that obscured his face. Come to think of it, you don’t know what he’s thinking even when he has his helmet off.

You broke the silence.

“Din?”

“Hm?”

“Have you ever found your special somebody?”

...

Tag List:

@sagedgeek @kiara-is-gay @jupitersmooneuropa

[thewritetofreespeech]

Words: 5000+

Rating: M

Pairing: Benimaru (TSSK) x Reader

Summary: You were husband & wife in name only.

AO3

The moon was bright & crisp in the sky over Rimuru. Even without your candle light, you would probably be able to see clearly into your mirror as you brushed out your hair, preparing for bed. It had been a challenging day.

Keeping Shion and Shuna from destroying their Lord with their love was a full-time job sometimes. Being the buffer between them was sometimes more than your poor human body could take; a fact Rimuru-sama was often concerned about. You usually brushed it off with a ‘better me than you’ remark as his peril would be far more of a detriment to others than you, but appreciated his concern. Besides, neither ogre-ess would intentionally hurt you. Worst you’d ever come away with before was a good goose egg from Shion swinging around Hercules’s willy-nilly and caught you in the back of the head. It was an accident, and she could have easily crushed your head like a melon, but Shion still cried for almost 3 days after every time she saw you in apology.

You chuckle a little at the memory. How wonderfully problematic your life had become in this past year. You wouldn’t call it ‘blissful’. It had it’s challenges like most. But your life taken an interest, wonderful turn that had led you to this life you wouldn’t trade anything for. You were safe. You were loved. You were a respected person when just some months ago you were nobody and nothing. How quickly the world turns.

A knock at your door halted the comb in your tresses and you look up surprised by the sound. “Who is it?” You ask. Curious who would be at your door so late at night.

“It’s me.” Your eyes blink in surprise as you hear the familiar deep timber of Benimaru behind the frame. “May I come in?”

You stammer out a reply of ‘one moment’ as you adjust yourself to make your appearance more presentable and told him to come in. It was embarrassing to have him see you in your night clothes. But if he was coming here so late at night, it must be important. Your husband never came to your chambers this late at night.

The title of ‘husband’ was in name only. You and Benimaru were not romantically involved, nor had you chosen each other completely of your own free will. He had saved you, along with Rimuru-sama and the rest of the Kijin, when they defeated the great bandit army that had been sweeping the east. Once just thugs of human and monsters alike, they had grown into a real threat in the land taking anything they please. Money. Goods. Women. When they came to your small village, they had burned it down and had taken you with them when they left. You were their prisoner and slave for nearly two months before Rimuru-sama and his band had come along.

You still remember seeing them for the first time. Bright and regal. A peasant before being a slave, you had never seen such fine strange clothes before. Nor the impending presence of the man in front of you when he’d come upon you.

“I claim this woman as my own.” They were the first words he’d ever said to you. Then he picked you up over his shoulder and carried you away with his band while the smoldering embers of the great bandit army died out in the distance.

 At first, you thought it was all going to be the same. One capture was no different than the last; though you were a little concerned about an ogre being your master than a human. But how much worse could it be? The last human captor you had had been a true monster. Being owned by a real one could not be that different. Or at least that was what you thought at first.

The ogres and Rimuru-sama had been impossibly kind. They tended to your wounds from your long capture. Gave you a place to sleep. Clothes. Fed you, although there was some debate on which ogre-ess’s cooking would ‘best suit you’, and treated you as an equal. You were incredibly moved by their generosity. They were even willing to take you home. And when you told them “I have no home” they seemed genuinely hurt by that.

You of course explained to them what happened, and realized now that you really had no place to go. You thought you would die in the bandit camp. So the thought had never crossed your mind where you would go should your imprisonment be over. You were lost and alone in the world. No money. No home. No family. Even if you left, who was to say you wouldn’t be taken up by another group who found your helplessness easy pickings? Or worse, going to that life on your own because you had no other choices…..

“You’re staying here.” Benimaru had announced, much to the surprise of everyone. “You’re my woman now, remember? I defeated those fools and claimed you as my prize. This is your home now. You’re staying here.”

There was a loud commotion from the group as they all thought he had been joking but, apparently, he wasn’t. While the energetic group argued, you looked at Benimaru critically and realized what he was doing. He knew that if you didn’t belong to someone, you could easily be taken by another. If not the remanences of the great bandit army, but someone else; as you feared. Being his woman, letting him lay claim, offered you protection you couldn’t afford on your own. “Ok,” you’d told him. Your soft voice somehow ringing out over the crowd.

Rimuru-sama had of course forbade his general from ‘keeping’ a woman. He said if he wanted to do this, he would have to do the honorable thing and marry you. It had been surprising how quickly he agreed. Then asked if you would be alright with it and you’d said yes. You had been married the next day, and were then husband & wife, and that was the end of it.

Your married life was that of about the same as anyone else in the close group. You weren’t intimate. You didn’t share secrets or stories. You didn’t even sleep in the same quarters of the estate. Aside from a few group outings, communal meals, and when he popped in on Shuna when you were around, you honestly rarely saw your ‘husband’.

Which was why it was so surprising he was here now, at this late hour.

“What is it Benimaru-sama? Is something wrong?” You ask, looking up at him from where you’d been sitting on the floor before he sat down too. His expression was placid, so it was hard to tell if something was going on.

“The envoy from Blumund is leaving tomorrow.” His eyes fixed on the hardwood under your knees.

“Yes, I know. He told me. He’s a little hard to miss.” You reply with a soft chuckle.

The envoy in question was a nice man. Tall, lean. A little bit older than you, but still a jovial person. Rimuru-sama had set you with the important task of keeping him company and being his escort during his stay. His immediate council in the Kijin were nice, but they sometimes lack the social grace or understanding of human culture. He didn’t want to offend the man and trusted you could keep him company during his stay.

“He’s rather taken with you.” Benimaru then stated. Taking you a bit by surprise. “He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.”

Your bit of surprise turned into full blown shock. “W…What are you talking about??”

“He wants to take you back to Blumund with him.” He repeated. As if somehow that made you understand completely. “He said he thinks you’re very beautiful, and charming, and that it would be a better fit for you to live among humans, rather than here in Rimuru with none of them. He talked to Rimuru-sama about this.”

“And Rimuru-sama told you about this?”

“I was there.” Benimaru stated after he shook his head. “He asked for us to severe our bond so you could go with him. So you could marry him.”

Your eyes probably bug out of your head now. Were you being proposed to by proxy by your own husband?!?

“How could he ask such a thing?!”

“Like I said, he’s taken with you.”

“That’s not the point! How am I supposed to marry someone else when I’m already married?!”

“He knows our marriage isn’t consummated.” His eyes finally look up to catch yours.

You feel your whole body turn red. Now you have to look away to stare at the floor. It was true. Your marriage wasn’t consummated. It had been something done to offer you protection and stability. It had never been about love. So you have never laid with your husband as he wished to respect your virtue. “How crude.” You mutter. Embarrassed, more than anything, as you were sure people knew about your unclaimed marriage, but no one would dare bring it up until now.

“Do you want to go with him?”

You look up again and offer a soft noise of surprise at the question. “Do you want to go with him?” He repeated. “As you said, he’s a good man. He has fortune, and power. You’d be a respected woman among your people. You’d be among your people.” Maybe you imagined it, but you thought you saw Benimaru wince at that. “You don’t have to stay here anymore. You don’t have to stay with me. You’re established enough now to make your own choices. You can be free.”

Free? The word played over in your head for a moment. The sheer concept completely foreign to you at the moment.

You’d never been free. First you belonged to your family. Then the bandits. Then Benimaru. Though you had freedom on occasion, you had never been truly free. And now that you had it, you found the idea ironically suffocating. You could choose to leave. Leave Rimuru City and start a new life as a woman of prominence in Blumund. But what if you didn’t want to leave?

“D…Do you want me to leave?” The kijin looked up at you again with a confused expression at your soft words. “If you want me to leave I will. But…I don’t want to leave all of you. I love being here, and being with Shion, and Shura, Rimuru-sama and….you. My ‘people’ have never been kind to me, so I really don’t want to go back to them. I want to stay here. We don’t have to be married anymore, if that’s the problem. We can still break our bond, if that’s what you want. But I’d like to – “That’s not what I want!”

Your eyes flicker up. Startled by the red Kijin’s roar and the burning fire resting in his eyes. “I don’t want to break our bond! I don’t want you to go with him! Do you have any idea how hard it was not to tear that man’s head off at the table when he said that?! I wanted to gouge his eyes out for saying you were beautiful! I wanted to rip out his heart out for ever letting you rest in it! You’re my woman, and my wife, and he thinks he can just say those things to me and live! He should kiss Rimuru-sama’s feet before he leaves because he’s the only reason that wretch is still breathing!”

Silence passed between you for a moment as you were completely stunted into speechlessness by Benimaru’s words. You had never expected such a passionate response out of the man. Until now, you were sure his only feelings toward you were ambivalence and mild friendship. The way he just ‘my wife’ to you, however, let you know that he had thought of this more than just a marriage of convenience. Your body flushed hot again as your heart beat hammered in your chest. “Benimaru….sama?”

“Don’t go with him.” The kijin repeated. Calmer this time as his expression seemed to morph into sadness at the thought of you leaving. “I can’t stand the idea of you leaving with him. When we first met, and I took you as my woman & wife, I will admit that I did it out of pity for you. You lost everything, and had nothing. I know what that’s like and wished to spare you. I thought that, after a few months, you would have a good enough reputation as the former wife of the Ogre Prince, Commander of the Jura forces, that we could break our bond honorably and you could make your own path in the world without fear. But, as time went on, I became more and more attached to you. Your kindness in spite of everything you endured. Your determination. Your desire to work hard to make things better for everyone here. I grew to fall in love with you and I couldn’t let you go. I know it was selfish, and that I’m being selfish now, but please don’t go.”

Your heart was still hammering so hard in your chest that you were scared you might faint. You felt like you could swoon at any moment. “Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?”

He looked down and started to fidget. “I was afraid you wouldn’t feel the same.” His confession less confident this time. “You weren’t really given much of a choice in our marriage. I was afraid that you thought of me as just another man who had taken you. If you didn’t feel the same I could live with it, but knowing was – “That’s not true!”

It was Benimaru’s turn for his eyes to flicker up and be stunned by your confession. Apparently you had more in common than you thought. “I’ve never thought of you that way! If anything, I’ve only ever seen you as my rescuer. You saved me from a horrible existence as a slave. You gave this life that is so wonderful. With friends, and people I can’t live without anymore. I can’t begin to repay you.  Or tell you how I feel….”

All these feelings and emotions were rushing to the surface now the more you spoke. You had always been fond of Benimaru. Your strong, brave protector. You just assumed that he wanted nothing to do with you. The distance he put between you making it very clear. So you had pushed your feelings toward the back of your heart. Forgetting them until now, where they crashed to the front like a dam had burst.

“[Y/N]….” You look up into the red head’s eyes when he said your name. Whispered it, really, like it was some secret plea. His hand then reached out slowly to cup your cheek. Those battle calloused hands incredibly gentle against your skin. You really might swoon at the juxtaposition.

Those burning red orbs look at you in earnest before they flicker down to your lips. A silent request. One you eagerly receive.

The only time you had kissed your husband before this was at your wedding. To seal your bond. That, however, had been just a simple peck on the lips to meet the contract. This was a real kiss. Your lips pressing together in committed passion. Intense, but both of you still too shy it seemed to go past pressing your lips soundly together.

“[Y/N],” Benimaru said again as you press your foreheads together after your kiss. You don’t ever think you’ve heard your name sound so sweet. “Become my woman and my wife. Truly. You didn’t get a choice when we first met, but I ask you this now to make your own decision. Will you be mine?”

Your heart swelled unbearably tight in your chest before you nodded against his forehead. “Yes. Yes, I want to be your woman and your wife. Truly.”

You can feel the smile on his lips when he kissed you again. More deeply this time. His tongue snaked into your mouth against yours. The way he was kissing you making your legs feel weak to the point that you were happy you were sitting down. However, if they had buckled, your strong husband could easily pick you up in his arms. A shiver racing down your spine at the lewd thought that had just passed through you.

“Aah…I knew it. This is why I stayed away from you.” Benimaru said, finally letting you go. Your lips were kiss swollen now, and you were having a hard time understanding what he was talk about. “Every time I was near you, I wanted to claim you.” He explained. His expression looking deliriously happy as he examined his handiwork on your lips. “It was so hard to even be in the same room as you with your scent always hounding me every moment I was near. I had to stay away so I wouldn’t do anything horrible to you. But then that was its own torture as well. Near, apart. Both were an agony I couldn’t face somedays. Now that I have you though, I’ll never let you away from my side. You’ve summoned the beast in me. I hope you’re prepared.”

A loud squeak left your lips as the sneaky ogre flipped you. Instantly going from sitting on your ankles to flat on your back. Your world righted again and was filled with Benimaru as he leaned on top of you. His expression soft but heated, making you blush, before he kissed you again. His weight on top of you now making you moan wanton into the kiss this time.

Your world was filled with passionate kisses. They steal your breath away and make you squirm under your husband. You then feel his hands on your side. Touching you. Caressing your curves. You feel them fumbling around for your kimono tie, unwilling to let your lips go for even a moment to get to it properly, and place your hand on his chest.

“Benimaru, wait.”

The kijin stopped instantly and sat back off you. His eyes questing into your own to see what was wrong.

“I just….I thought I should…I mean we never…I’m not…” You stumble over the words to say to him. To explain that you weren’t the maiden he might have hoped for. The words cling in your throat as images of your former life flash across your mind. You feel unworthy. Dirty. Then his hand reached out to you brush your cheek again. Causing one of the tears that were welling up in your eyes to fall against it.

“That doesn’t matter to me.” He said with assurity and a softness that could only be described as love. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. I love you as you are now. Not who you could be. My only regret is that I couldn’t kill those bastards 100 times more over for ever having hurt you.”

You scoff out a chuckle at the violent decree said so sweetly. You hand came up to clasp his own. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappointment.” He replied, almost instantly. Then kissed your hand as he brought it to his lips once he removed it from your cheek. “Do you wish to stop? We don’t have to do this now. I can be satisfied with you declaring you want to be my woman and my wife. Well….contented.”

You chuckle again, more light hearted this time, and leaned in to initiate your kiss this time. “I meant what I said. I want to be your woman and your wife truly. I don’t want to stop.”

A sigh of relief left Benimaru. The prince willing to stop if you wanted but clearly so glad you didn’t. You giggle and let him take you in his arms.

The momentary pause in your kissing afforded Benimaru the chance to undo your kimono tie. Loosening it and letting it fall, but not pushing the thin material of your actual robe off your body yet. You reach out for him as well to undo the clasp of his overcoat. The heavy material immediately falling of his shoulders, in contrast, once the hold was released. He seemed fascinated with your work as your hands untie his under coat as well.

“Your touch is like fire.”

“Is that a joke?” You ask when Benimaru growled those words at you. Your apex quivering at the sound, but still curious if he was making a joke.

He chuckled. Another shiver at your core. “No. But I guess I can see how it would be. I mean it though. Everywhere you touch me sets a fire in me.” His hand came up to take yours and slip it under his loose top now. Guiding it over the hard planes of his chest over to his heart. “I can’t get enough of it.”

You kiss again and continue stripping. There wasn’t much to let go of for you, as just before now you were preparing for bed, so you were quickly naked in front of him. He talked about your touch being fire, but his was burning you up inside. His hands were hot. They left a lingering heat in your body everywhere he touched, to the point that you wonder if he had activated his magic. You were helpless against his soft touches. Your body aching already before he even properly touched.

Then, when he did, your body became a livewire.

Your limbs immediately went taunt when his fingers touched your core. “Please try to relax.” He whispered to you in your hair. His own long, hard body nestled beside you. Holding you close.

You try to do as he said and relax. It wasn’t difficult after the initial shock as the pleasure made it easy to succumb to him. Those hands so skilled at fighting working your body with similar expertise. “Mmmm…Benimaru….”

“Ah…say that again.” His deep voice was in your ear again. This time sounding elated, before his tongue reached out to lick the shell of it. “Say my name again. Please.”

“Benimaru…” You repeat his name over and over again. His precious name he held so dear. The name Rimuru-sama had given to him. It fell from your lips like a prayer chant as his fingers brought you closer and closer to climax. When you did, it fell from your lips again in a shout. “Benimaru!”

He continued to touch you until your walls stopped clamping around his digits. Finally setting them free. Your spent body laid against him, and you open your eyes tiredly just in time to see him cleaning your juices from his fingers. “Ah…my love tastes so sweet. I could get addicted to your flavor.”

If you body wasn’t already flushed from orgasm, you would have blushed completely. Benimaru seemed pretty proud of himself, however, before he leaned in to kiss you. You don’t think you taste sweet at all. But the taste of yourself on his lips was something you could get addicted to too. When had you become so perverted?

He let you go for a moment and shuffled around to pull out of his pants. You watched him, in the soft light. His handsome body bare to you. Not a mark on him thanks to his skill and healing. Your eyes travel down and find the proof of his love for you staring back proudly at your face. You gulp at his size. That was going to be inside you.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s a bit bigger than a human’s, but I’ll try not to hurt you.”

“I-It’s alright.” You reply back at his concern. He had mistaken your gulp for a concern about his size. How shameful he would probably find you if he found out that it wasn’t from concern, but excitement, that had caused you to gulp. Again, when had you become so perverted? “I trust you. And I want to be with you.”

“[Y/N]….” He spoke your name softly again before he leaned in to kiss you. Guiding you back down on your back. You feel his weight press on top of you. Your legs spread wide around his pelvis to let him mount you. You can feel the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance and shiver a little at the lower kiss. “Please tell me if I’m hurting you.” Benimaru urged as he started to press into you.

You let out a wordless cry at the initial invasion into your most private place. You can feel your entrance stretch to accommodate him. The sensation a duality of pleasure and pain. And it was only the first few inches. Finally, agonizingly slowly, he was fully inside you. The kijin raining kisses down over your face and neck and everywhere else his lips could get to as you held on to him. His back tight under your fingers as he was very clearly straining to wait for you. “I’m alright, Benimaru. Please. Continue.”

You felt him nod against your shoulder before his hips pull back away from yours, then forward back into you. You both moan at the initial slow thrust. The feeling indescribable and compounding with each shallow thrust. “[Y/N]….”

“Mmmm…Benimaru….” You moan back when he said your name. “You can…go faster….” Not that you weren’t enjoying this slow entanglement, one could only describe as love making, you could tell that he was holding back and it was hard for him. “I..I want you. Please….Make me your woman.”

“I did warn you.” His voice sounded hard now, in comparison to the soft words he’d whispered to you earlier, and you think you hear the sound of nails scratching against the floor mat by your head.

His hips pull back again, this time practically pulling out of you, before they slam back in. You let out a loud cry. One readily identified as one not of pain. Then all you can do is hold on. Your arms wrap tight around Benimaru’s neck as he pounded into you. Before, where you had tried to roll your hips up to meet his thrusts when they had been soft & gentle, all you can do now is lay under him and take it. And become a babbling mess it seemed.

“Ah~! B-Benimaruuu! S-So good! Don’t stop!”

“I have no intention of stopping.” His words were stern. The cool seriousness of his intention to keep claiming you made your walls quake around him. “You’re my woman now. This body is mine. I’ll remind you of it every day if I have to. You’ve possessed me to the point of madness with this love. I can never let you go.” His tongue laved at the sweat collecting on the skin of your neck. Following it up to the back of your ear before his teeth bit into the soft flesh there. You let out a yelp, and call his name again, before you were cumming. Your nails biting him back into his shoulder.

“Ah! [Y/N]! Too tight. It’s too tight. I’m gonna-!” His hard thrusts come to a staggering halt as he spilled his seed inside you. Holding there before his hips roll softly against you as his cock continued to twitch its release.

He collapsed on top of you once it was finished. Your bliss worn body not seeming to care about the extra weight as you held him against your bosom and both tried to catch your breath. Rested, but not to say recovered, the ogre lifted himself up off your body and pulled out. You wince as he did. Those hard thrusts catching up to you, and suddenly feeling at a loss without him inside you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You look over to Benimaru, who had apparently seen you flinch, and was looking concerned. “No. Just a little sore.” He looked a little ashamed at that and muttered an apology to you. “Don’t,” you tell him. Reaching on to touch his chest. “It’s not as if I was really complaining.”

You both blush, despite everything you’d just done, still apparently shy about intimacy, before he slid over to you. “Are you sure you’re alright? About everything?”

You nod. Both of you laying on your side to face each other. His fingers caressing your cheek before moving down to the love mark he’d nipped into your skin. “Yes. I meant what I said. I don’t regret it.” You weren’t foolish enough to think that you were going to be instantly happy as husband and wife now. You were basically starting fresh. Starting anew. Though you knew a lot about each other, you had to relearn things and uncover new things as only a spouse would know. It would take time. But you were happy enough for now to at least try to start this new chapter with Benimaru. “You’re not going to kill the envoy before he leaves tomorrow, are you?”

The man let out a boisterous laugh and wrapped his arms tight around you in a hug. “No. I would never disrespect Rimuru-sama like that. As long as he leaves, I’m satisfied. But if he touches you between now and then, I make no promise on the guarantee he will leave with all his limbs.”

“Benimaru….”

The envoy, it seemed, was clever enough to take the hint in not touching you. The murderous aura & killing intent of the red kijin seemingly always just behind you making that clear. You decline his invitation to join him in Blumund. Telling him that the only time you would come to the city to visit him was with your husband. He again took the hint and left without comment. Rimuru-sama gave Benimaru a stern talking to about scaring their allies and ambassadors to their country, but you could also see that he wasn’t very serious about it. He seemed pleased enough that things had worked out, that you were staying, and his beloved friends were happy.

Ever the wonderfully problematic life in Rimuru City.

[battybatzgirl]

Hey Mr. Sandman, You Missed a Spot

AO3

Summary: 

It's not that Hunter doesn't ever sleep, Eda's come to realize. It was that he falls asleep sporadically, most of the time in really weird places.

Or: 5 times Eda catches Hunter taking a nap

Part 1 of the Finders Keepers Series

---

Here’s the thing about Eda: she loves naps. Eda likes to be cozy, so usually, that equated to curling up under a blanket, lazing around, and falling asleep. The Owl Beast shared that sentiment, the creature that lived within her constantly wanting to nest. Those animalistic instincts were weird, but when you lived in a house with a demon who also liked to bury himself under a pile of stuffed animals, you kind of got used to it.

Here’s the thing about Hunter: he doesn’t sleep.

The kid has been living with them for only about two weeks, officially replacing Eda as Public Enemy Numero Uno in the eyes of the Emperor. When he’d showed up on Hooty’s doorstep, all bloody and barely conscious, Eda thought it was some kind of cosmic trick. The Powers That Be had to be pulling her leg because this was the second time the leader of the Emperor’s Coven had shown up to the Owl House with nowhere else to go.

Luz had been ecstatic to welcome him in, apparently excited to finally fulfill her dreams of becoming a middle child in their weird little found family. King was less thrilled, but eventually warmed up to the idea of Hunter staying with them as long as he taught King his secrets on how to command an army.

Hunter himself even seemed unnerved at the thought of living with them. He tried to leave a few times when he was still wounded, but his little bird palisman (Rascal, she’s heard him say) effectively herded him back into the house by continuously dive-bombing him and nipping at his ears. And after Belos put out a wanted poster for the kid, making him the Isles’ number one most wanted traitor, leaving wasn’t really an option. Not if he wanted to stay alive.

So eventually, Hunter begrudgingly accepted that yeah, he lived in the Owl House now.

And alright, Eda isn’t heartless. The kid was lost, wounded, and an enemy of the Emperor. She can work with that.

Getting to know him has been a challenge, though. Hunter has a lot of weird quirks. He holds himself so seriously that Eda has a hard time remembering that he’s a teenager and not a fully grown middle-aged man. He hardly ever smiles. He’s jumpy, practically jolting out of his skin every time you walk into the same room. He’s clearly Going Through Some Shit, as Eda so eloquently calls it, remembering how Lily went through the same thing when she slowly broke free of Belos’s freaky subjugation.

But still. The kid doesn’t sleep.

Eda first notices it around day four of his residence. She’s up early to go to the market, stepping into the living room and nearly transforming into her Harpy Form out of pure shock when she sees a figure messing with her bookshelf in the back of the room. Wide maroon eyes lock on hers from across the room and she feels the feathers that sprung to her skin recede.

“Titan, kid,” she breaths, “You nearly killed me. What are you doing up? It’s Saturday, you should be sleeping in.”

“Um…I did sleep in,” Hunter responds, as if it’s obvious.

Eda feels a frown tug at her lips, “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

The kid just shrugs a little lamely, and Eda feels a twinge of concern in her chest. (And ugh, feeling concerned for a guy who dangled you over the Boiling Sea is certainly weird.) If this was sleeping in for him, he couldn’t have rested more than five hours.

She steps closer, taking a second look at what he’s doing. Half the books are spread out on the floor, the other half stacked neatly back on the shelves in some kind of order.

He notices her looking, “I, uh, took the liberty of reorganizing your bookshelf. Or organizing it, since it didn’t really seem to have a system.” The kid ducks his head, the tips of his ears flushing pink. “I- I can put it back the way it was if you want, or organize them in a different way.”

That’s another thing about Hunter: he always has to be doing something. Being useful. Without direction, he crumples. It was always, What do you want me to do now, Miss Clawthorne this and I completed this task, Miss Clawthorne, what’s next that. His brain operated on a transactional level—I do this thing for you, you do this thing for me. And since Eda was housing him, he felt like he had to constantly be doing things for her. Constantly proving himself worthy to be here, repaying her. Hunter couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that she didn’t want him to do anything except stay comfortable.

Eda has thought up a hundred different little tasks for him to do in just his first four days. She’s running out of odd jobs to give him, and if she has to keep telling him what to do she’s going to start pulling out her hair.

“You’re fine, kid,” she says. “Keep doin’ what you’re doin’ if it makes ya happy. But you shouldn’t be up this early. You should at least take a nap later.”

Hunter tilts his head. “But that wouldn’t be accomplishing anything.”

“You don’t hafta be working all the time,” Eda stresses. “It’s okay to sit around and just exist once and a while. Actually, I think that should be your priority. Take a nap, relax, go cloud watching, take a walk—any or all of the above.”

“That sounds like doing nothing.”

“That’s because it is doing nothing.”

His face hardens, taking on that soldier-like seriousness that encompasses his entire demeanor. “Being lazy can’t be a priority.”

“Don’t think of it like that, then,” Eda almost snaps, wishing for a nice hot mug of apple blood. It was too damn early to deal with the repercussions of Belos’s all-work-no-play mindset. “Think of it as acting your age. Did you ever get to take naps as a kid in the Emperor’s Coven? Is relaxing just a foreign concept to you?”

He doesn’t answer, staring at her with those bagged eyes and guarded expression, and Eda throws up her hands in defeat.

She leaves then, her patience running too thin to continue arguing with him. She doubts he’ll actually go back to sleep. He probably goes back to doing whatever he was doing with that bookshelf. Eda makes a mental note to tell King to knock all the books off, just so Hunter can reorganize it later. Just for something for him to keep him occupied.

1.

Eda doesn’t even notice the first time it happens. It was one of Luz’s friends, Gus, who pointed it out.

The kids were gathered at her home after school, spread out on the floor of the living room along with various pillows and blankets. Luz found some card game she knew buried somewhere in the piles of human trash Eda has laying around, and the girl has been spending the better part of an hour trying to explain how it works.

“So the Wild Card doesn’t make you turn into a wild animal?” Willow questions, holding up a black card with looks like a colorful pie chart on it.

“Nope!” Luz says cheerfully. “It just becomes any color you want it to be to go with the rest of your hand.”

“But the card doesn’t actually change color?” Amity asks.

“No, it only represents the color,” Luz clarifies, and Eda has to admit, her girl has a ton of patience. She’s been quietly watching from her place on the couch, half-listening to their conversation, half-reading the Isles’ latest edition of You Gossipy Witch, a tabloid where a writer is speculating about her true form. Apparently, some people think she was raised by feral, wild owls on some far away barrier island, and has come to reside in Bonesborough just because she ran out of mutant rats to eat.

Weird.

But entertaining!

Gus holds up one of his cards, “So are blank cards bad, or—"

King jumps over his shoulder, landing on the deck of cards in the middle of their little circle and making them fly everywhere. “I have taken dominion over ALL YOUR CARDS. All of you must grovel for a taste of my wealth!”

“Actually, the point of the game is to get rid of all your cards,” Luz reminds him gently. “That way, when you get down to one card, you shout Uno! And you win! If no one else makes you draw anymore, that is.”

King deflates a little, apparently put off by the idea of less is more. “Oh.” Luz smiles and pats him on the head, and he brightens up. “Okay, let’s play, because I wanna make all of you draw as many cards as possible! You'll drown in your cards! Choke on them, even!”

As they start gathering up the cards that King threw everywhere, Gus lets out a little gasp. “You guys—is Hunter asleep?”

That immediately draws Eda’s attention away from the magazine. Her eyes flicker to the blond witch, laying on his stomach just on the edge of their group. He was still having a hard time socializing, especially with Amity, but Luz was determined to include him in all friendship activities. She said wanted to teach him how to be a kid, and hell, if anyone could knock some seriousness out of that boy it would be Luz.

Hunter is indeed asleep—his face is mushed into the forearms pillowed under his head, and his red palisman has weaseled its way to nestle in between the crook of his elbow. His breath comes out in soft little sighs, and Eda feels something in her melt.

“Awwww, he looks so peaceful,” Luz croons, mushing her palms against her cheeks. Amity’s already scooched past her, snapping photos on her scroll. Eda can’t blame her. She knows a good blackmail opportunity when she sees one.

Eda’s off the couch and catches King mid-pounce. “Whoa there, none of that buddy.”

“But Edaaaa,” the demon whines, his little arms and legs flailing in mid-air. “I have to conquer him when he least expects it!”

“Ehhh, let the kid sleep. Save your conquests for when he’s awake and can put up a fight.” Eda sets him down in his place in the circle, and the kids all glance at each other before turning back to the cards.

She notices that they’re more mindful to keep their tones softer, probably to not disturb the sleeping boy. And when Hunter wakes himself up about half an hour later, they don’t mention it, seamlessly integrating him back into their game.

2.

The second time it happens, Raine is walking Eda home. It’s early in the evening, and the pair just got done with a fabulous date—a picnic with apple blood and sweet (and stolen) baked goods? Titan, take Eda now, she’s found her perfect match.

She’s still riding that high, not noticing Raine stopping until they tug on their clasped hands. “Hey, who’s that? Is he okay?”

Eda follows where they’re pointing their finger. It’s Hunter, slumped against the base of an oak tree, fast asleep. His chin is tipped forward and a book open on his chest, and even more strangely, there’s a small pile of leaves on his lap.

“Oh, that’s just my—” Eda stops herself, the word catching in her throat. Hunter was a child in her care, yes, but he wasn’t quite her kid. Not like Luz or King. The blond witch was still too jumpy, baring his teeth and snarling at anything that tried to get close to him.

He calls her Miss Clawthorne, for Titan’s sake.

“—Hunter,” Eda finishes lamely.

Raine raises an eyebrow. “Your Hunter?”

“He’s uhhh, one of Luz’s friends who just so happens to be living with us. Not a big thing.”

Raine shoots her a deadpan look but strides forward anyway, kneeling next to the sleeping blond. They keep their voice to a low murmur, “Should we wake him? That can’t be comfortable for his neck. He’ll probably be sore later.”

“Eh, let him rest. This is more sleep than he usually gets.” Eda steps closer, kneeling down on his other side. It’s the side that has his scar, the slightly raised red tissue standing out even more so than usual now that he wasn’t constantly moving. She’s almost asked him how he got it, but he’s clearly sensitive about the subject. She’s seen the similar marks on his arms, and something tells her there are a whole lot more scars that he’s hiding.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who gave them to him.

Still, it’s hard to ignore just how young he looks. When he’s stripped of all of his snappy comebacks, quick defenses, and that guarded demeanor Belos forced onto him, he’s reduced to exactly what he should be:

A kid.

“Oh!” Raine startles in surprise. Eda looks up to see the cardinal palisman fluttering down from above them, carrying a few leaves in its beak. It hops down onto Hunter’s lap and deposits the leaves in the little growing pile on his leg.

A smile worms its way onto Eda’s face. She runs a finger across the little bird’s head, “Trying to keep him warm, huh?” The bird lets out a trilling note of confirmation. She lets the bird be, turning back to Raine, “I think Rascal’s got this covered. If he hasn’t come in before nightfall I’ll come out and get ‘em.”

The bard casts one last glance down at the sleeping boy before they stand. “Y’know, he kind of reminds me of someone.”

“Oh yeah?” Eda weaves her arm through Raine’s as the pair reassumes their walk.

“Yeah,” Raine hums. “He kind of has the same build as someone I met when I was held hostage in the Emperor’s palace. The Golden Guard. Did you hear that he ran away from the palace? There've been rumors that the Emperor himself is tearing apart the Right Arm looking for him.”

“Uh, about that...”

Raine stops, turning to look at her square in the face. Eda gives them a sheepish, toothy grin.

“Oh my god,” Raine says. “You adopted the Golden Guard?”

“Hey now, adopted is a very strong word—”

The bard cuts her off with a delighted laugh. “How am I not surprised?” Eda feels heat rise to her face, but can’t help but return Raine’s infectious smile. “Only you, Eda. Only you.”

3.

The third time it happens, Eda’s passing through the upstairs hallway, intent on curling up into her nest for an afternoon nap of her own. She hears a shuffling noise as she passes by the glorified storage closet that they gave Hunter as a room, and can’t resist a peek inside.

What she finds is definitely…not what she was expecting. Hunter is laying flat on his back on the floor, his feet elevated on the little cot they’d given him. Yeesh, that couldn’t be comfortable. Soft snores woosh past his open lips, his face turned toward a crystal ball that’s playing some cartoon he must have been watching before he fell asleep.

His body is nearly covered in stuffed animals.

“King,” Eda hisses. The horned perpetrator is in the middle of dumping his entire army onto the blond witch’s chest, pinning down his arms with plushies. “What did I tell you about burying people alive?”

The demon pauses from where he’s been slowly arranging his army over Hunter’s sleeping form. “He’s got plenty of room to breathe! I didn’t cover his face,” King protests. “Can’t subjugate someone who’s dead.”

“No subjugating—” your brother, she almost says, “—Hunter.”

King squints at her, but then grumbles and starts slowly taking the stuffed animals off the boy’s body. Crisis averted, Eda slips back out into the hall, mind swirling. That was the second time she’d almost referred to Hunter as hers in passing. The feeling is too raw to speak out loud yet, but there’s a growing warmth in her as she watches Hunter acclimate to his surroundings in the Owl House. With every day that goes by, he’s more comfortable around her, around Luz and King and Hooty, and he’s starting to come out of his shell. He’s growing softer, less quick to snarl, becoming more Hunter and less Golden Guard.

Unconsciously, Eda’s started viewing him as part of their little family. Two weeks ago, that thought would have made her uncomfortable. Now, she welcomes it with open arms.

Ugh, she’s getting so soft.

4.

The fourth time it happens is when Eda’s flying home from visiting Lilith. She’s only been gone for the day, and is hoping that leaving Luz in charge hasn’t led to any freak fires, the resurrection of the dead, or other various natural disasters. Unfortunately, even her most responsible kid is pretty reckless, so Eda’s expectations are set pretty low.

It’s probably sometime around 2 a.m. when she makes it home sweet home. She swoops in close, intent on landing on the front door but stilling mid-air when she sees something on the roof of the tower. Even from up here, it’s not hard to distinguish the form of a looming body.

Eda’s heart leaps into her throat and she takes Owlbert down into a dive. Her body is tense when she lands, her staff already aimed toward the person lurking by the edge of the roof. “Alright listen bucko, you better step back or—wait.” She sees what looks like a lump of feathers sitting on top of the person’s head, and Eda squints in the darkness. She quickly pulls out a light glyph, sending the tiny ball of sun forward.

“Hunter?!” Eda’s tense posture relaxes. The kid doesn’t answer, and it takes her a beat to figure out why. He’s dead asleep, slumped precariously over the telescope they use for stargazing. Eda has no idea how he’s even standing at all. Kid probably had a ton of practice of falling asleep on his feet during long, boring meetings with the Emperor.

“Wakey, wakey.” She places her hand on his shoulder, gently, but he wakes up with a full-body jerk, startling the palisman on top of his head. The cardinal chirps once in irritation, fluttering to rest on Eda’s shoulder instead.

Hunter’s eyes are wild for a moment until he seems to register where he is and who he’s with. He relaxes then, letting out a yawn so huge it would put any lion to shame. “…Eda?”

“The one and only,” Eda says, ignoring how her heart squeezes at the kid finally calling her by her name. “Wanna tell me why you’re up here in the middle of the night?”

“Waitin’ for you,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. His eyelids drop and he sways dangerously on his feet. “Wanted to… t’make sure y’got home safe.”

The warmth in her chest expands and eclipses her entire body in that fuzzy feeling she gets whenever one of her kids does something particularly adorable. Thank Titan it’s dark and Hunter is too out of it to notice the smile that spreads across her face. If he was fully awake, Eda gets the feeling that A) he probably never would have admitted that he was worried about her, and B) would have snapped at her for smiling at him like that. “Well, I’m home now, so let’s get you to bed before you topple over.”

Eda wraps her arm around his waist and nudges him along, practically carrying him back downstairs, their palismen following close behind. She doesn’t mind. Someone had to make sure he didn’t fall off the roof.

“Night, kid,” she says, tucking him under the blankets on his cot. Hunter doesn’t respond, already having slipped back into unconsciousness. And if she brushes his bangs tenderly out of his face, no one ever has to be the wiser.

5.

The fifth time it happens, Eda’s gotten used to it. It's not that Hunter doesn’t sleep, she’s come to realize. He just falls asleep in weird places. Why, she has no idea, but honestly, the kid looked so tired all the time, she wasn’t going to question it. They had bigger things to worry about.

The Day of Unity is just around the corner, and Belos has become more irritating than ever.

Eda hadn’t even thought that was possible for him, but apparently, it was. The scouts around Bonesborough have tripled, their captains leading more and more raids, butting into shops to check everyone’s papers, and invading random districts.

Oddly, Belos’s priorities seem to have shifted. He’s still sending out grunts to round up any wild witches, but the guards have been playing a weird sort of hide-and-seek, going beyond just patrolling the marketplaces to actually tearing into people’s homes. From what she’s heard, the guards never take anything, just searching the place top-to-bottom before leaving empty-handed and moving on to the next house.

Belos was looking for something.

And unfortunately, Eda’s got a pretty good idea of what he’s after.

Said thing just so happens to be slumped across from her at the kitchen table, dead to the world. It’s late into the night, and most of the kids have already gone to sleep. Too on edge to lie down, Eda’s been keeping herself busy by concocting more potions while the late-night news plays on her crystal ball in the background.

Hunter, striving to be helpful, volunteered to stay up and help.

It wasn’t long before the kid slowly started to nod off, face supported by his palm as his eyelids started to droop. He’d been in the middle of mixing two ingredients—highly flammable ingredients, mind you—and Eda plucked the vials out of his lax grip just in time. Honestly, it was a miracle the kid never killed himself in the Emperor’s Coven with how randomly he falls asleep.

He probably never got the chance to sleep at all, a voice reminds her. She remembers how dead-exhausted Lily was during her first few days at the Owl House. It was probably safe to assume that the Emperor had a habit of running the head of his Coven into the ground.

Hunter has been picking up on Belos’s tightening grip, too. He’s been getting quieter, more reserved. He’s come to the same conclusion that Eda has: the Emperor was tearing apart the whole of the Isles to get him back.

Why, though, is anyone’s guess. Hunter has long since explained that his uncle always said that the Titan had big plans for him, and it probably has something to do with the Day of Unity, but beyond that, the Emperor had always kept him in the dark. Luz has a crazy theory involving clones and blood magic, but that sounds like it’s a plot point straight out of one of her Azura books. King thinks Belos wants his artificial staff back, and Hooty predicts the Emperor is just sad because all his Coven leaders are leaving him to join Hooty’s superior best friends club.

Whatever the reason, Eda’s made it pretty clear that she’s not gonna bend to Belos’s intimidation tactics and turn him over. That smarmy gold jerk could set the whole Isles on fire and Eda still wouldn’t hand him over. Hunter’s part of the Bad Girl’s Coven now, and Belos can just suck it. And she’s not afraid to say that to his stupid face, either.

So when the cauldron at the end of the table that holds the scrying potion suddenly begins bubbling on its own, Eda may very well get her chance.

She’s up on her feet in an instant, dashing to the other end of the table just as the steam rising off the potion begins to warp into a familiar figure.

“Edalyn,” Belos greets, his voice sharp like a dagger. “I do hope I’m not interrupting your evening, but I needed a word with you.”

Ugh, scrying potions weren’t supposed to work both ways! Belos was too damn powerful. He could probably peer into their lives as much as they could peer into his.

“Sorry, but now’s a bad time,” Eda shoots back. “Why don’t you hang up and call back literally never?”

“It’s come to my attention that you have something of mine,” the masked man continues smoothly as if she hadn’t spoken. “I’d ever so appreciate it if you gave it back.”

Eda’s lip curls back, feeling the itch of feathers poking out of her joints. She wants to shift into her harpy form and leap through the potion to claw out his eyes. “Sorry, Belos,” she says, dripping smug bravado, “We wild witches operate solely under the laws of finders keepers. Your kid? Mine now.”

Eda expects that the Emperor would very much like to vaporize her. “Make your threats wisely, Owl Lady. You have no idea what you’re up against. Everything will be easier for you and your little friends if you just hand the boy back over to me.”

“Fat chance.” Eda throws back her shoulders and shoots him a sharp grin. “Sounds to me like you’re threatening one of my kids, and we weirdos stick together. Going after one of us is basically asking for all of us to bring you down. Remember how well that went last time? How my human cracked your mask and publicly humiliated you during your big let’s-turn-Eda-to-stone ceremony?”

The Emperor looks as though he has some choice words to say, but Eda doesn’t care. Hunter is her kid now. She glowers at him through that mist, voice lowering in with deadly promise. “You’ll have to drag him back to your Coven over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged,” sneers Belos.

“Try me, antler boy.” Then Eda whacks the cauldron and sends it tipping over the edge of the table. The connection is immediately severed as the potion goes splattering over the hardwood, and the resounding CLANG of the bowl makes Hunter shoot violently out of sleep.

“Huh?! Whassit—Eda? What happened? Are you alright?”

“Fine, kid,” she says, swallowing down the rage that’s still bubbling hot in her throat. “’S alright, just got a little clumsy and knocked over a cauldron. Sorry for waking you.”

“Sorry for falling asleep,” Hunter responds. He grabs a towel and hurries to clean up the oozing purple goo.

Eda waves him off, “Eh, I don’t mind. You kids need your rest. Growing bodies and all that.”

Hunter still hesitates, looking at her for a beat too long as if double-checking to make sure she wasn’t really upset. Eda holds back a sigh, a twinge of pity flickering through her that he’d even have to look at her like that in the first place. All the damage from Belos couldn’t be wrapped up in a month, she supposed.

She snatches up the cauldron, still dripping with the ruined potion. Peachy. She’ll have to call Lilith to get her scrying potion recipe. Though maybe not having this in the house was a good idea. Eda doesn’t want to risk His Royal Highness dropping in on any more unexpected house calls.

“Eda?”

She looks up at Hunter. The kid chewing on his bottom lip, wringing the half-soiled towel between scarred hands.

“I just…I wanted to say thank you,” Hunter says shyly. “I know having me here hasn’t exactly been easy—not only because of the fugitive thing, but because I’m…” He flounders for a moment, and Eda can only pretend to know what’s going through his mind right now. “…me,” he finishes finally. “You’ve been so kind and patient with me, it’s so much more than I deserve, and no matter what happens next—”

“Hey, no.” Eda cuts him off with a swift and gentle beratement. She sets the cauldron on the table and crowds closer to him, curling one hand around his cheek. The kid automatically leans into the touch, and Eda can’t help but wonder how Belos could have ever hurt a child who was as sweet as this one.

“You may be one bratty little shit, but you’re my bratty little shit. And Mama says you deserve all the smothering that comes with being a child of the Owl Lady.”

Then, to prove her point, she swoops down and quickly places feather-light kisses on the tip of his nose, forehead, and his scar, until Hunter squawks and shoves her away. He’s practically glowing, flushed all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Gross,” he snaps, rubbing furiously at his face. “I’m never helping you with your potions ever again.”

“I’ll accept your terms. Now get upstairs, it’s way past your bedtime.”

“I don’t have a bedtime, I’m not a baby.” Hunter sticks out his tongue but obeys, slipping out of the kitchen and disappearing into the rest of the house. Eda shakes her head as she watches him go.

Kids. What could ya do with ‘em?

[writing-in-april]

The Melody Lives On

Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Seeing Spencer after so long apart makes past feelings come to the surface again.

A/N: Hey heyy 🥰 this is my third fic for my 1250 follower celebration!! It was based on a request that @imagining-in-the-margins passed along to me- if you want to see a photo of the original request it’ll be on the follower celebration Masterlist! It’s got vague references to the prison arc and is also inspired by Grey’s Anatomy 🥰 Thank you to @lexieshuntingsstuff for getting me back to realizing how much I love Grey’s 😊 Thanks for reading, hope you enjoy, and requests are open!

Warnings: Nothing I guess- unless vague references to the prison arc bother you

Main Masterlist Word Count: 2.2k

“Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. Dr. Y/L/N to conference room A please. ” Came through the intercom. I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria munching on crackers while reading a book that I honestly wasn’t paying that much attention to because of how dead tired I was. I couldn’t stifle the groan that escaped me, I didn’t want my first break in what seemed like forever to be cut short.

Besides the fact that my bones and muscles ached I willed my body to move out of my chair despite it’s very prominent protests. There was a line of attending that led outside the conference room, I guess I had been the only one they had forgotten to get the memo out too.

Karev then came up behind me with just as much of a quizzical look on his face as mine and the rest of the attendings- I guess no one knew why we were here.

The only hint that the rest of us got to what was going on inside was when Arizona left the room and said it was some sort of FBI interrogation before she scurried off back towards peds.

As the line dwindled down to just me and Karev with Meredith in the room my mind started to wander to the person that I knew that happened to be in the FBI. Well- I guess I didn’t know him anymore, it had been a decade plus since I had seen him.

Of course said person that I happened to be thinking about happened to be in the room.

As soon as I saw his fluffy hair memories came flooding back. He looked so different now, more mature. But, I could clearly tell who it was; it was Spencer.

We had met just as I had been starting my first year of college. At first I had assumed he was the same, a freshman. Then I had learned that he was actually already on his second PHD- which had been in mathematics if my memory serves me well.

I had admittedly gawked at him at first like so many had done to him as well when they found out about his vast valleys of intellect that seemed to go on forever. When I had asked him to tutor me in my own mathematics course it was for the sole reason of bumping up the grade I had let slip. That was until I had gotten to know the sweet boy who was almost a man, though his baby face definitely did try to fight that fact. Guilt had immediately cropped up within me once I realized how much of a fool I was to not want to get to know him deeper than just the ‘child prodigy’ that everyone knew him as. He was one of the nicest people I had ever had the pleasure to come across, plus his bountiful knowledge made conversations with him extremely riveting to say the least. I remember apologizing to him profusely that first night, that was the first time I had gotten the chance to see the true extent of how sweet his kind eyes could be.

What had first been a simple somewhat feigned friendship to get a good tutor turned into the closest friendship that I had ever had. That close friendship had eventually turned into a romantic relationship one that in my opinion rivaled any of the great classic love stories.

Unfortunately, fate is rarely kind to lovers and what had once been sweet turned sour. It wasn’t any one of our faults, I knew that. But, my blossoming career as a surgeon led me to get an internship in Seattle while Spencer was led to the front steps of the FBI.

Every time I thought back on it I bitterly laughed at the irony of us both being led to Washington, though they were different ones that were on the other sides of the country. I had no animosity towards Spencer and the last time I saw him neither did he. But, the memories stung painfully when looking back on them. They stung even worse when I was faced with the sight of the man who had stolen my heart more than a decade ago and had yet to give it back.

His hair had grown out since I had last seen him, it now curled more around his ears and was much fluffier. The color of his soft curls would make anyone obsessed, mousy brown that shined a little bit of a burnt caramel when the tops of his curls hit the light. He had taken to letting his curls run wild which I had always liked to see when he would wash his hair of the gel he used to religiously put in.

A new addition along with his curls was the scruff he had begun to let grow out a little. When I knew him growing out his scruff a little would’ve been a completely foreign concept to young Spencer. I remember him always complaining about how scratchy it felt when he even let it grow out a little. The scruff also used to seem jarring on his younger face, looking out of place on his boyish face. Now his face definitely suited the scruff.

He had changed a lot indeed, but underneath it all I could still see the Spencer I knew. His eyes held a darkness now that matched well with the fluffy curls and scruff. The darkness that deepened his eyes was attractive for sure, but I wondered what had made the sweet boy become so dark. There was a part of me that wanted to know this Spencer as well, even with the darkness, despite the fact that I hadn’t really known him in so long.

His eyes had been piercing right into my own as I took the sight of him in. Those dark eyes felt like they were reaching right into my soul and hooking their claws in deep to draw me right back into him. Though I can’t say I minded much, being drawn back into Spencer’s warmth sounded like something we may both need.

“Dr.?” One of the men that was in the room with Spencer spoke up to get my attention. They must have been talking while the both of us had zoned out looking at each other.

The older man that spoke to me looked like he may have been a bit too old to work for the FBI. If I didn’t know that Spencer worked for them I would’ve thought Arizona had been pulling our legs when she told us what this was for because Instead of acknowledging the other man I turned back to face Spencer and spoke softly,”It’s good to see you, Spencer.”

“You too.” His voice croaked and was hoarse when he replied. His coworkers looked extremely confused with what was happening, especially the woman with blonde hair that was eyeing me up and down. Though in her position I didn’t blame her, I’m assuming nothing had ever been shared with his coworkers ever since he had joined the FBI about someone that had been in his life all those years ago.

The group of us stood at an awkward standstill for a minute, I was unsure if I was supposed to say anything. I fidgeted a bit uncomfortable with a bunch of eyes fixated directly on me before Spencer decided to speak up to break the tension, “Um- well Y/N- there was a suspect that came here a few weeks ago to possibly find some people that would um- be suitable victims for him.”

I pushed my reminiscing thoughts of Spencer out of my mind just so I could properly answer their questions before hopefully snagging a minute away with him to talk. I wouldn’t lie, seeing him after all these years made my feelings flicker in a way I hadn’t felt in so long. And, it was really nice to hear him say my first name again. He was really the only one to ever make those butterflies in my stomach swell and sparks fly. I had even resigned myself to never feel those wonderful feelings of blossoming love again.

But, perhaps fate had decided to give us a second chance, realizing it had been too cruel to us by pulling us apart.

When the questions ended, which unfortunately I had really been no help to them- the only people that would’ve been able to help with the victims were probably Meredith or maybe Bailey who had been in contact with the poor people who had ended up as victims.

I moved to shuffle out of the room, though I purposefully lingered in hopes of Spencer pulling me aside to speak privately. I didn’t want to do it myself, he was on an important job after all.

My heart skipped a beat when I felt his fingers tentatively wrap his fingers around my wrist. Even from just a soft touch it was evident that his hands were not the same hands that I remembered. They were the same shape, his fingers were just as long and nimble and his palms were just as all encompassing, but there was something different in the way they felt. They felt rougher, covered in more calluses then I would think possible on him. The hands I remembered were baby soft as if they had been untouched by the world. Maybe the calluses were just from him handling the gun I saw strapped to his side, or maybe it was the same thing that had made the rest of him harder.

Even though he was an obviously harder- more damaged man compared to the one I knew I still wanted those callused hands to stroke my cheek again.

The yearning to be with him again had already flickered into a roaring fire just from seeing him with my eyes again and with one soft touch. I didn’t care in the slightest how much the world had changed him. The world had battered and bruised him, probably quite literally from my guess. I wanted to get to know this Spencer, even with the bruises he still filled my stomach full of butterflies and sparked my feelings into a roaring fire exactly like he had done so before.

I turned to face him, a little nervous that he’d tell me that he never wanted to see me again despite the fact that I knew he’d never say that to me no matter how much of a changed man he was.

“Do you want to get a coffee while I’m in town, maybe so we can- um catch up after your shift?” His voice was so soft, almost meek, giving me a little taste of what Spencer had been like and who he still was at his core.

“Yeah I’d like that, Spencer, just have one more surgery and then I’m yours.” His two coworkers that he had come with were giving us both looks like they’d be interrogating Spencer on the ride back. Yeah he definitely had never said anything about me judging by their looks I now cared to look at. I couldn’t blame him, the memories had been painful to look back on myself. But, seeing him now made them tinge with a little bit of sweetness instead of growing more bitter with time.

I pulled out my phone that was in my white jacket pocket and asked, “what’s your number?”

I had his old number memorized by heart easily even after all these years. It was as if I had taken a small portion of Spencer’s eidetic memory just so I could hold onto a number that after over ten years is surely not usable. He gave me his new number with a distinctly D.C area code with a sweet smile on his face. As I left the room to scoot over to the surgery I was due to perform I was sparkling with anticipation- I could almost taste the coffee already.

As I started my last surgery of my long shift, someone turned on the music playlist that I always had on a loop during my surgeries. A song that reminded me of Spencer was the first one that came on the shuffle. It wasn’t one that reminded me of the Spencer I once knew, but the new version of Spencer I had just met.

I focused in on the task at hand just as I always did. Cutting with pristine precision, I worked quickly but diligently. I wanted to get out of here as soon as possible, but I wouldn’t skimp on my work. In the back of my mind I was still giddy like the schoolgirl I had been when I had first met Spencer. I couldn’t wait to get that coffee with him- I wondered if he still liked a gallon of sugar with it. Our first song had ended, but the melody lived on- maybe the melody was strong enough to start another.

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All Works:

@shotarosleftpinky @oreogutz @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg

Spencer Reid/CM:

@calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes

[wevegottogetaway]

El Patrón

I’m so excited to finally be posting this piece. I’ve been working on it for the past few days and it’s been consuming my mind. If you like angst, smut, art student Harry, and great plot twists, this story is for you, so buckle up, cause you’ve got 13700 and then some waiting for you! And on that note, I don’t thing I have many words left in my brain... so, hope you enjoy xx

TW: smut, fool language

After her first day back to classes, Y/n is not surprised to see Harry Styles’ lanky frame standing behind the bar of Bottom’s Up. She hoped that he would bugger off to work some place else but alas, all her summer prayers were unanswered. For yet another semester, she would have to endure bartending by his sides, trying with all her might not to jab a corkscrew at his throat every time he opened his gob. Granted, she could have switched jobs herself, but the pay is too good to turn down and the bar sits literally right around the corner from her place; a match made in heaven if you ask her. Besides, she’s been mastering the art of tuning out the insufferable green-eyed prick for two years now, so what’s one more? Of course, knowing it is likely to be the last - having just kicked off the final year of her psychology major - makes the news easier to stomach. And with any luck, the fool did some sort of soul-searching over the break and came back a changed man.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her delightful presence again. Knew you couldn’t stand to live without me, y/l/n." Harry greets her with a smirk as he looks up from his phone. 

Well, some much for change, but luck has never been on y/n’s side anyway; she knew it was wishful thinking to entertain the idea of a pleasant or even tolerable Harry. "Shut it, Styles. I’m not in the mood for your bullshit," she quips back and goes straight to the employee’s locker room to dispose of her stuff and swap her top for one bearing the bar’s logo. Once done, she takes a brief look in the tattered mirror still hanging by the door to readjust her ponytail, before joining her co-worker behind the counter. The bar is rather quiet for now, clock having not chimes 6pm yet, but y/n expects the place to be soon crawling with students drinking the classes’ return off their mind. 

The next few minutes are spent in unexpected peaceful silence, y/n prepping for the upcoming rush while Harry idly sits by, not lifting a single finger to help her out. Admittedly, he’s completed all his pre-shift duties during the last hour, but y/n doesn’t think it warrants the smug look painted on his face as he watches her battle a jar of olives with an old opener and  a concentrated frown. So peaceful silence was a bit of a stretch, maybe.

Then to make matters worse he decides to taunt her, "I see you’ve grown zero muscle strength over the break. Too busy vegetating on the beach?" 

The surge of anger triggered by the provocation is enough impetus for her to crack the can open, but it doesn’t stop her from turning to face him, "I see you’ve grown zero neuron in that thick head of yours. Too busy making people miserable instead?" she counters with flaring nostrils and a look of disdain hardening her features.

"Ah, still got a feisty mouth on you. ‘Was worried you might turn soft on us." Harry sasses back, but y/n doesn’t bother telling him off this time. No matter how strong her comeback, he’ll just brush it off with that smile of his that irritates her to no end. That’s the thing with Harry, the bastard has the thickest skin of all, he’s downright unattainable. And believe it or not, bad-mouthing doesn’t come naturally to y/n, he just seems to draw it out of her, perhaps as the trigger of some kind of survival instinct. Time and time again she’s tried to come up with a quip that would leave him speechless, tail between his legs, but he always has a wittier reply to throw back at her. For so long they’ve been playing this debilitating game of ping pong and she has yet to claim a point to his countless wins. 

It’d been the case since their first meeting on that dreadful Friday two years ago. Y/n was about to embark on her second year at uni and decided to get a job so she could afford her own place instead of the dreary dorms she’d gotten used to. Bottom’s Up had seemed to be the perfect choice, a 2 minutes walk from the sweet little apartment she’d just visited a few days prior. She’d been excited for her first shift that night, air still warm from the Indian summer sun drawing a plethora of eager students to come enjoy their last day of freedom. Her happy jitters had quickly dissolved once she’d made her way in the staff-only area located behind the bar though. There, she’d walked in on a very frustrated Harry vociferating at a lost-looking colleague, "how many times do you have to fuck up before doing your bloody job, Steve? Stop sitting on your lazy ass, or I swear I’ll-" 

She’d come to this Steve guy’s defense then, furious at the tall curly hair jerk for bullying his way around, "stop it, you asshole. You can’t talk to people like trash, who do you think you are?" Granted, she didn’t know it at the time, but the lost look on Steve's face was in fact pretty standard for the amount of weed in his system; nor did she know that the lad could actually win the Olympics of lazy asses hands down, should such a discipline be appended. It was too late to call off the hostilities though. War had been declared, and aside maybe from that one time he had graciously accepted to cover for her when she’d had a trip to Brighton planned for one of her classes, no truce had ever been reached. Besides, she’s sure it was more so because he was low on cash rather than to fulfill the hidden desire to help her out for once in his life.

Now, as she finishes wiping her work surface with a wet cloth, y/n wishes more than ever to be teleported in a parallel universe where she doesn’t have to work with the bane of her existence, much less see his annoyingly handsome face four times a week. (Also, exams would only be optional in this alternate reality of hers, but that’s another fantasy for another day.) Mainly, she’s just glad she doesn’t see him around campus ever, the art building standing all the way across from the psychology department. At least she’s Harry-free the moment she steps out of the bar; she’d probably have a nervous breakdown if she had to put up with his antics outside of work.

                                                       ***

A month in the new semester, the novelty of it all has finally worn off to make way for routines to settle in. Y/n’s weeks now consist in a well-practiced cycle of sleep, study, eat, work and occasionally go out with her best friend Mia. Her shifts at Bottom’s Up still prove to be challenging because of the company she’s forced to keep but things seem to have calmed down at the bar too. Students are now less inclined to party the week away, mainly indulging during the second half of the week, but more importantly, Harry appears to be less of a smug bastard and more of a sulky sod. For some reason, the lad has been stuck in a sullen mood, constant frown wrinkling his forehead. He has reverted to distant one-word answers as though he is saving a dictionary worth of words for whatever conundrum is going on in his brain. Y/n doesn’t mind though, and almost welcomes the transition if it means less digs taken at her expense.

Now y/n finds herself on her way to the campus library for a much needed paper-writing cramming session (the assignment is due the following day and she barely has two thirds of the work completed). After a quick stop by the coffee shop down the block, she finally strides in the lobby of the library, ready to dive nose first into the riveting matters of cognitive psychology. She’s already so focused mulling over concepts’ definition in her mind, that it takes her a minute to realize something is going on.

It’s nothing major really, no big fire rushing around the premises or fist-fight breaking the crowd into a frenzy. No, just everyone seemingly hushing and gasping, bewildered expressions etched upon their faces as they keep pointing towards the nearby study room. Truthfully, y/n might have been completely oblivious to it, it she weren’t a psychology major; but reading people’s feelings and interactions is kind of her thing, so she does notice the bubbly energy infiltrating the usually quiet space. What could possibly have them so intrigued, she wonders as more students come out of the room with the same looks of wonder.

Her confusion is finally quelled when she steps into the study room in question and her eyes fall on what has everyone so engaged. On the wall to her right, between two sets of shelves brimming with decades-old books, hangs a life size canvas of audacious shapes and bold colors. Not one seems to have been left out, the painting seemingly transporting the viewer in a psychedelic albeit appealing trance. It’s full of contrasts, an embodiment of serenity and boldness at the same time, and y/n can’t stop ogling the masterpiece for the life of her. The amount of passion is so obviously overwhelming, yet she can feel all of the artist’s emotions underneath each of the brushstrokes.  

After another minute of wondrous observation, her thoughts are interrupted by a foreign voice. "El Patrón? I wonder who that could be," the stranger wonders aloud, and her eyes immediately drift off to the bottom right of the painting to catch the small but unmistakable signature: black cursive letter spelling the two words withholding the real artist’s identity. The mystery only adds up to the appeal of the work and y/n already feels a bubbling feeling in the pit of her stomach at the idea of ever finding out what beautiful soul is responsible for such mind-bending work. She hopes this won’t be last she sees of it. 

                                                       ***

It’s Friday night and unfortunately for y/n, she’s stuck at work with her least favorite person in the world. It’s all the more unfortunate that Harry seems to be back to his usual annoying self, his thoughts finally free from whatever trouble had plagued them, and eager to fall back into nuisance mode. Less unfortunate for y/n and much to Harry’s discontent, Mia decided to stop by and keep her company. Though she feels slightly sorry for her having the act as her buffer for the night, y/n figures she’s more than making up for it with every free cocktail she keeps sliding towards her friend. Their conversation is scattered at best since patrons keep interrupting them for a fresh pint of ale, but as the night slowly dies down they manage to talk longer than 20 seconds.

The manager of the bar has long clocked off and gone home, as per usual on Friday nights, leaving both her and Harry the pleasure to indulge in a few drinks of their own. They don’t do it every week and always keep it low-key of course; Mia’s tonight presence mostly accounting for y/n’s partaking while Harry just likes a nice glass of tequila when the week-end comes around and there’s nobody to tell him off about it. One thing they never do though, is drink together, like two friends celebrating yet another week they survived at uni. Come to think of it, the only thing they do share is a job position and their never-ending bickering. Cheers to that, y/n takes another sip of her gin martini in sarcasm. 

She’s brought back to reality by Mia as the tipsy brunette lets out a loud gasp before she inquires in a slightly high-pitched voice, "y/n! totally forgot to tell you, went by the library today and you’ll never guess what was there!" 

"Oh my god, you saw the painting too, didn’t you" y/n answers, excited at the idea of discussing the whole thing with her best friend. Truth be told, the majestic work of art hasn’t left her mind since she’d first seen it a few days before. 

"Yes" Mia squeals in confirmation, "I mean, it’s kinda impossible to miss. I wonder how they got it there without anyone seeing."

Y/n has wondered the same thing and she came to one conclusion, "they probably sneaked in last Sunday after the library closed, it’s the only time the building is empty," Mia humming in agreement. The campus library is opened 24/7 all days except on Sundays, so realistically speaking it is the only window of time that would allow for such an experiment. Whether said experiment required an actual break-in or was conducted in full legality remains a mystery but that is just bygones in y/n’s eyes. She’s much to mesmerized by the work to give a damn about how it got there in the first place. 

"Oi y/l/n! What are you two fawning over this time" Harry chirps in the conversation, uninvited as always, and y/n hates how condescending he just sounded.

"Not that you could ever understand something with substance, if your lack thereof is any indication, but it’s none of your damn business," y/n spats out dismissively but Mia’s Margarita-induced brain seems to have forgotten all about their concerted hatred for piss-taking bartenders.

"Harry, you’re an art major aren’t you? D’you know who’s behind that beautiful painting at the library?" 

Y/n tilts her head back in a sigh at her friend’s behavior before turning to watch the puzzled look on Harry’s face. He seems to silently gauge the both of them; for what, y/n doesn’t know, and then his whole expression switched to a blasé look. He shrugs in disinterest, "who cares? ’s just one more Banksy wannabe who’s trying at it too hard ‘f you ask me." 

Y/n takes it as a personal offense, her admiration for the painting outweighing any instinct she has of avoiding the brazen man taking a sip of his tequila on rocks across from her, "of course you’d say something like that. You’re just jealous you’ll never compete with his talent."

Harry raises a brow at her accusation, "and how would you know since you’ve never seen any of my work?" 

It’s a valid point, but not enough to rebut her. "Doesn’t take a genius to know a shallow mind like yours could never create something as deep and transcending. That would require actual emotions from you Harry and we both know the only emotion you’re capable of spreading is irritation." 

For once she’s confident she’s gonna have the last word, but in true Harry fashion he just gives her a bored look as if to say ‘is that all?’ towel thrown over his shoulder, "right, and here I thought talking to people like trash was a bad thing. You should really take a page out of your own book, y/n, wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re as big of a jerk as I am." Then he turns back to face the room full of customers, and tends to one disheveled looking guy slurring out an order. 

Y/n barely registers the friendly "alright Joe, but ’s the last one," Harry rasps out to the guy, her ears are still ringing from the last words he’d said to her. More specifically, the little truth they held despite how much he deserved the backlash, and y/n absolutely loathes the way her throat seems to be closing in on itself. She’s afraid she’s turning like him, bitter words at the ready and always trying to outdo his own taunting spiels. Before anxiety can settle in her bones though, she swallows back the knot tightening in her airways and goes back to serving customers and conversing with her friend.

                                                        ***

The next time it happens, she expects it even less. A couple weeks have passed since her gruesome interaction with Harry at the bar, and along with her doubts, all thoughts about art have seemed to vanish from her busy mind. She’s had a few tests occupying all her free time and now that they’ve been done and over with, all she can think about is calling Mia up to plan their next night out; she needs a few drinks that she didn’t make for once. 

She’s about to take her phone out of her pocket to send her best friend a text, when she enters the lecture hall of her Monday experimental method and research design class. The déjà-vu feeling that creeps up her spine stops her from completing the action, and y/n frowns at how her fellow students seem to be all entranced in deep conversation, exchanging baffled looks with one another. Even the sleeping kid that sits at the back seems to be more alert than during their last fire evacuation procedure test. 

It’s then y/n turns around to see what is hanging at the front of the room, covering the large board. This time, the colors were carefully handpicked by the artists, flashes of pink and yellow dancing along to a frenzied rhythm of salsa as their union creates powerful jets of oranges across the canvas. It vaguely reminds her of the pendant she wears on a daily basis, rose gold laurels wrapped around a delicate sunflower, an orange topaz incrusted in its center. The painting is of abstract nature much like the last one, but the movements of the brush still bring her mind back to the jewel presently nestled between her collarbones. How odd.

The piece is slightly smaller than the last but no less impressive, catching the attention of even the least artistic eye. The sensibility of the artist is so distinct, intentions clearer and more in touch than most people with their own. For a second, y/n thinks she’s glad the pieces have only been ones of unadulterated happiness and colorful bliss so far, because god knows how heart-wrenching the outcome would be if all this uncorrupted honesty was used to fill canvas with pain.

As the professor enters the room, everybody settles back on their seat, and wait for the chap’s reaction. "Well, that sure is something. It seems we have a bit of a mystery painter on our hands, don’t we; and a talented one at that," y/n’s professor smiles at the class as he pulls a computer out of his satchel and places it at top of the front desk. His words make her look back at the artwork, this time settling on the small signature reading El Patrón on its corner. And it’s all it takes for Y/n’s obsession with the anonymous artist to be back in full force.

                                                       ***

That night she can’t stop raving about the painting as she starts closing the bar after a long and tiresome shift. She’s got a shoulder pressing her phone to her ear, Mia on the line, while she absentmindedly sweeps the floor. Normally the exertion of the job would have her stifling yawns and her bones aching but tonight her voice is perky as ever as she recollects the pinnacle of her day, "you shoulda been there Mia, it was gorgeous. And same as last time, like you’d be minding your business, doing your thing and then boom, it’s there. Damn, this guy is a genius."

As she comes back around the counter, Harry makes sure she notices the roll of his eyes. He’s been wiping and tidying the bar space after making sure everything is stocked up for the next day, all the while listening to her drone about El Patrón and his stroke of genius, praise after praise falling from her lips. She completely brushes off the patronizing gesture and that’s perhaps what irritates him the most. She’s barely acknowledging him or his stunts with all her attention placed on the mystery painter and well, Harry quite likes riling her up. Doesn’t do it out of spite, but merely because he likes the way it ignites a fire in her that he’s seldom seen in people. But now, all her fire is directed elsewhere and he doesn’t know what to think of it.

                                                         ***

Over the next month, the rumors around El Patrón spread like wildfire as more and more of his works are found scattered around campus. Much to y/n’s delight, she always seems to fall upon them as though they’ve been placed specifically on her path. It didn’t start as obvious though; the first following pieces hung in common areas around campus such as the lunch hall or the student center but as time went by they tended to follow her whereabouts somehow. Y/n knows she’s probably fabulating but when she’d stumble across two absolutely stunning pieces in the lobby of her gym and at the entrance of the psychology building, she couldn’t help but feel deeply attached to them. And the possibility that this mystery artist might have the same attachment to her, only fuels her obsession further, sending her reeling with all but one nerve-wracking question: who is this guy?

And it’s not like she’s the only one pondering over their identity either. Hell, the genius has literally everyone on campus under their spell, trying to uncover the enigma of the year. Everyone seems to be determined to find clues, easter eggs hidden within the paintings that could lead them closer to the truth. El Patrón has effectively turned the whole uni into a large-scale game of Cluedo, people speculating left and right and swapping theories about who it can or cannot be, what year they are probably in, or whether they have an accomplice. Nobody has ever executed such a tour de force in the history of campus, and it has everyone one edge, y/n included, desperate to be in the loop.

The fact that each painting is more beautiful than the last and always seems to connect with her in personal ways doesn’t help her daydreaming either. Take the one she found at the gym for example, for a few second she’d sworn she was looking at a familiar piece of the English South Coast, dark hues of blue fighting dots of white, reminiscent of the way foam always seems to top even the most raging waves as they crash along shores. She’d only had to close her eyes to feel the wind blowing her hair in a thousand directions and the sand engulfing her feet, making its way between her toes and every crevice of her skin. She was still in the middle of her gym when she reopened them though, her sport bag straddling her shoulder as she kept gaping at the painting in adoration.

Her suspicious keeps nagging at her head, the desire to unveil the identity of her beloved artist getting stronger by the day. The feeling is almost unbearable when she spots yet another work of his across from Bottom’s Up. The coincidences keep piling up and the more she mulls it over, the more she’s convinced this mystery guy is talking to her. Damn, is it possible to have a crush on someone because of their work? After months of this cryptic scavenger hunt, she’d dying to know if all her theories are right and the fact that she has no way to find out, is positively killer her.

That’s why when she stumbles across a flyer for a midterm exhibition gala hosted by the art department as she waits in line at her favorite coffee shop, she doesn’t think twice before jotting down all the info. In a week time, most of the uni’s art students would be gathered up in one place to present their term’s work. The chances are too high for y/n to pass up the opportunity, her guts telling her he’ll be there. It makes sense doesn’t it? Surely, this El Patrón ought to be an art student if not a teacher. How else would they have access to all the campus amenities most of the paintings were found in? 

As she goes to pick up her coffee from the counter, y/n walks with a newfound spring in her steps; she really can’t wait for this gala to happen.

                                                       ***

Y/n stands at the entrance of the art building, a black floor-length long-sleeves open-back dress hugging her curves in all the right places. Her heart speeds up at the nervous jitters crawling underneath her skin, and the million question swarming her frantic mind. What if he actually doesn’t know her and doesn’t give a damn about her thoughts on his work? What if it’s actually a woman and she’s been hiding a man’s pen-name to consolidate her deceit? Is she about to make the biggest fool out of herself by coming to this exhibition? She doesn’t know anyone here, nor has she ever been to this kind of event before but she’s decided this guessing game has run its course. Maybe this all thing has nothing to do with her and that’s okay. All she really wants is to have a chance to tell this exquisite mind how remarkable their work is; the rest be damned.

Y/n slowly makes her way inside, and after a quick stop at the coat room to dispose of the unnecessary garment, she is finally greeted by a room full of dressed-up people roaming  and chatting around, champagne flutes in hands. How cliche, she thinks with humor, before picking up a glass of the bubbly beverage. It’ll help sooth the nerves, she reasons as she starts walking around the place to observe each of the displays. Despite not having had a glimpse of her number-one painter yet, she finds herself having a good time. Most of the work offered to her is engaging in one way or another; some pieces quite provocative is their depiction, others straight out pushing the limits of 2D, with structures coming out of the canvas as though they were about to grip at the viewer. 

Turning at a corner, she comes across his art before she sees him, having almost forgotten art was supposedly his thing too, and she realizes she actually knew someone here apart from the mysterious painter. She takes a brief look at his tall frame, the baby blue suit over his crisp white shirt fitting him perfectly. A black tie is completing the look, and it makes y/n waver for a second. She’s never seen him dressed in anything other than jeans and the bar’s t-shirt every employee is supposed to wear on call. Granted, even that he can make work better than anyone else she can think of, but that suit is something else altogether. 

Her eyes shifts back to his work, not wanting to waste too much time on his appearance; she is here on a mission after all. She can’t deny his painting is good as much as she wants too. It’s made of a perfectly executed optic illusion that has her pause for longer than she intended to. The colors are picked wisely only adding to the entrancing design, tempting the viewer to reach out to the painting to convince themselves that this is fact a pretty subterfuge and no reality; the frontier between both worlds much too hard to distinguish. Just like for the rest of the exhibition, a single plaque hangs underneath the canvas, introducing the title of the piece above the name of its artist: Fine Line by Harry Styles. Damn, the bastard had to be talented…

"Is it as depthless as you thought it would be?" A hoarse voice interrupts her inner thoughts. She knows it’s his at the first word and already she regrets ever thinking positive things about him.

"Funny, I would have shared a compliment but you just had to go and open your stupid mouth," she bites back as she fully turns around to face him. She can feel is eyes shamelessly scanning her body, sending her nerves on overdrive. She wants this exchange to be as curt as possible, she’s got important matters to tend to.

"Here for you mysterious bloke, I presume?" he inquires in a taunting voice.

"What’s it to you, anyway?" y/n dodges the question with another, hoping it’ll steer the conversation toward its end.

She’s answered by rosy pouting lips, a hand on his heart in faux vexation, "ouch, was just hopin’ you’d come to see me, and now you’ve just crushed my dreams, love."

The pet-name is not lost on her and Y/n has had enough. In own gulp she downs the rest of her champagne and forces the glass to his chest for him to hold as she makes her way past him, "just leave me alone and go be a pain in someone else’s ass, Harry." She doesn’t wait to see if he’s following her as she marches across the room in long and purposeful strides. 

Something in the corner of her eyes catches her attention right then. Halting abruptly, almost making someone walk right into her, she turns her head to the side and that’s when she finally sees it. A whole part of the wall has been dedicated to his work, a shrine of his most outstanding pieces randomly hung against the white surface. Y/n recognizes each and every one of them, but then her eyes take in the extra work added for the exhibition: next to each of the pieces are displayed a bunch of photos capturing the students’ expressions as they first discovered the paintings. Dozens of faces lighting up in amazement, widening eyes and finger pointing at the unexpected intrusions; some show confusion and puzzlement while others simply behold laughter and animated conversation.

In the center of the wall, a video is projected. It’s a compilation of those same moments but this time captured on tape. The sound was removed, but as y/n takes in the faces of her fellow students she can almost hear the sound of their laughters; she’d been there for most of it after all. She thinks the idea is amazing, El Patrón has managed to make the viewer a permanent part of the art. The paintings are marvelous of course, full of emotions and passion, but the mysterious artist has gone one step further by also displaying how those emotions had reflected back on the audience. It is an ode to art, to the power of sharing, and proves art is limitless; not owned by museums, not bound between walls and certainly not restricted for trained-eyes only. Because art isn’t all about beauty, it speaks for the need for sharing that human have but often forget, and this is a perfect reminder of it.

The next tape playing has her eyes doubling over the video, a small gasp escaping her lips as she takes in her own figure. It was taken the day she found the painting at the gym and unlike all the other videos she’s alone. No group of students by her side elbowing her in disbelief, or sharing a puzzle look with her. Just her doe eyes gleaming at the painting, lips slightly parted in pure wonder, as she studies every inch of the canvas. And the feeling that this might mean just as much to him as it does to her comes back crashing on her. She’s not paranoid; this artist his using her as some kind of inspiration, she’s sure of it. Random cannot be this accurate, it would defy any laws of statistics. 

After the slideshow finally moves on to the next video, y/n looks around in the hopes of finding the man that has wormed his way into her heart. She’s imagined it a thousand times over during the past week. A young man would be discretely standing on the side, watching the evening pan out and waiting for her to find his work. Then they would make eye contact and he’d make his way over to greet her and share more of his beautiful mind with her. That’s the happily ever after she’s hoped for since that first painting in the library, but alas everyone around her seems to be engrossed in conversation about this and that. 

"I thought he would be there too," the unexpected voice makes her jump. She recognizes the student from that first day, she’d also be intrigued by the mysterious man.

"I know, all of his work is here, he has to somewhere around," y/n tries to convince herself. She hasn’t given up yet, she won’t let herself unless she goes home tonight empty-handed. Only after that will she stop searching, she promises herself. If he doesn’t show up tonight, then that’s because he doesn’t want to be found.

The girl next to her has the same disappointed tone when she explains, "you’d think so, but I’ve been asking everyone around and nobody has a clue still."

Before y/n can come up with her own rationalizations, someone starts speaking in a microphone, asking for everyone’s attention. It’s a man in his early fifties making a speech about the whole reason behind the exhibition so y/n pegs him as the head of the art department. "Thank you all for coming tonight, it is always a pleasure to see so many of you supporting our young talents. As you may know, tonight’s exhibition signs off our students’ final work for the semester, and will also see one of them receive a one-time collaboration with a renown art gallery in the city. Now, before the judges finish deliberating, let me tell you a bit about the topic of this exhibition which, by the way, serves as the main criteria for this contest. Our artists were asked to work around audience engagement and crowd reaction. The task was to produce art that would prompt an active response from the viewer and go beyond a passive experience. I hope this info helps this event take all its sense, I’ll let you all meander for a couple more minutes before we announce the winner. Thank you for your presence." 

Since she has a couple more of minutes, y/n decides to take advantage of the fresh insight she was just given about the artwork and goes around the exhibition one more time. The whole thing does take on a new meaning, now that she knows what was going one in the students’ mind as they first got their assignment. But what has her in awe really, is El Patrón’s coup de maître in all of this, because unlike any other applicant here tonight, he’s had the strongest reactions from the public for months now and had even documented it. So really, in a way he’s already won, no bias to blame. The amount of work and planning behind such a tour de force surely has exceeded everyone’s expectations and secured the number-one position for the still-to-be-revealed artist. In the pocket, as they say.

"Alright everyone, without further ado we are going to announce the lucky talent selected by the judges tonight," the head of department speaks up again. "On behalf of the whole department, I would like to salute each and every one of the students that presented their work tonight. Skills are certainly not scarce among you all, and as always it gives me great pleasure to see you all grow into yourselves alongside your craft. As you know, there can only be one of you coming up to this stage tonight and I must say, this semester has proved to be full of surprises. Never in my 26 years working here have I ever seen something of the sort, so ladies, gentleman, I have no idea who is about to join me now, but please give a warm round of applause for El Patrón!" 

The room explodes in loud cheers as people clap their hands in honor of the mysterious artist. Y/n probably the loudest amongst them all, is still craning her neck in every possible directions trying to catch sight of anyone moving towards the stage. The standing ovation quickly fades into silence as everyone realizes nobody is coming to claim their prize. The usual hushing following any of El Patrón’s stunts is once again spreading across the room to match people’s incredulity at the situation. It was one thing to keep their identity a secret, as it was clearly a crucial condition for the plan to work, but now that it is all over and done, prize ready for the taking, it doesn’t make much sense.

"Mister El Patrón? I think you more than deserve to drop your mask and receive your prize," the host reiterates in hopes that the much awaited artist comes out of his lair, but he’s met with the same result. Perhaps he’s not here after all, or perhaps y/n was right to think he might not want to be found, but regardless a strong feeling of disappointment takes over a body. He won’t be coming, she knows. No matter how many times the host calls for him, he won’t be coming. 

She lets out a long sign in frustration then, she really thought tonight was the tonight. But now that the evening is coming to its end, tears pearl at the corner of her eyes and she just wants to go home and forget all about El Patrón. Aren’t artists supposed to be dark and twisted anyway? Maybe she just dodges a bullet, she tries to make herself feel better, but no amount of sarcasm can save her from the painful pinch at her heart. As she comes to term with the fact she won’t get any more answers by staying (and possible ever), she decides it’s her cue to go. 

On her way to the exit, her eyes fall upon Harry’s slightly hunched figure. He seems deep in his thoughts, eyes fixed towards the floor though he’s not looking at anything in particular. For some unknown reason, y/n is not irked by his presence like she usually is. He’s just lost a great career opportunity so his preoccupied disposition is understandable. Feeling as though she needs to end the night on a different note - whether positive is yet to be determined - she approaches him slowly as not to startle him. "Your painting is really good. I’m sorry you didn’t win, but you should still be proud," she softly tells him to cheer him up. At least, one of them might get to go home in higher spirits. 

He looks up at her then, curls bouncing on top of his head, as he aligns his two glistening emeralds to her own gems. He seems quite surprised to hear her voice, probably rightfully so since he can count on one hand (scratch that, one finger) the number of times she’s actively sought him out for conversation. She can tell he’s debating whether to say something or not, as they keep their eyes locked. It’s probably the longest and only civil exchange they’ve ever had, and somehow it manages to soothe some of her sorrows. 

Y/n likes this reflective side of him, she realizes. Not that she wishes him any torments (at least not tonight) but his quietness makes him look vulnerable in that beautifully human way for once. That’s twice he’s proven her wrong about the assumptions she had on him, tonight: first his talent, now his character; she doesn’t know what to make of it. Silently, she accepts the timid smile and light nod he offers her in gratitude, before making her way to out at last.

                                                       ***

Two days after the night of the exhibition, y/n still has a hard time to let her grievance go. Her mood has yet to upgrade from crappy at best, and the fact that all the artwork has been removed from their previous spots is not helping much. Of course she knew they had been put down for the big night, but her heart still missed a beat when she went to the gym only to find the walls of the lobby bare of any craft that would liven up their otherwise dull and colorless structure. Just like her state of mind, she’d joked. And y/n is not one to throw pity parties, especially to herself; but then again, she’d never fallen under the charms of a faceless virtuoso because his art brought to life parts of her that she’d believed otherwise dormant, only to be metaphorically stood up at the end of the process. So really, what does she know anymore?

Now that she’s back at work, she revels in the constant effort she has to provide. The ever-growing list of task to complete gives her mind reprieve and focus, but she still hasn’t budged from her unusually distant and withdrawn self. Even harry’s own standoffishness hasn’t caught her attention; a week ago, his awkward demeanor would have flashed red flags all over her radar. An unfiltered narcissistic prick he could be, but y/n has never known him to be anything even resembling reserve; apart maybe from that one fate-less night not even 72 hours ago when she found him on the outskirts of the attention even though she knew full well that he is more of center kind of guy.

As they’re about to start closing, the awkwardness becomes more palpable by the second. They’ve skirted around it during the whole shift, the steady solicitation of customers enough to ignore the growing tension; but as the last of the patrons finally make their way out of the bar, an eery silence settles in their wake, making them both want to crawl out of their skin. Even the heavy-served drinks they’ve indulged in, despite the absence of their respective motives, hasn’t help assuage the strain between them. Instead, they start their usual routine in overrated silence, y/n in charge of the floor while he tends to the bar. Then before long, Harry bursts the uncomfortable bubble they’ve locked themselves in, voice void of its usual teasing tone, "so, what’s got you so grumpy?" he inquires.

"Please don’t start, Harry. I really can’t be bothered tonight," y/n sighs in response, failing to recognize the note of concern in his question and thinking she wouldn’t survive another bickering session. It hasn’t been the lad’s intention though, so her false accusation has his thick skin itching against his will. To be honest, Harry’s never taken much offense from any of their past squabbles no matter how hard she’d come at him, but this one he can’t brush off. Not when for once, he’s trying to be decent, dropping the attitude he knows rubs her the wrong way and she responds by telling him to get lost.

"Fuck sake, I wasn’t tryin’ to start anythin’" he berates her for lashing out unjustifiably, "you need to take a chill pill." The hostile reaction as her pausing mid-swipe in the middle of the room. He was always so unbothered by everything she said, she hasn’t expected him to be so hard on the defensive (or even know what a defensive is in the first place). 

Still, she doesn’t appreciate the same chastising tactic he’s used on her countless times, especially because given his serious temper, she knows he means it for real now. "Oh I’m sorry Harry, I didn’t know what sympathy actually sounds like coming from your mouth," she quips back in sarcasm. 

The response makes him livid, "you tell me I’m a jerk every chance you got, but you sure know how to be a bitch, y/n" he spats before finishing wiping the counter. As his hand reaches the end of the surface, he finds his half-empty glass of tequila, most of the ice completely melted through the amber liquor by now. He takes one long sip in a vain attempt to calm his nerves but the alcohol merely tingles the back of his palate and warms its way down his stomach. His mind is still burden with frustrations he doesn’t know how to alleviate; the end of term, the exhibition, his career’s future, and y/n’s stubborn nature all wreaking havoc in his tired brain.

"Shut the fuck up, Harry. I didn’t ask for your attention," y/n retorts, trying not to expose how bruised her heart is. While he’d mocked her plenty during the past two years, he’d never resorted to calling her names, unlike her; so the insult does more damage than she’s willing to admit, even coming from Harry. And to think she’d thought of him as a half decent being not three days ago…

"Right, I forgot only anonymous bastards are worthy enough of your attention," he replies before checking the shelves behind the bar to make sure they’re stocked enough for the next shift. "And even when they turn out to be cowards, you still choose them over the people that are actually around you. You need to open your eyes and wake up, it’s pathetic."

Y/n has almost finished cleaning her area but at this point, she’s ready to call it quits and run as fast as she can, away from him. "Go fuck yourself, you don’t know anything you’re talking about," she manages to croak past her swelling throat and quivering lips. The man in front of her is breaking her heart even though he’s never had it in his calloused hands, and y/n doesn’t know why. 

"Fuck this, ’m done," he quite literally throws in the towel, leaving it in a bowl on the counter before making his way back to his drink. In a swift movement, he grabs the bottle of tequila to pour himself a new one. "You keep blindly mopin’ about your precious painter, I don’t care, you’re probably right anyway," he says before chugging the bitter spirit in one go and slamming the bottle of tequila down on the counter in a loud bang that has y/n jump in fear. "I don’t anything about bloody anything," is all Harry says as he locks eyes with hers, before making his out of the bar, not bothering to put the bottle back to its rightful place.

Y/n is still trembling from the exchange, and it takes her a hot minute before she can finish what she was doing. As she resumes wiping the floor with shaky hands, she tries to even her breath out. Why had he been so hurtful? What could have possibly impelled him to utter such malicious words? The questions are still reeling in her mind as she twists water out of the mop  for the last time. Once the floor is spotless and all the tables are no longer sticky with spilled alcohol, chairs stacked up onto them upside-down, she makes her way back behind the bar, checking that Harry didn’t leave any of his duties unattended before his theatrical exit. She spots the bottle of tequila sitting lonely on the counter but just as she goes to reach for it, she freezes. 

It’s a cold shower pouring over her body all at once then, dots finally connected as her eyes read over the label of the fat bottle she’s seen him take out of the stack countless times before. Everything that happened for the last few months falls into place and suddenly there is no mystery left to be solved. ‘You’re probably right, I don’t know anything about bloody anything’ Harry’s final words keep playing on a maddening loop in her head. 

Y/n takes in the small bee design printed under what is unmistakably the last piece of the puzzle she’s been craving to complete: one word that has her stomach churning in a myriad of emotions she can’t possibly untangle. Anger, relief, surprise, fear, curiosity, warmth and more, are all rushing through her in one colossal wave, because printed on that bottle in black capital letters is the brand of Harry’s favorite drink: Patrón.

                                                       ***

The next day, y/n navigates through her classes purely on autopilot mode. She doesn’t quite remember picking the floral blouse nor the light-shade pair of jeans she’s wearing, and barely recalls the brief conversation she had with an old lady during her bus commute to campus. One thing she sure as hell hasn’t paid one iota of attention to, is the behavioral psychology class she’s just got out of. Two hours she spent pacing up and down every twist and turn of her mind only to come out more lost than she’d started. Add to that the fact she’s running on 4 hours of sleep, she’s quite simply a recipe for disaster. Fortunately for y/n, she isn’t due at work tonight, having called sick this morning, because sleep-deprivation aside, she still has no idea how she’s supposed to face Harry.

The revelation of the night prior is still something she has trouble wrapping her mind around, as it goes against every constructed opinion she’s made about her life. Harry is Patrón, she’s pretty sure. Harry, the allegedly conceited asshole she’s been bickering with since their first minute spent together, is the mind-blowing painter that had taken residence in y/n’s heart since the first time she set eyes on his art. The two characters have yet to fully merge into one in her mind, despite the fact it makes perfect sense to her. 

The Brighton painting, the one inspiring her necklace, it was all true. And with that revelation comes two intimidating truths y/n is kind of scared to delve into: one, all this time she’s been right to think she is the muse behind this all scheme; two, if Harry is the mystery painter, that makes her Harry’s muse more specifically. And that’s the part of the equation she struggles the most with, because up until last night she was pretty positive that the twat despised her (the night in itself being prime evidence of that) but now she doesn’t know what to think.

It’s like there are two versions of Harry battling in her brain, splitting her heart in halves; the one that made her miserable at work for years and made her cry last night, and the one she’d gotten a glimpse of at the night of the exhibition. The one that hid a fully blossomed bouquet of emotions behind teasing banter to protect a diamond-rough talent that had the power to touch just about anyone’s sensibility. The one that had her wrapped around his finger in awe with that beautiful mind of his. The question is, can she or will she see this Harry the next time she’s facing him or will all their bad-blood history come crashing down on her instead? Y/n doesn’t think she’s ever fit more the definition of having mixed feelings about something.

On her way home, she makes sure she doesn’t fall asleep against the bus window, despite yawning every thirty-seconds. It feels like the trip is taking forever, she almost lets out a cry of relief when the automated voice finally announces her upcoming stop. Once she’s thanked the driver and stepped out of the bus, she’s met with a gust of brisk air, instantly blowing her hair all over her face. She draws the lapels of her coat tighter around her shivering body and starts making her way towards her apartment building. 

It doesn’t take her long to complete the walking distance to her place and tread her way up the stairs, but the sight greeting her in the hallway of her floor almost sends her down on her ass. Because right across from her door, is Harry hanging yet another one of his chefs-d’oeuvre. He’s dressed casually in his usual jeans and t-shirt ensemble, with a thick grey hoodie covering his broad upper-half in a feeble attempt to combat to cold weather raging outside. As he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans to retrieve a sharpie - no doubt to apply his trademark signature - the movements of her feet on the laminated floor catch his attention. Spinning around in a jolt of surprise, he realizes too late that he’s been caught red-handed. There was no going back this time, but he doesn’t necessarily see it as a bad thing.

There is a short moment where they are both just standing in front of each other a few feet apart, as their eyes bounce back in silent conversation, before y/n softly breaths out, "so it is you." The weight of her words has him swallow in nervousness, "of course it’s me," he replies in a gentle tone. A smile pulls at his lips when he realizes she’s not running for the hills or bursting out in a furious rant. 

"I just…how? why? I mean, you gotta help me understand Harry, cause I’m pretty fucking lost over here," she blurts out with wide doe-eyes begging him for answers. Her obvious jitters earn her a soft chuckle., and for a hot minute all he can bring himself to do is study her snuggled figure and the way she keeps fiddling with her keys. It’s so endearing to him, if they were at his place, he would have offered to make some tea. The thought has him hesitantly looking at the door across from them, "can we maybe talk inside?" he inquires, beckoning his head towards her place. "I know I haven’t given you much reasons to let me in, but I promise I’ll explain everythin’," he feels the need to convince her, " after that, you can kick me out if you still want."

The last bit has her smile timidly, "yeah, let’s go inside. I wanna hear what you have to say," y/n admits as she steps to the door and unlocks it. She’s intrigued by how gentle and well-mannered the man following her to the living room seems to be, light years away from the rowdy lad she’s come to know. 

For a second, y/n is worries about the state she’s left the apartment before she rushed to classes this morning, but her apprehensions quickly go away once she takes in the sight of her rather tidied living space. A velvety throw blanket is covering the couch in a makeshift comforter from the way she spent the night on the couch, and apart from a few class notes scattered across the coffee table, everything seems to be where it’s supposed to be. 

They both discard their top layers on the armchair adjacent to the couch, Harry slipping his hoodie off above his head in one swift gesture, while y/n simply lets the sleeves of her coat slide down her arms. He brushes his hair back into submission with one swoop of his hand, before sitting down on the couch and directing his attention back at her. She decides to leave some distance between them, taking the other end of the sofa and the move desperately makes him wonder what thoughts are running through her head. The only way to uncover them  however, is if he starts talking first; and so he does.

"So uhm," he starts clumsily, clearing his throat, "remember the first day we met, you walked in on me telling some stoner guy off," he watches closely as y/n nods. "It was our first ever conversation and we fought through the whole thing. I was pretty pissed when it happened, not gonna lie, but once I got home and slept it off, I thought it was really cool how you’d stand up for that random guy." The admission has her eyebrows raising but he keeps going, "and okay maybe, just maybe, I found it a lil hot, the way you tried to put me back in my place." 

He stops to make sure he hasn’t offended her, "tried to?" she challenges instead, Harry laughing at her objection. 

"Right, maybe you did. My poin’ is, no-one really calls me out on my bullshit, so it was kinda refreshing that you did. But then the next day, you were still mad at me, an’ we bickered that time too. It felt like you’d already made up your mind about me. So in a way, all I had left was doin’ this thing where I push your buttons and rile you up. Know it doesn’t make sense, but it was the only way you’d interact with me so I kept doin’ it, because being jerk-Harry was better than having nothin’." 

He pauses for a minute and waits as y/n swallows all the information. All this time he’s been teasing her just to have some sort of connection, no matter how perverse, while she thought he just hated her guts. When she shares this thought with him, he shakes his head with a smile, "never hated you. If I ‘ad, I wouldn’t have bothered talking t’you."

Suddenly, her chest feels lighter, as though all this months of anguish had evaporated from her mind, now that she knew their rocky relationship was the result of miscommunication, "sound logic, Styles," she replies in good humor. Then she remembers the El Patrón’s fiasco so she urges him to go on.

"My final. Right. Well as you know, we were given the assignment at the beginning of the semester, and I came up with the idea of creating this alter ego that would plant his work around campus. I thought by taking people’s by surprise I was guaranteed strong genuine reactions. People are always more opened when they don’t expect it. Like if I had just brought my paintings on the night of the exhibition, the same people wouldn’t have reacted that way, probably because they’d know they’d be observed so they would have adjusted their behavior accordingly." They both know he’s getting slightly off trail, but watching y/n so enthralled with his words makes it hard for him to stop. Fact is, for month she’s dreamed of meeting and picking at the brain of this mysterious painter, and now that he’s sitting on her couch, walking her through his thought process, she finally feels like she is. 

"Anyway," he resumes the storytelling, "I started with that painting in the library and it worked so perfectly, I knew if I followed the plan I would have somethin’ really good. But then you just had to go on an’ rave about the paintings without knowing they were mine, and it was killin’ me inside. Because I knew if there was a real chance I could change your mind about me, I’d do anythin’. But no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t tell you. Couldn’t jeopardize my final… so I tried to tell you through the art. I started painting stuff that made me think of you and placed the pieces in locations I knew you’d pass through. It was the only way I could tell you."

Harry’s confession had Y/n’s heart beating so hard in her chest, she can almost feel it thumping through her ears. Her next question is on the edge of her lips, but she takes her time tracing each of Harry’s graceful features until his eyes catch hers, "tell me what, Harry?" she asks barely above a whisper. 

His response comes in three bashful steps: first his lips curve into a shy grin that has him look down with rosy cheeks; then his hand inches its way along the soft fabric of the couch to gently hold her fingers, thumb grazing over her knuckles; and as he looks up from their joined hands to connect their gaze once more, he finally spells it, loud and clear, "tell you that I like you, y/n." 

The sentiment sends her own emotions reeling in a tornado of passion. This is it, this is what she’s been half-knowingly wishing for, and now that she knows the truth in full, she’s ready to embrace it. Her eyes twinkle in bliss, a growing smile illuminating her face as she squeezes his hand in a silent invitation to slide closer to her. Harry is much happy to oblige, and once he’s sitting directly next to her, knees grazing her own, he cups her face with one of his bear-paw hands. A few strands of hair are caught in the cuddling gesture, but none of them care. Harry just keeps smiling at her, waiting for her next move, and his beam grows two sizes wide when she mirrors his affection. "I like this side of you," she whispers fondly, as her thumb draws slow circles across the skin of his cheeks.

Harry closes his eyes at her words, "this is the real me, I promise," he reassures in an almost pleading tone, vulnerability seeping through. And y/n feels like she’s lying down on cloud nine really, because dropping his fortress of pretentiousness is all she’s ever want from him. With a hushed ‘okay’, she finally brings her mouth to taste the rose-tinted flesh of his. It starts off chaste and slow, lips dovetailed in perfect symbioses like they are made to cohabit, but quickly the kiss heats up to a full on make out session. "Show me, then", y/n mutters out when they part for a breather.

Harry slowly nods his head, before helping her straddle his lap and y/n immediately brings both her hands to his neck once she settles her hips against his. The friction already had them deeply inhale, trying not to work themselves up too fast, but Harry doesn’t think he’ll have much self-control when it comes to y/n. Already he can feel his cock fattening up inside his brief, the tingling sensation making him roll his hips up into hers. Their lips are back in a sensual duel, tongues tentatively taking their turn to lick their way inside the other’s mouth. Every now and then, he teases her bottom lip with a graze of his teeth, and the move as her tugging the root of his hair at the back of his head every single time without a fail.

He loves discovering all the quirks and tells of her body, thinks he could spend hours on hand learning every single one of her curves and memorizing each of her special spots. The smell of her fragrance infiltrates his nostrils as he dips his head to her neck to plant open-month kisses along her skin. Head angled towards the ceiling to make room for his ministrations, y/n can’t do much but let her hands scout any expanse of skin accessible to her. She starts at his shoulder, squeezing the flesh to feel out the strong muscle laying underneath, before making her way down his tone arms, then to his hands currently holding onto to her waist. She gives them an affectionate pinch at the same time she presses down onto him with a deep moan, and Harry retaliates with a buck of his own. 

As he starts kissing down the exposed skin of her cleavage, y/n finally drops her head to place a tender kiss to his hairline. One of her hand is back at his neck, holding him firmly to her chest as he licks at the valley of her breasts down her sternum. The other worms its way underneath his shirt from the neckline, nails grazing down his back in soft enough pressure not to leave any marks.

Harry’s descent is obstructed by the soft material of her blouse, so he takes the garment off of her in one swoop, and places his hands back on her newly exposed body, rubbing up and own the skin. As his mouth goes back to the supple flesh of her breasts, y/n increases the pace of her hips grinding on his cock. The sensations seem to be not enough and too much at the same time for her; the heavy material still covering their most sensitive parts in the way of her pleasure, while Harry’s work has her going into overdrive under his velveteen mouth and calloused fingers. She starts kissing her way up from his shoulder to the edge of his jaw, and Harry revels in the sound of her moans tickling his ear. 

Done with the excess of fabric between them two, y/n grips at the top of his shirt and pulls it upwards, leaving him shirtless. "Fuck, I didn’t know you have so many tattoos," she babbles against his lips, while her hands smooth over the ink. 

"Plenty you don’t know about me, love," Harry chirps as he bask in the praise and the feeling of her skin of his. 

He then circles one arm around her waist to bring them chest to chest, and the contact has y/n once again intensify the friction between their crotches. "Wanna find out," she murmurs against his neck while she grinds on his clothed member, "Harry, please take me to bed."

He jolts at the quick bite she delivers to his neck, the impish gesture her way of saying ‘now’ but before she can make her way out of his lap to bring him to her room, he presses her back down with both hands on her waist. "Nuh uh, y’not goin’ anywhere. Want you to come once, b’fore I take you to bed, pet," he says, smoothing his hands over her ass to guide her rocking motions. The term of endearment sounds so innocent yet dirty all at once, it sends a chill down her spine. Nobody had called her that before.

"Can’t," she shakes her head, "can’t feel you through the jeans."  

"Alright then, stand up," he calmly asserts and she doesn’t hesitate to comply, standing in between his spread legs, in her flimsy bra and jeans. "Take ‘em off then, ’s what you want no?" he sends her a tantalizing look and bites at his lips as he watches her peel the pants off her legs. He can’t help the light squeeze he gives himself through his own jeans, as y/n stands in front of him awaiting his next instructions. "Come sit on my thigh now, think should be enough to make this pretty pussy tingle in all the right places, no?" 

Y/n’s insides are already twisting in a knot as she settles back on his lap and lets the rough material of his jeans against the softness of her cotton panties spread a prickling sensation through her pelvis area. Quickly, she resumes undulating her hips, gripping back at Harry’s neck to pull him in a languid kiss, pleasure vibrating against their lips. It is not long before her pace picks up, and her eyes shut at the intensity of her bliss. "That’s it, pet. Already makin’ a mess of me. You’re doin’ so well," he coaxes her with his words. 

As promised, y/n feels the lips of her sensitivity start to throb at her impending release, the sensation making her clamp her thighs tighter around his meaty limb. As her knee now presses against his bulge, Harry cries his sudden pleasure out in her mouth, and that’s all it takes for her to let her orgasm consume her. She unravels on top of him, one of her hands shooting to cup at her pussy in an attempt to quell the overwhelming throb. Harry draws soothing caresses down her back as he look at the sticky mess she’s left in her panties, damp patch matching the one tainting the material of his jeans. "All ruined, just as they should be," he smirks at the sight before giving her a sweet kiss. 

Flushed skin and blown pupils, she slowly regains her breath, "take off your pants and take me to bed now?" she requests.

"You’re quite demanding for someone who’s just gotten off," he keeps taunting her. After all, winding her up has always been one of his favorite thing to do, and dare he say in the past two years, he’s gotten quite good at pushing her buttons. Now he’s got new ones to figure out and play with, the thoughts has him pulsing in his jeans. 

Y/n doesn’t relent in her advances, she’s never been one to bow at his mockery, "thought you like how bossy I could be. Something about the way I put you in your place, if my memory serves right." 

"Anytime, anywhere, you’re the boss of me, love. But this," he cups at her cunt, adding pressure on her clit, "this is mine to have. Understood?" 

Y/n’s about to combust from all the desire firing up every one of her nerve-endings. His words might be the strongest aphrodisiac she’s ever experienced, she can’t wait to see what more tricks in has up his sleeves. "Now get up and show me the way to your room, pet," he softly commands before leaving a peck on her cheek. 

They both get up from the couch, and y/n guides them both down the hallway to her room, her hand wrapped in his tightly. Once they’re standing by the bed, Harry is surprised to face a patient y/n, biting her lips and awaiting his next directive. He doesn’t think he’s ever been more turned on in his life, "undress me, love" he murmurs against her skin after kissing her forehead. 

His jeans are quickly discarded but before his boxer briefs follow suit, y/n can’t help but tease him in reprisal, "looks like I’m not the only one who made a mess in their panties." 

He lets out a boisterous laugh while she smears open mouth kisses along his stretching jaw, "mmm, I’d rather make a mess somewhere else," his innuendo causing her to gasp while he works the strap of her bra.  Once she’s gotten rid of his last piece of clothing, his cock springs up, free of it’s confines, dollop of pre-come already pearling at his tip, and sticking to the skin of his stomach. 

With a gentle grip at her hair, he has y/n’s head tilted backward, to let his mouth make its way towards her already pebbled nipples. Since she can’t look down, y/n blindly reaches out to wrap her hand around Harry’s thick shaft and starts massaging him in languid strokes. "Your hand feels so fuckin’ good around me, pet, I wanna fuck you so badly," he hisses around her nipple, before kissing his way back up to her lips. 

He starts backing her towards the bed in small steps, but she brings a hand to his chest at the feeling of the edge of the mattress brushing against the back of her knee, "wait, wait, wanna taste you first," she insists and Harry doesn’t think he could ever say no to that face, no matter how much he wants to just sink home inside of her in this moment. 

"Fuck, you’re killin’ me, love," he pinches at her waist and lays his forehead against hers, "you want my cock in your pretty mouth, before I drive it home in your cunt, is that it?" She nods, eyes turning into two lustful fireballs. "Okay, love, but y’ can’t keep it on your tongue fo’ too long, cause I really need to fuck you, alright?"

Y/n hastens to lower herself when he bids her "right then, on your knees and open wide fo’ me," and her brows furrow in confusion as she watches him stray from her spot. Picking up a plush cushion from her bed, he places it on the ground for her to knee upon, "there love, want you to be comfortable," he runs his fingers through her hair, and her heart grows three sizes bigger at how tender he can be in amidst his filthy ways. 

Sensually, y/n brings her lips around the crown of his cock, her tongue teasing its way across the salty skin. Once she’s licked up all the previous mess, she starts working her way down his cock, hand stroking at the base. After bopping up and down a few time, she removes her month from his swelling cock, and lets a string of spit fall down onto its head and make its way to his balls. "S’right, pet. Get me wet," Harry rasps in appreciation. Now that she’s got him properly slicked, she goes back to pumping his hardening cock and takes him into her warm inviting mouth, determined to have him all the way inside. She feels her throat expands to accommodate his thickness, and the pressure makes Harry tighten his hold in her hair, "fuck, that’s it, love. Take me good." 

Muscles already tensing up in preparation for his climax, when y/n’s hand finds his full and swollen balls to roll them together like dice, he is quick to calm her zeal, "Christ pet, you gotta stop before I can’t help myself," but his tone hardens when she defies his demand, "come on now, s’enough." 

Once she pulls off, the sight of her flushed face and puffy lips induces an animalistic groan to come out from his chest, as he thumbs through the wetness coating her chin. Taking the hand resting on his hip to guide her up, he captures her lips in a searing kiss, the taste of his arousal blending in their mouths. 

His hands come down to knead at the flash of her ass, before he scoops her up and on the bed with a quick flex of his biceps. "Harry, please," she whines in impatience, hands gripping at his sides to pull him down against her. His rock hard cock slides against her clothed pussy, pins and needles cruising along their skin and only fueling their eagerness. 

"Need me in your belly, pet?" Harry keeps working her up, as he slides her soiled panties down her legs, "need me to fuck you so good, you forget I was ever a jerk?" 

She’s putty in his hold, legs wrapping around his waist to feel the pressure of his member on her bare lips , "yes, yes, I wan’ it," she pleads.

Harry would love to tease her further, have her writhing and proper begging underneath him, but at this point it would be self-torture to even consider. Instead he pumps at his shaft to give himself some relief, their sex so close his knuckles graze at her clit every time his fist comes at the top. "You ready?" Harry utters softly while spreading and skimming her cleft with the head of his cock. It has y/n gripping at his hair, a series of delirious ‘yes’ tumbling form her mouth, so he doesn’t wait a second more to push his tip past her threshold and begins his descent in her warmth. "Fuck, t’feels so good. So wet, and tight, and warm," he thinks out loud once he’s stuffer her full, balls pressing against her ass.

Y/n whimpers against his lips, urging him to start moving to quell the building pressure coiling in her belly. A slow roll of his hips finally gives her reprieve causing her to moan in gratitude. She’s already so close, it baffles her how this man could have her coming apart at the seams without doing much. His thrusts starts gaining zeal then, betraying his own yearning to take the final leap. "So tight, love. Can feel you squeezin’ me, are you close already? Is my girl gonna cum fo’ me again?" he grunts in her ear while he pounds into her dripping cunt. Y/n doesn’t offer a response, too caught up in a daze of bliss, but her clenching muscles is all the answer he needs to start nudging his thumb at her clit. A several flicks across the sensitive bud later, her orgasm is pulsing through every bone and fiber of her body, walls hugging Harry’s cock so tight, it has to pause his hammering. 

Waiting for her to catch her breath, he peppers delicate kisses along her cheek, "was that good, love? Think you can give me another, uhm?" he asks when she’s regained some of her senses. The pressure at his groin is growing more and more the longer his cock remains unmoving entombed within her vice, and the luscious agony must be written all over his face, "yes, Harry, wanna be good for you" y/n cups his jaw tenderly. 

He nods at her approval, "good girl," delivers a sweet earnest kiss to her pouty lips as he pulls out and spins her around to lay on her stomach. His hand brushes the hair off her skin so he can sew a string of kisses at her shoulder blades and neck. Painfully red, his cock is propped between her buttcheeks, "can I take you like that?" he punctuates his inquiry by rolling his hips backward, tip lingering at her soaked entrance. Y/n clutches the sheets firmly, as she murmurs a faint ‘please’, back arching at the thrills consuming her mind. 

Harry plunges in her wet core in one smooth swing, hand digging at her hip to keep her steady as the other one interlaces with hers to lay on the mattress above her head. Unforgiving lunges have y/n cinch around him, face buried in the sheets and muffling salacious wails of pleasure, and he doesn’t think he’ll be able to steer from his end for much longer. He slows his cadence to steady and firm strokes, slipping a hand around her waist to polish her swell. 

A million tremors spark off the onset of Y/n’s climax as she shudders in a firework of ecstasy. Harry  doesn’t relent until he’s worked her through completion and can no longer stop the coil in his loins from snapping. His release fills her in several spurts of wet warmth before he flops down next to her, positively fucked out.

They both lay unmoving in comfortable bliss for a few minutes, before y/n plops her head on his chest and an arm around his torso, her leg sneaking in between his. "Well, here goes two years of sexual tension," Harry says jokingly, fingers drawing abstracts design on the skin of her back. It might just be his favorite canvas to paint on from now, he muses before chastising himself at the onslaught of filthy thoughts tagging along. A playful slap on his abdomen takes his mind out of the gutter, "don’t ruin the moment," y/n says in fake admonition before placing a tender kiss on the spot she just abused. 

"M’sorry, love. M’just really chuffed to be in your bed finally," the last word reminding her that while she’s struggled to come to term with her feelings for him, ransacking her mind for a possible change of heart, he’d only seen her in but one light. The revelation still has her floored and giddy, "can I ask you something?" she asks as there was still one question pacing back and forth the pathways of her mind. Harry hums in acquiescence, "anythin’ love, by brain is yours."  

She feels his hand cradling her skull followed by a small peck to her forehead, and she smiles at the gesture, "why did you stay away that night at the exhibition when you got the prize? Why not coming forward?" It’s been bugging her brain since it happened. Although she didn’t have much insight on anything at the time, most of the pieces of the puzzle fell in place after the big reveal; but this, she still can’t make sense of.

Harry lets out a long breath, organizing his thoughts, "two reasons," he starts off tiredly. "One, I kinda like having this secret business going on, and like, as long as nobody knows, I am in control of how and when it happens, you know? And the moment I let go of that, I can’t go back." He searches her face for any hint of confusion but she’s just patiently listening. "Two, when we bumped into each other at the gala, I got convinced you’d never see me differently regardless of how good a painter I was; and that had become a big part of who El Patrón was." 

It’s the first time she hears his alter ego’s name from his mouth and with how flowingly natural it sounded coming out of his lips, y/n suspects that it’d been a conscious decision on his part. She recalls their interaction that night, the way they fell in their usual ways of ping-ponging vindictive words until one of them has enough and leaves the premises (usually y/n). A lump starts forming in her throat at the recollection of all the other fights they’ve had and how they’d all been pointless wastes of time and energy, now that she knows she is meant to be in his arms. She wishes things could have been different but the warmth of his body around her overweighs her regrets. They’re here now, looking bright toward the future, and it’s all that matters.

"I’ll keep your secret if you want, be the Lilly to your Hannah Montana," she tells him lightly before they both laugh at the silly reference. 

Happiness and glee has Harry tightening his hold around her shoulder, "nah, I don’t wanna play double-agents anymore. I wanna be the guy who gets the girl." He dips his head to catch her lips between his own, reveling in their newfound intimacy. Turning her face against his chest, Y/n impresses her bashful smile on his swallow-tattooed skin, before she lays a trail of pecks tickling the area underneath his armpits, "well, you got me now."

➪ Masterlist