#no and I definitely see how he can come across as cold and condescending

[youhavereachedtheendofpie]

I feel like that first scene Miguel has with Gwen is the perfect example of his story and his faults. He comes in, without invitation, thinking he is going to save the day and make a difference, and sort of is a little condescending to her just because he is older and bigger.

Fair to think that but because he is so busy trying to show how much more capable he is, he isn't paying attention to what's actually happening. She is actually aware of what's going on, and while she might appreciate help, she is just trying to figure out how to resolve the situation. She may not know everything and she may not be doing everything perfectly, but she is doing her best.

And so when he comes in all arrogant and whatnot, she's like, "Okay." And he gets his shit rocked. The same thing happens with Miles. And it really speaks to the generational divide. Even though I'm closer to Miguel's age, I feel like as people get older they are so insistent on having their way because of their experiences and are not open to considering that their way is only one way, not the way. He isn't totally wrong, but that doesn't mean the people younger than him have no idea what's going on either or that they may not have a point. I know you just reblogged a GIF set and weren't trying to start a whole discussion lol, but it really stuck with me that Miguel was like that (and I know part of it was the trauma).

It reminded me of how adults older than I am treat people, and still treat me, even though I'm very much an adult. And the other spider people supported him because they knew what he was talking about, like Peter, but rather than provide nuance to the situation, they just went along with what he said (again, probably because of his trauma).

I guess I'm protective of younger people because I know what it feels like to be dismissed, and I still go through it, and find it frustrating to deal with older people who do have experience, but are wrong a plenty of the time, are unaware of the reality of certain situations, and want ridicule you on top of that to simply show they are correct.

Rather than actively guide younger people, old heads wanna show off or tell you how things should be, and it's hard to listen to people who don't genuinely want to help you grow and improve things, but rather want you to fall in line and do everything how they think it best, even though they're not in the best position themselves.

hmm, I'm not sure it's arrogance per se, even though he certainly comes off a bit dismissive in that first scene with Gwen. It can easily read as cocky, but (if memory serves) I read it as much more out of concern. The thing is, if you are older and have more life experience, and also remember how grown you thought you were at that younger age, it's very easy to fall into that mindset of 'I need to protect these kids because they're too young to understand anything'. It's also very easy to become set in your worldview and opinions on how stuff works - and Miguel is clearly very emotionally invested in the canon events theory, even to the point where he dismisses the very idea that things can be different because he needs it to be this way because this way makes sense and gives him a clear purpose and clear rules according to which the world works. Idk, to me the most interesting part of his character in the movie is that he really cares so much and is trying so hard to save as many as possible and help as much as he can while operating under this assumption (a certainty to him) that total success (saving everyone not just from death and injury and destruction, but also heartbreak) is impossible. And to a certain degree he's right of course, you cannot avoid all harm and suffering, not if you're just one guy, and not even if you're a whole massive team of super spider-people. But he still tries to save the other Spideys from having to bear the responsibility. It was a canon event, there is nothing you could have done, it was always supposed to happen this way. And perhaps that's a very comforting thought to especially the older Spiderpeople like Peter B., who have already lost more in their longer lives. And then that's the main friction point with Miles, because he is the first one to actively and decisively challenge that notion that canon events (or fate, if you will) are both necessary and unchangeable. I think others may have had their doubts regarding the veracity of the canon events theory (Hobie certainly wasn't fully on board with the whole multiversal spider society idea in the first place), but I think to the best of their individual knowledge the 'evidence' supports the theory, because the big traumatic loss has happened to most (even Hobie) and there was nothing they could do to stop it. But this was, crucially I think, because they were usually alone when that took place (in the movie Miguel talks about the canon event in question being when a police captain close to them dies, but arguably the same probably applies to the Uncle Ben figure, commonly the catalyst for a Spider-man's becoming). But in the film when Pavitr's police captain is supposed to bite the dust he is saved because there were like four of them who could work together.

But crucially it isn't until Miles refuses to just accept that his father has to die that the real break occurs. The situation before? Well they didn't know. Cpt. Singh could still bite the dust another time & way. The timeline isn't so much endangered as delayed, if you want to be callous about it. But Miles just flat out refuses to even entertain the idea, cuz that's his dad and he's a Spider-Man and he's a hero, right? He has to try to save him. Interestingly he doesn't question that the fatal event is going to happen, or even when, he just thinks he can change the outcome if he tries hard enough. There's something very much of the ancient greek myths about this. In trying to prevent the prophecy from coming true you actually end up doing everything to ensure that it does. So basically Miguel believes in the prophecy completely, while Miles believes he can change the prophecy, but neither (at least at this point) questions the prophecy as such. Very interesting stuff.

[bettyfrommars]

Death Becomes Us

Part 9: Heads Will Roll

vampire!eddie x supernatural!reader

MASTERLIST PLAYLIST

18+ONLY, vampires, werewolves, mention of witches and ghouls, a pet demobat, a car accident, no smut in this, but definitely next chapter (the kind of non-dream vampire sex you've been so patiently waiting for), reader is taken.

summary: There's a new monster in town, and you are their target. An unlikely trio decides to join forces to get you back. The character Jareth in this is meant to be Jamie Campbell Bower.

word count: 3.6k

author's note: I almost put this on hiatus, but I need to find out how it ends, for my sanity, and I would be more than pleased if some of you wanted to ride it out with me, only a bit more to go. This is not as long as I initially intended, but the next part needs to be all one piece, so I had to split it up. Much love, hope you enjoy.

This chapter takes place right where part 8 left off

“Excuse me?” You balked, looking Jareth up and down there in the alleyway behind Main Vein. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Who did he think he was? 

A thousand year old vampire, probably.  Stronger and faster than Eddie or any vampire you’d met so far.

Jareth smoothed a thick strand of blonde hair behind his ear.  “That’s the problem you see. I wasn’t asking.”

A fog settled in among the cold, winter darkness, crowding in like doom.  Your eyes darted from side to side, trying to understand what you were up against.  Was Jareth alone? Where were those finicky “powers” when you needed them? Even if the superhuman strength you’d been touched with made an appearance, could you take on a vampire?

Did you have a choice?

But then, a wave of fear burned like thorns in your chest and your voice cracked.  “Is Eddie okay?  Did something happen to—-?”

The smile that spread across Jareth’s face was condescending.  “No harm has befallen your trailer park Romeo.  Not at my hand, for that matter.”

Not sure how to feel about that answer, you adjusted your bag on your shoulder and took the first step away from him, on the way to your hearse.  

“Tsktsk,” he had black gloves on to match his long, leather coat.  “Now, I don’t want to take you by force, but I will if you give me no choice.”

You met his eyes with a defiant softness that made him realize, not for the first time, why Munson was clearly so enamored with you. “Are you going to kill me?”

“Truthfully, I haven’t decided what to do with you yet,” he wet his top lip with the tip of his tongue, making eyes at the blood pumping in your throat.  “But I wouldn’t mind a taste.”

 You shrugged away from him. “Why should I go with you?”

“Because I said so,” he arched his brows, and then leaned forward. “And because I’ve had word that there’s a Ghoul in town looking for you.  I’m only interested in your safety.”

You glared at him.  “You’re only interested in yourself.”

“Feisty, I like it. Now, come on, this way,” he inclined his head.

You took a few steps and then stopped short.  “Wait, a ghoul?”

“Servants to the regional monster government, yes,” he said, like everyone should know that already.

You thought about Steve, waiting for you at the bookstore.  You thought about Bela waiting for you to let her out for her nightly fly.  

“How long will I be gone?”

“Until my people can figure out what the ghoul wants from you.”

“Why are you protecting me?” You shuffled in front of him.  

Jareth sniffed, unable to meet your gaze.  “On that note, I am not entirely sure,” he stepped a bit closer then, making you shuffle a step back.  “Call it curiosity, perhaps. You fascinate me, and very little keeps my interest these days.”

When his stare finally locked onto yours, you tried not to show fear under the laser focus of his natural intensity.  

You slipped into the passenger seat of his Porsche, smelling the leather and expensive cologne, and waited for him to get in beside you.  Just as he was about to start the engine, there was a loud bang and crash from above, like something heavy dropped hard and fast onto the roof of his car.

You couldn’t help the scream you let out, peeking up to see that there was, indeed, a dent caving in the metal as if a boulder had crashed into it. A figure leapt to the ground, landing in a crouch between the headlights.

Jareth’s lips peeled away from his teeth with a growl at the sight of Eddie standing there.

Eddie swiped his hair away from his face, expresion softening when he locked eyes with you. He cocked his head and mouthed the question, “are you okay?” 

You were just about to click your seatbelt on, but you threw it off with a thwack against the window and stepped out of the vehicle, ignoring Jareth’s protests.

Eddie’s mind raced. He’d been wanting to talk to you about the not so subtle layers of vampire etiquette, but the time was never right.  Then he was parking another stolen car in the bay at the chop shop and he’d felt your discomfort, the spike in your adrenaline.  Without any vampire claim on you, your blood and your body were fair game to others.  If he could make the claim that you were his, the rest of them would have to stay away.  Even the older, stronger ones like Jareth.  

Eddie went around to your side of the Porsche and met you there, searching your face to see if you’d been hurt. 

“Where did you…how did you?” You stammered. 

He came to your side, so close that his hand brushed the back of yours.  He was breathing heavily, staring at your lips, aching to touch your cheek, to kiss you.

Jareth slammed his car door. “You’re going to pay for the repair, Munson,” he sneered, taking stock of the obvious dent made from his landing.

Eddie licked his lips and moved his jaw as if he were about to say something to you, but then his face tensed when he turned to Jareth. 

“You need to know that she is mine,” his throat dried up when he caught the side glance of your head swiveling to get a better look at the words that were coming out of his mouth. Fully expecting to have you cut him off and disagree, he continued.  “I claim her as my mate.”

Your first urge was to challenge the sentiment, but Eddie pinched the side of your hand and pulsed there a few times to let you in on his intentions.  

“Is this true?” Jareth’s stare bore into you.

You decided to trust your friendly neighbor. “Um, yes, I’m with him,” you were sure that any and all lies would be instantly detected, but the truth was, you didn’t mind saying it.  

“Well, that is unfortunate,” Jareth cleared his throat. “Nevertheless, I advise you to come with me.”

“What’s going on?” Eddie took his chance and snatched your hand in his.  You liked the feel of it, so you let him. “Where are you taking her?”

Jareth’s eyelids fluttered as if he were bored to death. “If you must know, there is a Ghoul named Brenner in town who's been asking questions about your…mate.” He bit the final word out sarcastically.  

At the mention of Brenner’s name, Eddie stiffened. It was familiar to him, more familiar than he wanted to admit. He shifted uneasily to interlace his fingers with yours.

“And a witch, a very powerful one,” Jareth confirmed.  “Possibly even a necromancer.”

You weren’t certain what that meant, but realization seemed to dawn on Eddie’s face. 

You turned to get a good look at Eddie, to search his eyes as if he had the perfect answer for how you should answer that, but his milk chocolate orbs only mirrored your search for answers.

There was also something else behind his eyes, a type of silent pleading that you couldn’t put your finger on.

The truth was, you had no idea you were special.  Not even after that day back in your hometown when you were able to push a man out of the way and stop a moving truck with your bare hands so that it would not crush the both of you.  He’d been going way too fast, about to run a stop sign.  The driver told people your eyes were all white, void of iris or pupil, and there were two indentations left in the metal grill where your hands had been.  

Your father had not explained the weight of your new gifts before he passed.  You liked to think that he hadn’t known, how could he? 

While you’d stood there talking, the fog had grown more substantial, it had weight and texture, so much so that you had to squint to see Jareth on the other side of the car.

“Wait,” Jareth held his hand up, squinting into the haze around him.  “Did you hear that?”

No mistaking, there it was again, a whooshing noise, along with the soft timber of chanting voices.  

You watched in horror as Jareth’s body seized, trembling where he stood as if being controlled by puppet strings, eyes rolling back in his head.  His jaw went slack and his head bent back.

Someone or something was controlling him, possessing his body.

“What is happening?” You gasped, clinging to Eddie.

“I don’t know,” Eddie was already on the move, pulling you toward him to take you into his arms and run. “But I don’t want to wait to find out.”

But he wasn’t fast enough

You felt his body go rigid, too, hand falling limp in your grasp

You turned to find him in a similar state; eyes quivering back into his head, body stiff and vibrating as if he were caught in the grip of some strange, upright sleep paralysis.  

“Eddie, no!” You cried, reaching up to take his face in your hand. Every muscle in his body was tense and his breathing shallow.  

“Eddie, you’re scaring me!” You choked on your fear, tugging at his arm.

But then there came another sound, one that made your blood run cold.

“I control the dead,” a soft, feminine voice said.  ���And it just so happens that your sweetheart and his friend are no longer living, if you hadn’t noticed.”

You spun around in a circle, seeing no one.  “Who are you? What do you want?”

She appeared to you then, like a vision.  Long, ebony hair and a dark purple velvet cape, her sharp green eyes were familiar to you in a way you didn’t understand.   

“I want you, Dove,” she said with a sly grin.

The woman said something else, in language you didn’t recognize, and she blew some type of dust into your face from the palm of her hand. 

You were able to let out the first part of a scream for help before your knees buckled and you were falling into an inky abyss.

—----

Since you were late, Steve was on his way over from the bookstore to check on you when he heard your broken, shrill cry.

He called your name and started to jog, peering in through the blanket of fog that was finally beginning to dissipate.  

He vaulted over the hood of one of the cars, pouncing into the street just in time to see the SUV with the tinted windows speed away from the curb, tires squealing.

“Hey!” With a growl, and a red glow to his eyes, he ripped his clothes off as he ran, turning into wolf form along the way.  He was sleek and dark gray, so fast and agile, wearing the night like a cloak.

He chased the vehicle into the night, eventually keeping pace with it through the forest, no matter how much it picked up speed.

—-----

In the shadows of an abandoned building near the tracks with broken out windows and a crumbling roof, Eddie gave a few tight blinks of his eyes; they felt dry and itchy, like someone had thrown salt in them.  There were slabs of broken concrete and a metal beam in front of him from the half-demolished structure.  The air smelled like rat feces and urine, and he was seated on the ground with his hands behind his back.

He shifted to test the strength of his restraints and hissed in pain as the silver chain around his neck and wrists burned him, making a sizzling noise like eggs in a frying pan.

“It’s no use,” the deep voice behind him said.

“Jareth?” Eddie turned his head and cringed in pain again.

Both of them were secured to a thick, cement pillar, facing away from each other.

“Are we alone?”

“As far as I can tell,” Jareth said in his typical, monotone voice. 

“What the hell was that?”

“The witch I warned you about would be my guess,” Jareth returned flatly. “And if you hadn’t slowed us down, we might have had a chance to escape her.”

Eddie went silent, trying to concentrate on the magic force that connected him to you through the sharing of each other’s blood, but he couldn’t hear you…couldn’t feel you, and that worried him more than anything.  

“What is she going to do with her?”

“I am ancient, but I am not a psychic,” Jareth drolled. 

Just then, a huge wolf with red eyes leapt through the gaping hole on the side of the building and trotted over to them, panting, huge tongue lolling out of its mouth of jagged teeth.  Both Eddie and Jareth bared their fangs as the beast closed in on them, sniffing the air as it went. 

Steve morphed back into his human form then, and stood before them completely naked.

Eddie retracted his fangs and tried to look anywhere but at the package on the new arrival. “Jesus christ, put that thing away, man.”

“Where is she?” Steve looked around at the empty expanse, trying to get a glimpse of you.  “I can’t smell her anymore.”

“That’s because she’s not here, you mongrel,” Jareth sighed, annoyed. 

“Did you see where they went?” Chain link welts formed on Eddie’s neck.  “The ones who brought us here?”

Steve worked his jaw, angry with himself.  “I kept up for as long as I could, but then I lost them on the freeway and had to find the scent again.”

Eddie threw his head back against the concrete pillar with a curse.

“Well?” Jareth interrupted the moment of silence. “You could help us out of these restraints if you wanted to make yourself useful.”

“I’m thinking about it,” Steve gave him a glare, his breath like smoke in the frozen air.  “Or I could just leave you to rot.”

“I will spend the rest of my immortal life making you regret that decision—” Jareth’s voice began to raise.

“Enough,” Eddie grunted. “We will be stronger in numbers,” his eyes met Steve’s with a sincere urgency. “She’s in danger.”

“We’ll need to find shelter before dawn,” Jareth reminded him. He looked up at the opening in the concrete with a view of the stars.  In a few hours, the sun would turn them to ashes.  “Or we will perish.”

Steve tucked his chin, willing to set aside his loathing of fangers long enough to get you back, and squatted down to get to work unraveling the massive chain that pinned the two vampires together.  

—----

You could feel yourself drifting in and out of consciousness, or whatever type of spell they had you under, watching the lights from the freeway cut by through half lidded eyes. Inside, you were screaming at yourself to move, to wake up.  

Propped up in the back seat, seatbelt across your lap, your forehead against the window.  You couldn’t see the person driving, but in the passenger seat was the woman with long black hair.  Every time your eyelids fluttered open on an inhale, she was watching you over her shoulder.  

“Dr. Brenner will be pleased,” a man’s voice said, possibly from behind the wheel.  “Why he is so desperate to have her, I will never know.”

“He wants her because she is the only one of her kind,” the woman gave a sarcastic cough of a laugh, as if your value should be obvious.  “Reanimated tissue fused with gamma radiation and witch magic?  If he could bottle her strength and regeneration capabilities, he'd be unstoppable.”

“The vampire boyfriend, is he going to be a problem?” the driver asked.

You drifted awake to see the woman’s profile, stoic in the moonlight.

“They’ll be dead by the time the sun comes up,” she sniffed.  “For all the bragging they do about immortality, all it takes is a bit of silver and sunlight to eliminate them.”

Your heart rate picked up, alarms going off inside of you.  A scream caught in your throat but wasn’t able to form a complete sound.  

Something clicked in your brain, and a shift began to take place.

Electricity buzzed under your skin, licking all of your nerves and cells awake.

A change was happening.  

The driver glanced at you in the rearview mirror.  “You sure we don’t have to worry about her waking up?”

The woman scoffed.  “She’ll be out for at least another hour, and then she’s Brenner’s problem.  I didn’t just put any old spell on her, that one could put down a team of elephants.’

There was nothing but the sound of tires on the pavement for a few seconds and then the SUV swerved and the man behind the wheel cursed.

“What the hell was that?” He huffed, struggling to get back into his lane. Something huge had swooped down from the sky in front of them, something with the wings of a bat and legs like an octopus.  

Headlights came toward the window and someone honked for them to move out of the way. 

“I didn’t think there were any demobats on this side,” the woman mused, wondering if that was what she saw, or if her eyes were playing tricks on hre.  “They hate humans.”

There came the sound of scratching on the roof

SCRTCH SCRITCH SCRITCH

And then an animalistic yowl, like the caw of a prehistoric bird.

Bela dove again, but this time, she attached herself to the windshield, obscuring the driver’s view of the road.  

He swerved again, tires catching in the loose gravel of the median, and she flew off the glass.

“Don’t you have any magic to get rid of this thing?” The guy whined.

“I can’t control demobats, no one outside of the Upside Down can.”

“When that fucker comes around front again, I’m gunning it.  Splatter the thing all over the road.”

Behind them, you moaned, brow furrowed, fingers clawing at nothing.  Your muscles throbbed like they were being pulled apart.  

Bela flew into the side window opposite you with a thump, making a spiderweb crack and the glass, and then she rammed at it again.  

“This fucking thing is gonna get in here,” the man spat.

“Just drive faster you moron! It can’t keep up with us.”

He yanked the wheel, pulling the vehicle to the side to try and hit her, but she was already in the air and off again. 

You rolled back in your seat as the speed increased with a jolt, and for a moment, there was peace.

The driver checked the rearview mirror again.  “I think we lost it,” his attention snapped to the woman with the inky black locks.  “What the fuck was that about?”

She was mid-shrug in response to his question when Bela charged the windshield, landing with enough force again to splinter the glass.

This time, there was no wiggle room when he swerved as a semi truck was barreling down on them in the opposite direction, blaring its horn.

The SUV jerked right, tires catching at the lip of a dry irrigation ditch, and then they rolled.  There was the sound of shattering glass and the sickening crunch of twisted metal while the two in the front seat let out shrill screams.

And then everything was quiet.  

—-------

Back at Eddie’s trailer, Jareth paced outside while Eddie found Steve something to wear.  

“These good enough? I think they’ll fit,” he tossed a few things on the couch. Eddie changed out of his leather and slipped on a black hoodie, in case he needed to hide his hair and be in disguise for some reason. 

Still in his birthday suit, ass on full display, Steve’s expression was bitchy as he pinched the material to lift it up for a better look.

“A ratty jean vest?” Steve raised a brow.

Eddie popped a cigarette between his lips, crinkling up the empty soft pack of Camel’s in his hand.  “Sorry the maid hasn’t come to do laundry today, Princess. Those are the only two things I have that are clean.  Take it or leave it.”

“Fine,” Steve rolled his eyes. The jeans he was borrowing had ripped holes in the knees and the shoes were white Reebok high tops.  “I’m usually able to plan better when I shift,” he mumbled, stepping into the pant legs, gently tucking his cock inside to avoid the teeth of the zipper.

Once they’d been freed from the restraints at the abandoned building, Eddie hotwired a cement mixer from a nearby construction site, and then they swung by downtown to see if any of the clothes Steve had worn earlier were salvageable in the street, but they’d been obliterated like a bomb went off. 

“Just do me a favor and take that off before you bust out of it in another transformation, cool?”

Eddie turned away to take a drag from his smoke while Steve inspected the patches on the battle jacket with a frown.

And that was when it happened.

Like the ringing of a phone in his head

A spasm in his chest

He could feel you calling to him

“This is it,” he screwed his eyes shut, trying to zero in on the emotions you were radiating. 

“This is what?” Steve stood in front of the mirror under the clock, adjusting the collar of the vest and raking a hand through his hair.

Eddie’s eyes snapped open, tip of his tongue resting between his lips.  He sprang behind Steve on his way to the door, clapping him on the shoulder.  “It’s showtime.”

-----

thank you so much for reading xoxox

------

Taglist: @trixyvixx@sllooney@writinginthetwilight@sidthedollface2@atomickaratel8dy @probablyin-bed @kiyastrf94@briamunson92 @joannamuns9n @jasminelafleur @@bellalillyrose @dashingdeb16 @alba8688 @corrodeddeadlydoll@brassreign@likedovesinthewnd @ilovetaquitosmmm @skrzydlak@onegirlmanytales@angietherose@probablyin-bed@reidsbtch@moonbeamsandmayhem@eddiesxangel@hideoutside@secretdryrose@nailbatanddungeon@thorfemmes@corkadymu@kellsck@mrsjellymunson@poofyloofy @dream-a-little-nightmare

[petrichor-idyllic]

I would like to request headcanons for the maze runner boys for how would they react when they're jealous of you.

Luv you <3

Wooo, I love writing headcanons, they're a hell of a lot easier than full stories. I'm assuming you mean when they're jealous over you, so that's what I'm going with.

Gender neutral reader because the pronouns are unspecified.

Also I have seen your request for a part 2 to "warmth in cold places" and I will do that after I've finished your headcanon requests because it'll be simpler lol, hope that's okay.

ENVY IS A SIN

MASTERLIST | MULTI-CHARACTER MASTERLIST

SUMMERY: See above. Gender-neutral!Reader x All boys. Not established relationships, just long-term crushes from some jealous boys. You're close with the boys, and despite them not knowing how you feel- they just can't help but be jealous.

WARNINGS: Inappropriate language, some possessiveness, violence and suggestive themes. Alby is based more on the book to add some variety.

What happens when your favourite Glader boys get jealous over you?

Let's find out.

THOMAS

Thomas is definitely a... controversial character amongst the Glade.

Which means that the Gladers (especially Gally and the other's that don't hold his favour), would often flirt with you just to get a rise out of him.

It's not like you two are dating or anything, but he'd clearly have a thing for you.

And he's not exactly the most self-assured person around. Yanno- with the identity crisis, no memories of his life, people accusing him of everything under the sun- you get the picture.

The boy already has enough insecurities on his plate- nevermind watching the person he has feelings for get hit on.

He's not exactly one to start physical altercations, but it wouldn't be rare to feel his 500-yard death stare from across the Glade.

"Gally's talking to them again."

Newt would get to hear the worst of Thomas's internal conflicts.

He'd find it funny, but kind of annoying.

"They're just talkin', mate- it ain't a crime."

"He's doing it to get to me. I know he is."

"Seems to be workin'."

"Shut up."

Despite not wanting to get into a fight, Thomas would occasionally butt into conversations.

He can be sarcastic, something he's picked up off of Minho (but not nearly as good at), and he would be snappy and condescending when diving face first into trying to steal your attention.

Which would leave you concerned as you'd have to blankly watch Thomas bicker with someone in a way you can't quite understand.

Thomas isn't stupid.

He'd be fully aware he has no right to be so jealous or meddling, but until he actually gains the courage to say something about his feelings, you better get used to it.

NEWT

Newt is far more level-headed than Thomas.

He is respectful and busy, remaining calm in the majority of situations he has to face.

Though, like Thomas, he would absolutely be the type to stand with a tense jaw, staring while you interact with some poor, unknowing boy as Newt plots murder in his head.

Newt is confident in his skills, and doesn't have much time to focus on romantic endeavours. But there would be the creeping feeling of possessiveness as he'd watch you talk to the other boys.

He'd prefer to talk to the culprit in private, giving them a warning nod to keep their distance.

"I'm telling you to stay away from them."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

It wouldn't go much further than that.

The boys heed Newt's warnings- despite his reputation, he isn't exactly someone people want to upset.

Alby and Minho would find it very funny that the only time Newt chooses to actually use the power he has is when it comes to scaring people away from you.

"You're literally the Second in Command, and the only time you actually tell people what to do is when you get all shuckin' possessive over a crush? Ha! That's the best thing I've ever heard."

"Shut up, Minho."

When you'd bring it up to him that less and less people are talking to you, he would just shrug it off.

Of course, Minho would absolutely tell you what's actually going on because he can't keep his mouth shut, but you can only knowingly smile until Newt is willing to finally tell you himself.

MINHO

Minho is a reckless and unsubtle man.

He lives with his life on the line permanently, and is pretty blunt about most things.

He would absolutely tell you to your face that he doesn't like someone, or how they're acting around you.

"I just don't like what Zart said earlier- he's gettin' too shuckin' friendly."

He'd also go out of his way to be physically intimidating and make himself look better than whoever his competitor is.

That includes but is not exclusive to:

- Knocking shoulders with people who are talking to you.

- Loud (and obnoxious) insults aimed at anyone who dares get too close.

- The more than once he'd almost get into a physical fight.

- Casually throwing an arm over your shoulder to assert dominance.

He'd also be a sulky bitch.

Minho doesn't seem like the type to be good with his feelings, so apart from the initial rage, confrontation, and warnings- he would strop.

He'd have no grounds to, and Newt would remind him of that since you guys aren't dating.

But that wouldn't stop him.

"Dude, if you keep pouting like a shank, they're never gonna like you back."

"I'm not pouting."

He'd get over it, eventually.

Minho isn't an insecure person. He'd know there were something more between you both. The problem would lie in whether he'd be the only person you had that something with.

That is why he would sulk.

Because deep down, you'd be almost like a weak spot for him.

Though, it would kind of become a sort of unspoken rule not to flirt with you- after all, no one wants an angry Minho after them.

GALLY

Gally is like Minho, only ten times worse and borderline homicidal.

There would be many Gladers who would show up with broken noses and a nervous disposition after they'd be seen talking to you.

(And Gally with broken knuckles.)

He's terrible at controlling his feelings and expressing them in a healthy way.

He would be especially harsh if he saw someone making you uncomfortable.

"I'm going to shucking kill that bastard!"

Frypan would make comical commentary.

"Y'all still aren't together then, huh?"

"Shut up, Fry."

"Ah- figures."

He would also be incredibly insecure.

Sure, he's not the most liked guy around, but he thought you guys were close. That he might have a chance with you.

So, instead of having a healthy conversation with you about maybe establishing a relationship, he would react in a rash way.

Which would definitely not be a good way to show he cares about you.

But the boy has issues.

Alby would absolutely get mad at him and tell him to stop.

He'd then start insulting people instead.

FRYPAN

Frypan would probably...

Do nothing.

Nope.

He doesn't like conflict and despite being a jokester, he doesn't actually want to cause any problems.

And he's not about to go around bashing people when he doesn't even know if the feeling is mutual (*cough* something the other boys can learn from *cough*).

He'd probably keep his mouth shut and try to judge things from spending time with you.

He might talk to Gally about it.

"You could just ask them?"

"Would you ask them if you were me?"

"Fair point."

He'd definitely just silently simmer in his own emotions whilst staring off into space.

Though, when he'd be with you- you'd have absolutely no idea he was jealous or possessive at all.

He would never do anything to upset you.

He'd definitely lie awake at night thinking about it and how you might like someone else and what would he even do with himself?

But he'd never tell you.

Or show you.

Your happiness always comes first.

ALBY

Alby would throw them in the Slammer.

Wouldn't even hesitate.

Looked at you for too long?

Slammer.

Made a flirty comment?

Slammer.

Bad and slightly inappropriate joke?

Slammer.

He is a very busy man. He doesn't have the time to keep an eye on you all the time, so, putting anyone who crosses a line in the Slammer would definitely make that easier.

"Why's Ben in the Slammer again, Alby?"

"Why do you think, Newt?"

"Ah, (Y/N)? Again?"

It's not like Alby is insecure or even possessive.

He has much more important things that he needs to worry about.

But, watching people try and flirt with you would make him uncomfortable, and Alby has no time to process this discomfort.

So it obviously means that they're doing something wrong, right?

So, Slammer.

It is the simplist answer.

You'd have to ask him to stop because he'd keep locking your friends up.

He would begrudgingly agree.

Though, people definitely would not dare hit on you once they started to understand that Alby liked you.

That'd be an easy way to a fast grave.

In reality, Alby wouldn't have any reason to be jealous- he is the Leader for a reason.

He probably could've just told people to back off with no context, and they would've, instead of the immediate jailing.

It would be a very odd phase for the Glade.

Yoo, back with more headcanons. I try not to take these too seriously because I feel like they're just a bit of fun instead of the usual one-shots.

I have some more headcanons coming up next.

I hope you enjoyed :))

[snek-eyes]

Hello! What do you mean that Crowley is cold in the flashback with Job? Like, in a mean way? I always found he acts a little cool and demonic to keep up the charade knowing him acting demonic and uncaring will better veil the fact that he didn't kill the goats and doesn't intend to harm the kids since we know he'll be in big trouble if anyone finds out. And he knows everything will be fine, and that the kids won't get hurt and that the animals are safe as well so I figure that's a big factor in him seeming so cool/lacking compassion in the scene with Sitis. It reminded me a little of the scene in S1 where he turns the paintball guns into real ones and acts all cool and careless about it until begrudgingly admitting that nobody gets shot 🤔

Oh! And I forgot to add: the cool, rather uncaring demeanour Crowley has with Sitis is the same he first has with Aziraphale when he "kills" the goats and when he tells him he longs to destroy Job's blameless children. Until he realizes Aziraphale isn't on Heaven's side with this. Anyways, sorry for the ramble and I love reading your meta!

(re: this post)

Hi there! Never any need to apologize for rambling to me, discussions like this are fun, and you are drawing some very good points. And it gives me an excuse to put more thought into this!

To clarify, by "cold" I'm not saying Crowley's being mean, but he's definitely not being nice. Crowley is a "kind but not nice" big picture kinda guy, and he's got a lot of plates to be juggling here.

This is the one real time we see Crowley "at work." Like you said, acting as a demon. But not the bwahaha type of demon Aziraphale keeps bringing up with his 'avaunt!' and 'I bring a warning!' over-the-top angel shtick.

Crowley's got a wall up, by necessity. He comes across sort of... aloof and impatient, verging on condescending at points. He's steering this interaction by his plan and can't be stopped by how these people are suffering in the meantime.

And yet he's doing all he is with Job's family because he cares. Crowley thinks it's not fair that Job's being put through this, that God still has Sitis's faith even now. How much of that is the specific situation in front of him, and how much is him projecting his own trauma isn't exactly clear and I think kind of irrelevant. They're both at play. Crowley I'm sure would love to pretend he doesn't care about either.

But these humans are simultaneously A) in his way and B) not at fault. Crowley is a big picture guy: He does his best work on a large scale, he's fond of humans in general but they're often too much for him one on one. He'll support sacrificing one life to save the whole world (And yet, he won't personally pull the trigger) (But he will get frustrated when Aziraphale won't either)

Basically, Crowley can be frustrated by individuals enough to not be comforting while they're upset, to turn them into newts, etc. while also able to see on the broader scale that being annoying to him personally isn't reason enough to deserve truly awful things. Also there's some element of not wanting to let himself get attached because if he cares he will care.

That's a fascinating character trait, especially when you contrast him with Aziraphale who also has a big heart, but often gets distracted by that big picture of how things Should be.

I have more to say about your second message, because I actually think there's an important difference in his attitude with Sitis & Job vs how he's confronting Aziraphale there. But I've been turning this part over for long enough, so I'll release it into the wild.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ 9 months to fall in love 16 replies.

@cherryblosom73 replied: I just started binge reading this the other day you write the best jin stories and my heart is breaking for these two

oh thank you 🥺 my heart broke a little too in this chapter, but I have every faith things will be ok!!!

@nanied93 replied: Whoaaaa was not expecting that reaction. What an asshole. And now he’s just gonna be physically gone for a whole week? No chance to talk this out? They’ll make it through this ✊🏾

They will! we have to have faith!!!! 

@hobiiiiiworld replied: No. No. What? No. I can’t go to bed like this, my feeble heart is too unstable… 😭

😭😭 I’m sorry!

@talkyoongitome replied: I love these series so much

thank you so much :’) 

@ohsokisshimagain replied: If Jin trays to distance from her to protect her just as Edward did to bella in new moon, imma k*ll someone. Hope he doesn't date to give the cold shoulder to a PREGNANT woman

THE NEW MOON REFERENCE, I’M LAUGHING SO HARD! Don’t worry, he won’t be giving her the cold shoulder AT ALL, especially after being compared to Edward lmaoo

@vicki1031 replied: I swear he better not do something stupid like distancing himself 🥴🙄🙄 but gosh, i swear these two can never catch a break 😭 why cant they just be all lovey dovey with each other and glob

At least this time it’s an outside issue and not one to do with them personally. But I agree, they were so happy and lovey dovey lately, it’s not FAIR 😭

@allorareverz replied: i'm at hospital and lord..this hurt more than my organs do

omg, I hope you’re okay?! Sending lots of love 💕

@xtatyh replied: Jin loves his girls so much, why can’t her father see that! I mean, he could be in shock but that was too much, so rude! I just hope that they work it out, I want them to enjoy the pregnancy and have peace 🥺

He was so, so rude! Totally uncalled! Oc and Jin deserve a plain sailing pregnancy from here on in! Let’s hope that happens 🤧

@jjkdnlemoni replied: the angst is 😭😭😭😭😭 it hurts how to see seokjin like that all of the sudden i know he's overwhelmed but the fact that they both need each other's presence right that time and he drifts away like that is 😭😭😭 i dont want to judge but i feel betrayed 😭

I understand how you feel. I think he has issues dealing with intense waves of emotions, which is totally valid, but he needs to remember this is not only about him now 🥺 he has a pregnant girlfriend he needs to be there for! I’m sure Hoseok will give him a lecture!!

@ihavetitanium replied: 🥺🥺🥺 this whole chapter hurt just like i knew it would 😭 like i get where her father is coming from it’s just so frustrating and sad to see!

His worries are valid but the man went about expressing them in ALL the wrong ways 😬 

@bri-mal replied: Wow wow wow. I mean dad is justified to be concerned but that doesn't validate treating them/her/him that way. So condescending ton question a grown woman and assume she's blinded by money and glitz. Does he know his daughter at all? I would be so angry if my dad, no matter how distant, just assumed I was easily wooed by a rich guy and didn't think for myself. More so I am sad for the effect this has on OC and Seokjin's relationship; their poor happy bubble was popped😔

He did come across very condescending, you’re right! Everything he said just came out so wrong 🥴 I think he just rolled with it, making all these assumptions because he was blindsided by the news, and it didn’t add up with what he knew about his daughter. In turn, it made it seem to Oc that he didn’t know or understand her at all. Oc and Seokjin’s happy bubble definitely got popped 😭

@hauntedskies replied: Please tell me the dad doesn't have cancer because seokjin acted like he has😭

Ah, no! He’s perfectly healthily! Seokjin just meant that Oc should ask her dad what they spoke about because her and him need a heart to heart. 

@rvluviewendy replied: 🤚🤚 I doubt it but will get a chance run in with Taehyung? I know it probably isn't where the story is going since it seems that MC gets a lot of "distance" from her family. But since he is the reason she struggled early on with trusting Jin in the beginning, will he pop up at all even if it's a minor run in?

Taehyung will appear in season 3 briefly! He was supposed to in season 2 but I changed things up a bit. It won’t be very important to the story, I just wanted to write him into it. He has played an important role in her life, despite not being in it for nearly 6/7 years, so I want to bring her some final closure! 

@liz3056​ reblogged and said: God ocs dad was horrible I expected more of this reaction with Jins  family I'm glad atleas yeonja supports them. I feel like because of her dad their relationship took two steps back why did he do that to them I can't stand to see them upset . I hope they can fix everything soon.😭😭😭 Anyway amazing chapter I loved it as per usual you did an amazing job !😍 Now i have to wait 2 weeks but it's gonna be so worth it you give me something to look forward to every other sunday thank you!😊

I think because of her father’s reaction, it would be very easy for Oc and Jin’s relationship to take two steps back (possibly more lol) BUT they have come a long way from season 1. It’s really up to them how they want to deal with the issue that has arisen. I have every faith in them! Thank you so much for reading! I’m really happy you enjoy this story, it means a lot to me! 💖

@jjungcookie​ reblogged and said: Whyyyyy the timing to this was awful... I am hurt but I have faith they are going to get over this because you have kind of promised hahah. The mc and her father really need to talk, by the way. I feel like he will come around eventually but until then Seokjin's just going to be feeling a bit awkward, I guess. And I really really hope that the mc doesn't close herself off while Seokjin is gone and that he doesn't close himself off either... And I will be very eagerly waiting for the next chapter 😊

LOL I did promise! I did say every season ends on a happy note after all! I think Oc and Seokjin have grown a lot, so there will be no closing off from one another! (Even if it seemed that way in ch16 - emotions were just running very high!) It was just terrible timing that Seokjin had to go away for a week. I hope you enjoy the last chapter of season 2 today 💞

[todoshotoroki]

𝒮𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝓉, 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎

Warnings: smut, cockwarming, edging, smudge of angst, mentions of Bakugou, f reader x jealous Todoroki.〤 Minors DNI Word count: 2.4k

   It wasn't fair. This wasn't at all fair, and it wasn't your fault either. At least you didn't think you did anything wrong. You didn't expect for your usually soft-spoken, gentle boyfriend to be so upset with you the second you walked into your dorm. He was unusually quiet, more so than normal. When you had sat down next to him on the bed, you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder with a concerned frown. “Sho? Are you alright?” His eyes were covered from his bangs, the hand you placed on his shoulder coming up to gently scoop them out of his eyes, only then did he look up at you.

   “No. Not really” He admitted coldly, his eyebrows furrowing as his hand found its place on your calf, his warm fingers slowly trailing down to grip your ankle. To be honest, you should have seen it coming when he yanked your leg, pulling you over into his lap. To say the sudden position flustered you was a bit of an understatement, but you were still concerned about your boyfriends sour expression. And you had yet to get an explanation. “What's wrong? Tell me?”

   You squirmed to get more comfortable in his lap, your hands now settled on his shoulders. Shoto sighed, as if in disappointment, and his own fingers curled around your waist, gently but firmly grasping your hips. “How do you not know, darling?” His voice was quiet, but stern as one hot, one cold hand slowly drifted downwards, slipping under your skirt and tracing the line of your lace panties.

   As much as you tried to focus on what you could have done to emit such a reaction from your boyfriend, it was clear to you now that his intentions were not so innocent. “After all, it’s all your fault.” He admitted, though his eyes weren't looking at you as he leaned up against the pillows on the bed. He was watching as his hand drifted to the front of your skirt, flipping it up over your hips. A small, content sigh fell past his lips and his eyebrows furrowed as he got a good look at the cute lace adorning your skin. You were just so pretty.

   “Let me” His whispered, his fingers already curling to pull your panties to the side. Todoroki couldn't help but bite the inside of his cheek to conceal the groan bubbling in his chest at the sight of your bare cunt leaving a wet spot on his sweatpants.

   You let out a shaky breath, gripping his shoulders tighter as the hands on your hips began to rock your waist against his. You released a quiet moan as you felt the pressure of his hard cock through his pants, leaning forward, you rested your chin against his shoulder. “What did I do? Sho-” His name leaving your mouth ended in a moan as you ground your hips into his, desperately seeking more friction. 

   Too bad his hands tightened around your waist to pause your movements, as if you had suddenly reminded him of how angry he was supposed to be at you.

   “I should punish you” He responded, completely ignoring your question. You almost weren't sure if he had heard you correctly, but the fingernails digging into your waist said otherwise. Well, you definitely heard him, and his uncharacteristically demanding tone set every part of your body ablaze.  Before you were given the time to respond, he flipped you around in his lap, cherishing the small ‘oomph-’ that left your lips in the process. 

   “P-punish me?”

   Luckily, now that you were not facing him, he could give the faintest hint of a smile behind his smirking.

   “Don't be afraid honey, I could never be mean to you” Although his tone was laced with kindness and warmth, underlying his voice was a condescending double standard, one that sent a shiver up your spine as he pulled your back flush against his chest. “Up” His hot breath fanned across the back of your neck, making the rest of your body rise with goosebumps.

   You lifted your hips, and he tauntingly pulled your panties down your legs, teasingly tracing them across your skin to bring them back up. “Good girl” You could hear the smile in his voice as he purred, making your cheeks redder then they already were. He set his hands back down on your hips. “Oh. though, you haven't been very good today I suppose” 

   You squirmed in his lap, frowning at the reminder that there's something you did to deserve this. Even more now, did you want to find out. You had never seen Shoto like this before, so teasing. He was always such a giver when it came to sexual activities. “I’m sorry Sho, whatever I did I'm sorry” Your voice was already running out of breath. How pathetic.

   “Oh? And what exactly did you do, Y/n? Do you even know?” As you shifted your hips once more, Todoroki's hand slipped between the two of you, his fingers tightly gripping his sweatpants and boxers and pulling them down enough for his hard cock to slap between your plush thighs. Your breath hitched at the feeling of his naked skin against your own, even if both of you were still technically still clothed. “I don't.. Please, tell me” You asked quietly.

   Todoroki hummed, his fingers unbuttoning the shirt of your school uniform expertly as he pondered his response. “No. Figure it out yourself” He demanded, pulling your shirt down your sides and tossing it across the room. You frowned, biting your tongue as your face creased thoughtfully, distractedly. 

   You could barely even remember what you did today, with how his warm hand inched closer to your clit like that. 

   “This isn’t fair” You protested, gripping onto the arm he had circled around your waist to keep your backside flush with his chest. You leaned your head onto his shoulder, getting the perfect view of his jawline. “I think it's fair” He responded, his fingers reaching between the two of you, gripping onto his cock to align the tip with your clit. 

   You could feel the tip of Shoto’s hard cock pulsing against your clit, and the way you instinctively ground your hips against his made the rest of his cock wet with your juices. Your boyfriend could act tough all he wanted, but the way his eyes were fixated on the sight between you and the small gasp that left his lips were telltale signs of how much he was truly enjoying his time teasing you. 

   Apparently you had been caught staring, because you were met with heterochromia eyes and flushed cheeks looking right back at you. The teasing smile that graced his lips made you want to get on your knees thank whatever god put you in this position. “Enjoying yourself?” He whispered, tilting his head forward to press his lips against yours, pulling away just enough to give you room to respond. “Yes” You admitted quietly, pressing your lips to his.

   His lips were so soft, and his tongue grazed your bottom lip. As soon as you opened your mouth to give him entry, he pulled away and pressed his forehead to yours with a suddenly serious, stern, cold glare. “You shouldn't be” The arm he tightened around your waist lifted your hips, suddenly aligning his cock and swiftly piercing himself into you. Both of you let out a gasp of ecstasy, Todoroki’s hands tightening on your hips. 

   “A-Ah, Sho- Shoto- ohh” Your eyelids fluttered shut, and your nails dug into the milky skin of his thighs beneath you in an attempt to ground yourself. Only he could make you feel so lightheaded and cloudy so quickly. His hot panting on the back of your neck caused a ripple to shudder through your body, your back slightly arching off his chest. He was quick to ground you, pulling you back against him before you could move. “No, stay, baby” He demanded softly against the crook of your neck. 

   Your insides felt like something Shoto Todoroki would never be able to experience with anybody but you. Nobody could light a flame inside his stomach like you did, you provided a warmth that he never had growing up, and one he would never find with his friends, despite how he appreciated them. They still weren't you. 

   “M-move Shoto, please” You quiet begs were met with nothing but silence. You pressed your back further into his chest, tilting your head to nuzzle at his jawline. Delicately placing kisses wherever you see fit. Todoroki had his eyes closed, but the labored breaths and the redness of his cheeks were enough to convey his emotions. “Please, please, fuck me already Sho”

   Finally, he provided a response. “Fucking is a reward, and you haven't been good” 

   You fucked up. Whatever you did, it was a fuck up.

   You could do no harm in Shoto Todoroki’s eyes, your classmates claimed you could run away with the league of villains and he would still be waiting on his knees for you to come back with open arms. 

   But he had never used this as a punishment, nor had fucking ever been a reward before. He was always soft when making love with you. 

   Your kisses slowly ceased, releasing shaky, uneven breaths against the underside of his jaw. That, mixed with the warmness of being nestled deep inside of your cunt, was almost enough for him to cum if he basked in it long enough. Though, he knew he’d be able to hold off. After all, he still couldn't get the picture of you with him out of his goddamn head. 

   “T-Todo, but I want you to..” Your words trailed off with a needy whine as your lover placed warm kisses along your cheek, then one more on your lips.

   “Tell me what you did wrong, then you can apologize for it” 

   Fuck. Your eyes darted around the room, trying to catch a glimpse of something to jog your memory. Then, your eyes landed on the orange notebook sitting on your desk. 

   Bakugou. He was jealous of your study session with Katsuki Bakugou. 

   “You.. mean, Bakugou-”

   “Bakugou?” Todoroki’s voice was laced with stone cold venom. His fingernails creased crescent shaped marks into your skin, causing you to grit your teeth and look up at him with wide eyes. “Don't you mean your precious friend Kacchan?” He practically growled in your ear, and you could feel the heat of his left hand rising as it pressed into your hip, your body freezing cold on the other side from his tight grip. 

   Oh. You DID call Bakugou by his childhood nickname. 

   You opened your mouth to reply and explain yourself, tell him that you did that to mock the nickname, but your voice was at a loss and suddenly failing you. You didn't need to speak though, because Shoto quickly filled the quietness by growling into your ear once more. “Your lucky I don't bend you over the bed and really punish you, since you want to be such a brat” 

   He meant it, you could hear it in the coldness of his voice.

   He leaned back, shoving you to sit upright in his lap and lying down on his back against the plush comforter. His hands gripped the base of your hips, and you leaned forward, gripping Todoroki’s pale, soft thighs for support. “Don't you have anything to say? Don't you want to apologize to me?” 

   His words fell on deaf ears as he finally, finally fucking rolled his hips into yours with a long, meaningful thrust. “Oh-oh fuck- just like that Sho” You leaned your head back, giving into a beautiful arch as Todoroki groaned at the feeling of you tightening around him.

   “Oh? Mmph- You mean like this?”

   He gave another hard, sensual thrust that kissed your cervix, making your legs feel like jello on each side of his hips. It was magical, the way his cock brushed against the walls of your insides with each savored stroke.

   “Turn around baby, look at me”  You scrambled to do as you were told, to make sure you were good for him. You adjusted yourself in his lap, sinking back down onto his cock as he propped both his knees up behind you for leverage. He had unbuttoned his shirt at some point, giving you access to his toned chest underneath your fingertips.

   Slowly, you began to grind your hips into his, relishing in the surprised facial expression that flew across his face at the sudden movement. “Shoo, I want you, so bad” Your eyes were watery as you pleaded with him, your desperate cunt needily sucking his cock into your plush walls. Though his tightening hold refrained anymore of your movements.

   “Say it Y/n” His tone was desperate, and his eyes were quick to portray how much he actually needed your reassurance. “Tell me your sorry. That he can't love you like I do” His eyes were half-lidded, glossy as they stared up at you. 

   Your heart sliced in half at making Todoroki feel even comparable to your explosive classmate, and you leaned forward to hover over him. As if it was instinct, his hands rested along the curve of your ass, one reaching down to brush his fingertips across your clit, ghosting over the spot where his cock was currently impaling you. “Never, never Sho, he’ll never even be able to compete, I swear.” You admitted, peppering needy kisses along his jawline. 

   “I'm sorry Shoto, I'm so sorry I made you feel that way baby” You could tell he was soaking up every word, his eyes fluttering open to look up at you every time you finished your sentence, watching you in hopes that you'd only speak more. “I love you so much, so much Sho” You leaned your forehead against his, your eyes glimmering as your lips ghosted over his. “Please forgive me Shoto, he can’t love me, can’t fuck me like you can, just please”

   “Yeah, he can't” Hearing you beg for his forgiveness must have been his breaking point, because his hips lifted up off the bed just enough to move himself inside of you, a small moan falling past his swollen lips. “I love you baby” He responded, his arms coming up to circle around your waist, in the process giving him the best angle to pull his cock out, only to thrust it back into your hot mess.

   Just when you thought your night had finally begun, Todoroki had to pause just one more time, and whisper one more dirty little command in your ear.

   “Oh, and I may be fucking you now” His words were slightly muffled as his teeth nibbled along your bottom lip.    

 “But don't you dare think about cumming tonight”   

𝐼𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑎𝑦 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒:  “𝒪𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑜𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹”

𝑂𝑟 𝑚𝑎𝑦𝑏𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ♡

© all copy rights reserved, do not claim, copy, or repost

[harcove]

Porco x Reader fluff - Goner

I honestly just wanted some Porco lives AU fluff which is wild since I LOVE angst aha.... I've never written for pock before so... Anyways-

Warnings: none

Length: 829 words

"Today was good."

Porco Galliard acknowledges you with a soft hum that comes from his chest; deep and distinct. He sits beside you on the rocking porch chair, using one of his feet to push the thing back into motion before leaning back. You can tell by the way he's sitting that he's listening to you. Waiting for you to continue.

"I saw Gabi and Falco in the markets with that man, Levi, you remember him?" Porco doesn't respond but tilts his head a bit; of course he remembers, "they seem happy. Taking care of him, spending time together. Gabi was disappointed you weren't with me."

Porco smirks. It's not cocky or condescending. It's fond; soft. His brows furrow and he uses his foot to push the swinging bench again.

"Hard to believe she's related to Braun," Porco breathes out; he doesn't sound malicious when he says Braun. He doesn't sound angry. He sounds amused.

You roll your eyes and swat his arm, "You're friends with Reiner, I know you are."

"We're not friends."

Porco narrows his eyes at the sun setting behind the horizon, as the sky darkens more and more, tiny stars prepare to make their appearance and the moon readies itself to take over the task of lighting the sky for the sun.

He's not friends with Reiner Braun. But maybe he's not as harsh as before because he's older, maybe wiser, or maybe because they're both in the alliance and he has to be more civil if he's going to be travelling with him and the others.

Or maybe it was that day. When Marcel's memories told him what happened. That his brother was why Reiner was picked and not him. That his brother said sorry to Reiner and chose to protect him. That, in all, he was good enough to be the armoured titan; he was always good enough. And his brother knew that.

Either way, he wouldn't say he was friends with Reiner.

"Sure," you respond with an eye roll. One day, he'll admit he likes the blonde more than he realizes. And you'll promptly tell him I told you so.

There's a lull in the conversation. The sound of trees dancing with the wind fills the gap and the wind chime you bought when the two of you moved into the quaint home rings softly making new melodies it can never repeat. The rocking bench creeks and both you and Porco's breathing is gentle, barely audible. In sync.

Theres an undeniable chill in the air that night. Autumn was rearing its head and the moon didn't bring heat like the sun. But it was beautiful, maybe even more so than the sun.

"C'mere," Porco sounds annoyed as he opens his arms to invite you into the spot nestled into his arm and chest. But you know him better than that- he's not annoyed. Maybe a bit embarrassed. But not annoyed.

You slide across the few inches between the two of you, lifting your feet up to tuck underneath you. The way you fit perfectly into his side makes you smile, and him as well. But he won't let you see. It's a reminder of how you two are meant to be together. It's silly, but he believes it.

"You just felt cold huh Pock?" You tease him gently as you rest your head on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your shoulders, keeping you close.

You can feel him role his eyes. You just know he is, even if you can't see it. The way he shifts a bit and his fingers squeeze your arm tells you all there is to know.

"Sure," he scoffs, "I'm not dealing with you getting a cold. You'll be sniffling all over the place. More annoying than you already are."

His voice didn't hold any malice. Maybe mock contempt. But it definitely held a fondness as he feels you turn your head into his chest and feels the smile on your lips. He knows he's a goner for you, and he has been since the first day.

"You'd take care of me," you remark fondly, moving a hand back to your shoulder to interlock your fingers with his, "You're a real sweetheart Pock."

The way his ears redden and he feels the w his face heats up makes him feel annoyed. When you look up at him through your lashes and note the change in colour you feel a sense of satisfaction and the grin on your lips widens when his eyes look down at you.

Porco throws his head back and sucks his teeth.

"Shuddup."

"I love you Pock."

Porco looks at the sky which is finally dark. The only thing giving light now being the full moon. It's chilly, but the warmth of your bodies pressed to one another makes it barely noticeable. He hears you say those three words, and he reassures himself, yeah, I'm definitely a goner.

"...I love you too."

[freindly-neighbourhood-anarchist]

🎰🍷dancing with him at a ball🍷🎰

🍷☾︎𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐒𝐌𝐏 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫☽︎🍷

Art by: Inozuart

Go and check out their speed paint they did of this beautiful art on youtube!

🍷☾︎𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐛𝐮𝐫, 𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐲🍷

𝐀/𝐍: Highkey simping over the TNT duo right now, ngl. Quackity is just getting better and better- Definitely gonna do these prompts with Ranboo, Tubbo and Tommy. I just think that it would be really cute to dance with them at a ball lol

____________________________________________

                             ☠︎︎☾︎ʀᴇᴠɪᴠᴇʙᴜʀ☽︎☠︎︎

To say it was strange to see Wilbur Soot standing near a bar and drinking a glass full of blood-red wine would be a complete understatement.

(Y/n) had never spoken to him fully before, they more so made a lot of conversation they could build off of but neither decided to go through with it. (Y/n) hung around Alex, George, Sapnap and Karl more so than the rest of the SMP.

Hence why she was forced to go to this god forbidden ball.

She sat at a stool near the corner of the huge ballroom, her body wrapped in a tight and mildly uncomfortable maroon coloured dress.

'End me.' She thought mindlessly as she took another large swig of tequila, watching everyone dance around and laugh with eachother.

George, Sapnap and Karl weren't invited to the ball, she noted.

She had heard that they weren't on good terms with Quackity as of late, and he was the one who threw this ball.

She may have been lonely at this ball, but she felt as though eyes were on her at all times. It was weird. Very weird.

Every once in a while, her eyes would land on Wilbur's tall form. He seemed lonely as well, a bored and unamused expression on his stitched face.

His eyes were kept still on Tommy who was dancing around with Tubbo and Ranboo, who both had large grins on their faces.

(Y/n) found it cute that even after dying and coming back, Wilbur still held a sort of fondness towards Tommy.

She doesn't blame him, Tommy was a good kid.

A kid that's been through too much.

The girl frowned deeply and took another shot of tequila. And just like that, the eyes were on her again. Her eyes shot from her tequila that she was swirling to Wilbur, eyes widening slightly when they met with his harsh brown eyes.

He kept eye contact, eyebrows raising slightly at her in interest before he sent her a small smile, a fake one. (Y/n) could tell it was fake from a mile away. It was one of those smiles that you give strangers as they walk passed you on a sidewalk.

Huffing out a condescending chuckle, the girl rolled her eyes at him and shook her head, drinking the last of her tequila and went back to watching everyone dance.

The action clearly stirred more curosity within him, because all of a sudden he felt himself walk over to her with a wine bottle in hand and two wine glasses in the other.

(Y/n) was snapped from her daze when she heard someone clear their throat from beside her. Her head snapped up and met with his dead-cold eyes again.

There was silence before she spoke up, her tone sharp yet inviting," Can I help you, sir?" She spoke mockingly, eyebrow raised.

Eyes swirling with amusment, the man tilted his head to the side, his white tuft of hair following with the motion along with the rest of his curly, brown locks." Mind if I sit here, ma'am?" He replied with a smiliar mocking undertone to his voice.

Clicking her tongue a little, she nodded her head to the chair on her left lazily," Knock yourself out." She droned out, frowning at the sight of her empty glass.

She was too lazy to go to the bar.

'Guess I'll die.' She thought.

"You a wine girl?" Wilbur hummed out curiously, hoping to God she'd say yes otherwise he brought another glass over for no reason and probably looked like a dumbass now-

"I'm an,' anything with alcohol in it' kind of girl." She reassured him.

'Thank fuck.' He hid his relief with sly smile," Ah, a woman after my own heart." He flirted, pouring out a glass of wine for both her and him.

She 'tched' and took the glass," You have a heart? Pfft." She grumbled, taking a long sip of the wine. The wine burned at the back of her throat before bursting into a wonderful grape flavour mixed with cherry." Mm.. Good wine."

"Very good wine." Wilbur nodded in agreement, a content look on his face.

A comfortble silence sat between them and they both decided to enjoy their wine in peace.

(Y/n) watched as Eret and Fundy joined in with Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo. They looked like good friends dancing together. Reminded the girl of how her friendship was with George, Sapnap, Karl and Alex.

Now? It's just her.

She tried to keep the friendship from falling apart, but then Kinoko Kingdom happened and everything went to utter shit.

Las Nevadas, it was wonderful. Paradise. But it wasn't for (Y/n).

So when Quackity had asked if she wanted to join him, she refused respectfully but still said she was willing to help him with whatever he needed at all.

He was flattered, but disappointed at how she had decided against joining Las Nevadas.

She always wonders how her life would've turned out if she had accepted the invite.

"You want to dance?" The question was sudden.

When she looked up at him to see if he was joking, she was surprised to see how serious yet calm his expression was.

Raising an eyebrow, she swirled the wine in her glass and crossed her legs over one another," I'm not very good at dancing."

"And you think I am?"

She gave him a confused look," Aren't you? You look like the kinda guy that would be brilliant at ballroom dancing." She hummed out.

He chuckled raspily, eyes soft," I'm flattered, but trust me, I'm no better at dancing than Tommy." He assured her.

She looked him up and down, unconvinced before she sighed a little, giving in. She was too tired to argue at this point.

She stood up from her chair abruptly, even surprising Wilbur at the fact she had agreed. Giving him a stern yet soft look, she nodded," Let's dance then, Frankenstein."

Then she made her way to the dance floor, making Wilbur scramble from his chair with an eager grin.

They stood facing eachother before Wilbur held his hand to her, a grin tilting onto his lips," May I compliment you on your appearance this evening? You are among the brightest of flowers." He spoke with suave.

The girl blushed and she took his hand quickly, squeezing it a little." No need to flatter me, Wilbur. I am very well aware my dress is rather ugly this evening." She grumbled out grouchily.

He stared directly into her eyes,"Your dress? I hadn't noticed it." He said smoothly, his eyes never left hers," I'm sure it looks amazing on you."

The music began, saving (Y/n) from having to answer. The hand on her waist was firm and soft, almost like it was keeping her safe.

They stepped in line with eachother, (Y/n) messed up every once in a while and managed to step on her own feet and Wilbur's the first couple of minutes before she finally got into the swing of things.

Glaring up at him, she pouted," You liar."

He grinned cheekily at her," Hm? I don't believe I know what you're talking about."

" Whatever you say, Mr. I'm worse than Tommy at dancing." She rolled her eyes.

"I never said I was worse than him. Honestly, anyone can be better than him at dancing. Let's face it."

For the first time that whole night, a small and genuine smile broke out across the girl's lips. Wilbur was enamoured by how her whole face lit up just by the slight tilt of her lips.

She looked beautiful.

"Leave Tommy alone, the kid tries his best." She smiled out.

"He does." He nodded earnestly, a little smile on his lips," I don't deserve him."

"You don't." (Y/n) spoke rather bluntly, but she still had a soft smile on her lips as she spoke her next words," but as much as he doesn't want to admit it, the kid needs you a lot. You're his big brother." She looked at the blonde-haired teen who was laughing at Ranboo who had spilled juice over Tubbo by accident. Her smile widened and her eyes were warm,"... you might just be the luckiest man in the world."

His breath was stolen from him at her words, and he couldnt help but agree with her due to the current circumstances.".... yeah... you could say that."

He held her closer to him by the waist, holding her other hand tightly and securly." So... Where did you learn to dance, Frankenstein?" She teased him, eyes bright with mischief.

A little laugh slipped through his lips," is this the nickname you'll be sticking to now?"

"You know it."

"Oh, great." He sighed out half-disappointedly before he decided to answer her question." When I was younger, my mother used to give me a lot of dance lessons with Technoblade. I requested them because I wanted to learn how to dance for this mermaid girl I had come to befriend."

"Oooh~" the girl raised her eyebrows suggestively," You're pretty romantic when you want to be, you know that?"

He shrugged, cheeks tinted a light pink that was barely noticable," the first time I'm hearing this." He admitted.

"Well... Frankenstein, you're pretty goddamn romantic when you want to be."

He grinned slyly," so you find me romantic, huh? Is that a sign for anything in particular, orrr?..."

The girl snorted a little," Hm? I don't believe I know what you're talking about." She repeated his own words.

He laughed," Touché, touché. You win this round."

Soon, the dance came to an end and the two were left still in eachother's arms, staring at eachother with enamoured looks on their faces.

Then the girl smiled at him," it wouldn't be bold of me to ask for another dance... Would it?" She requested, hope swirling in her gemstone-like irises.

"Not at all," A genuinely happy and charmed grin curled on his lips at her words and he held her body still," thought you would never ask, (Y/n)."

____________________________________________

⚠︎🎰 ༄𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐲༄🎰⚠︎

(Y/n) hadn't intended to be attending Quackity's party, in fact, she wasn't supposed to be attending.

She wasnt invited.

Supposing this is what she gets for not going along with Alex's whole 'Las Nevadas' gig. She prompted to stay with her friends in Kinoko Kingdom instead, thinking that Quackity wouldve done the same.

But she thought wrong.

So, so incredibly wrong.

You see, have you ever felt the feeling whenever you grow so incredibly close to someone to the point where you think you know them better than anyone else? That's how (Y/n) had felt with Alex. She was so sure that he wouldve chosen her and his friends over some nation that seemed to be setting itself up as a land of secrets and mystery.

From what she's heard, Quackity only grew all the more mysterious and distant.

He was so distant.

(Y/n) couldnt remember the last time she had seen him. The last time she's had a decent conversation.

The last time her heart fluttered around him.

She missed him, truly she did. Sometimes she debated abandoning Kinoko Kingdom in favour of running into Alex's oh-so-welcoming arms.

But her morals told her otherwise. She chose, for once in her life, to not follow her heart. But now, here she was, completely going against what her close friends had told her not to do.

She was being drawn to him again.

Using her heart to make important decisions.

And as she opened the large doors to the ballroom, all time seemed to freeze around her. Eyes shot towards her in curiosity, some with joy at being able to see her again and some with malice.

Alex was no different to the latter.

As soon as his dark eyes had met with her ethereal gemstone-like ones, he felt a buzz of electricity travel up his spine.

He couldnt diferientiate between the feeling of anger and slight awe at her beauty.

The girl fumbled with her fingers awkwardly before she sent him a shy wave, her smile soft-yet panicked as her eyes scanned over his new features.

He looked so different.

And she couldn't tell if it was the good kind of different or not.

At her shy wave, Alex cleared his throat and nodded respectfully as a goodbye to who he was talking to, which thankfully was Sam, and then he began making his way over to (Y/n).

A scowl curled onto his lips, his eyes darker than ever.

The eyes that made her feel warm and safe now froze her down to her very core.

When he was right up to her face, standing in front of her, that's when she knew--

This wasn't the Alex she had fallen in love with.

"What the hell are you doing here..." he muttered lowly to her, he grabbed her bare arm tightly- but it wasnt tight enough to hurt her, surprisingly. Then he dragged her to the exit, shoving her rather roughly outside, shitting the door behind him.

"We-well I-... If I-I'm being completely honest, I didnt exactly have a plan to come here, I just really wanted to see y-" he interrupted her.

"You didnt have a plan?? (Y/n)-- What the actual fuck makes you think I'd ever want you here?!" He was furious, eyes burning a bright fire, a fire even Sapnap couldnt withstand. " I actually cant believe you thought coming here would be a good idea. Are you actually as dumb as you were when we were still talking to eachother? You havent fucking changed."

She flinched at his harsh words but she covered up how hurt she was," Well- if you would let me explain myself, then maybe you'd understand why I'm here."

The casino owner took off his beanie, running a hand through his messy raven locks in frustration before he settled the hat back on his head," Make this damn quick. Because, in case you havent noticed, I have guests to entertain."

Gulping, the girl but her lip nervously out of habit," I know... I know I'm the last person you want to see. I know you hate my guts. But... Alex, I genuinely miss you." She spoke sincerely, eyes glassy beneath the moonlight," when I heard you were throwing this party... I couldnt help myself. I needed to see you... to hear you... to talk. God-- Just listening to you makes me so happy already." Her lip trembled," So please... let me hear you... let me see you. I'm begging... can we please talk?"

Brushing off the rush of heat that crossed his tanned cheeks, Alex looked away from her stubbornly.

He didnt want to give in easily.

But when it came to her, he was always put under a spell.

"Lo que sea.... fine." He sighed out, running a hand over his face in irritation, wincing whenever his fingers brushed over his scar." Come sit over here." He gestured to a bench that sat next to a long river that went off into the ocean, the moon reflected off of the clear water as did the stars.

The two sat next to eachother, the gap between them representing how distant they are from eachother.

"So? Talk." He prompted her, leaning back into the bench rather lazily, looking up at the sky.

Cheeks warming with happiness, she couldnt help but smile at finally being able to talk to him after so long," Thank you so much... I've been wanting to talk to you for so long after everything that happen-... What happened to your eye?" She whispered, suddenly noticing the long scar that ran over his eye and eyelid and then down to his lips.

"Oh yeah- you werent here for that," he jabbed at her," This was all Techno's doing." He gestured all over." Sorry that I'm not the perfect guy that you used to be friends with anymore."

She knew he wasnt sorry.

In fact, she knew that with his new self, he was a lot more confident.

Free.

She liked that.

Smiling at him, she shook her head," dont be silly. If this change makes you happy, then I'm happy."

His heart thumped harshly, making him clear his throat to cover up the noise in case she had heard his loud heart.

"I was just worried but... it looks kind of good on you-- err... not in a weird way or anything." She tried to cover up her slip-up," Anyways... that's not what I came here to talk abou-"

"Do you wanna dance?"

The girl's eyes widened at the sudden suggestion, gazing over Alex's features with shock. His tanned cheeks were red and he was avoiding all eye contact, eyebrows furrowed.

"... come again?" She stuttered out, her throat felt like it was closing up.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes," I asked if you wanted to dance."

The girl's heart did flips in her ribcage as her eyes fluttered,"I-... I would love to." She nodded, wobbly smile on her painted lips.

The man stood from the bench and held a hand out to her, trying his best to not smile when she eagerly grabbed it, stars in her eyes.

He moved her soft hand to his neck, making it rest there, (Y/n) then moved her other arm to wrap around his neck as well. Alex then settled his calloused hands on her pretty waist, pulling her body close to him.

He was afraid she would slip away from him again.

In truth, he had missed a hell of a lot as well, maybe even more so than she missed him.

He always debated visiting her or arranging to meet up with her, but his plans always got in the way and blurred his desire for her.

But seeing her tonight, all dressed up for him, it made him want to fall in love with her all over again.

The two swung side to side, the faint music from the ballroom guiding the two of them. Quackity rested his chin on top of her head as the girl turned her head to the side, resting her ear against his chest and listening to his thumping heartbeat.

"You look amazing." He muttered to her.

"You too... well... yeah, no you look amazing."

He chuckled lightly," why'd you hesitate?"

"Well... I wanted to think of a better word for amazing but my heart is beating too loudly for me to think properly..." she admitted.

At her heartfelt confession, Alex felt himself smile warmly for once in a long time.

He felt like a teenager in love again.

"Yeah... I feel that too." He muttered, inhaling the scent of her vanilla shampoo, biting off the dreamy sigh that threatened to spill from his lips." (Y/n)... why didnt you join me? "

The dreaded question.

"If I'm being honest... I thought you wouldve joined Kinoko Kingdom with me."

Quackity's heart clenched at the thought.

So she felt just as betrayed as he did, that makes sense to him now.

"I debated going to join Las Nevadas everyday, but I knew that meant leaving George, Sap and Karl and I felt so conflicted and just... horrible." She mumbled, feeling her eyes beginning to water," It was hard, Alex.... I wanted to see you so so bad... But I also wanted to be a good friend... I felt like I was the bad guy either way, and I just wanted to make both parties happy.... I hated being away from you... God... I hated it so much." She sniffled, making Alex pull her closer to him," seeing you now... you dont understand how happy it makes me feel..."

The man sighed a little and kissed leaned away from her, cupping her cheek and then moving it so she was face him. He tilted her head up a little so he could see her teary eyes, feeling his heart call out to her to comfort her.

He ran a thumb over her cheek, wiping away the mascara and tears and when she blinked up at him innocently, he couldnt stop himself from smiling down at her reassuringly.

"I wanted to see you so much as well... I felt my heart ache every night to see you..." he began, pressing his forehead against hers," I'm sorry for treating you like shit... you deserve so much damn better... (Y/n), I'm begging. Please stay with me, will you?"

Her breath hitched.

"Stay by my side... please?"

Her heart stopped.

"I want to be with you all the time."

Her tears stopped falling.

"I love you."

And she smiled, wider than she ever has.

"I've been waiting so long to hear that..." She whispered to him," I love you too, Alex."

He grinned down at her crookedly," Deadass?"

"On god."

"Fuck- I'm not dreaming, right?" He then had a mischievous glint twinkle in his dark eyes," Maybe you should kiss me to seal the deal?"

She snorted," you're asking me to initiate it? Dont you think you're moving a bit fast, lover boy?"

"I think you're moving too slow and that you talk too much." He stated simply before he leaned down, capturing her soft lips in a messy kiss, their lips molding together as soon as they came in contact.

It's the kind of kiss that inspires stars to climb into the sky and light up the world.

His hands flattened against her back... and she was up on the tips of her toes, kissing him as fiercely as he was kissing her... He clung to her more tightly, knotting his hands in her hair, trying to tell her, with the press of his mouth on hers, all the things he could never say out loud...

And as her lips rubbed against his chapped ones, she knew her life was set with his, nobody else.

[songbirdsingingthings]

Warmth - Levi Ackerman x Reader

(can we take a minute to appreciate this gif omfg he’s too pretty)

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Hajime Isayama

AOT Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.4K

To put it lightly, working as a scout in the winter absolutely blows. The wind would bluster relentlessly, causing chills to go down your spine, it would be snowing more often than not, and the winter uniforms that were parceled out to everyone didn’t do enough to block the cold temperatures. But, of course, since you were a captain you needed to block out all of the shivers that claimed your body, clench your teeth to stop their chattering, and stand strong in front of the cadets that were at your mercy for the day.

“Attention!” You shouted, causing all of the scouts in front of you to step into a salute, standing completely still like statues. You sigh before you start to give out instructions for their workout, which did include some heavy conditioning, but was shorter than normal. Honestly though, you would’ve preferred to be in their place. While they were going to be enduring hell for about an hour and a half, the movement from their bodies would generate heat, the thing you were currently lacking. You tried to nestle yourself further into the fur trimmed trench coat you were wearing and pulled up the burgundy scarf, grasping for any form of warmth that you could get. 

“You look like an idiot.” You turned around quickly, instantly recognizing the speaker's voice, and shot him an unamused expression. Bundled up and sat atop his horse, your boyfriend, Levi, looked down at you with indifference in his eyes.

“I can accept that insult if my looking like this keeps me warm,” you huff, turning back around to look at the cadets. Some of them even began to shed their layers opting to simply wear their white button ups. You dig your mittened hands further into your coat pockets, feeling even colder just from looking at them. You hear a crunch of boots behind you, signaling that Levi hopped off his horse, and came to stand beside you.

“Shouldn’t have done that Levi, now you’re gonna have to have me help you back up.” You quip, earning a glare from the captain. He simply scoffs and elbows you, hard, in the side. “Ouch, what the hell.” you grumble.

“How much longer do you have to be out here,” he asks, his eyes on the tired cadets in front of him. You begrudgingly take out your hand to check your pocket watch, but end up reveling in the fact that they only had about ten more minutes left. You tell Levi about the time and he nods, making no effort to move.

“Are you waiting for me?” You inquire, a small smile spreading across your face. The raven-haired captain says nothing but stays put. Your smile widens into a grin and you step closer to him, your hips almost touching. “Thank you.” Levi hums in response and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence as you watch the scouts finish up. When it’s finally time, you make every cadet put their coats back on (you’d be damned if they caught a cold due to negligence) and ushered them back into the main building to grab some dinner before they could retire to the shower houses and then to their barracks. As they begin to wander off, Levi swiftly grabs onto your arm and leads you towards the captains’ quarters. “Hey I haven’t eaten yet!” You complain, tugging your body back towards the direction of the dining hall.

“I’ll get some delivered to your quarters, you need to warm yourself up.” He says, a definitive tone to his voice.

“I’m perfectly fine, it’ll only take a few minutes,” you protest, still hell-bent on getting food for yourself. You were a captain, for heaven’s sake, you were surely capable of getting food for yourself. Levi pauses to grab both of your arms, somewhat forcing you to look at him.

“You need to warm up. You get cold way too easily and then I have to hear an earful about it later. So get you and your red ass nose into your personal quarters and take a damn bath.” Levi states. You eventually give in under his ‘don’t test me’ gaze and grumble all the way back to the captains’ quarters with him by your side. The two of you part ways when you enter and you follow his directions and immediately fill up a bath with the warmest water you could get. While you hated the cold weather with a burning passion, the feeling of your shivering body being enveloped by warm bath water will never cease to be one of your favorite feelings. You close your eyes and lean back, soaking up the warmth when you hear a door open. You panic for a second and try to cover yourself with a towel in fear that a higher up, or worse, a cadet has managed to make their way into your quarters.

“I-I’m not decent! Please wait outside!” You say, sounding a little strangled, but the door opens anyways. Thankfully it reveals Levi.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” He says, closing the door with his foot. You give him a glare, but your expression instantly lightens when you see a tray of food in his hands. He takes you in and lets a small chuckle escape his mouth. “Warmer?” He asks, setting down the tray on the little side table next to you. You sit up a bit in the bath and snatch the spoon from his hands, sinking it into the soup and bringing it to your mouth. You hum at the taste - for some reason, today they had splurged on the scout regiment and supplied them with beef and barley soup instead of the usual bean soup.

“Warmer.” you confirm, digging back into the soup and dipping some of your bread into it. “Good.” Levi says, standing up to press a kiss onto your head and exiting the bathroom, giving you a bit more time to yourself. When you were done with both your dinner and your bath, you drained the tub and gingerly stepped out of it, wrapping a towel snug around your body. You step out to see Levi in your bed, donned in his sleepwear, and a book in his hands. You smile as you make your way over to the wardrobe stationed in the corner of your room and take out the warmest pair of sleepwear you could find - a wool long sleeve that you used to wear before you became a scout, and a pair of long pants that just covered your ankles. You pad your way over to your side of the bed and climb in, quickly covering yourself in the blankets. Levi spares you a glance, gives a small smile, and returns his gaze to his book; not before he lifts his arm closest to you, giving you the signal that you could come close to him. You take the opportunity immediately and glom onto his side. For some weird reason, Levi’s bodily temperature always seemed to run hot while yours was consistently colder, making him just that more wantable to you. “Y’know sometimes I think you just use me as a personal heater and nothing else.” He remarks, setting his book down on the side table and blowing out the candle next to him.

“Yeah, and what if I do.” You mumble back to him, your eyes drooping closed, exhaustion seemingly taking over your body. You feel his body shift as he slides down to rest his head on the pillow and pulls you closer to him. His chin finds purchase on top of your head, his other arm wrapping around your waist.

“Then fine.” He says, making you laugh a bit.

“You’d be fine if I was just using you for your warmth?” You quip back, snuggling your head further into the crick of his neck. He hums and rubs circles into your hip with his thumb.

“Anything to get you to stop complaining. It’s annoying when you do that.” He says, his own eyes closing now. The two of you didn’t say anything else, it wasn’t really necessary to. You understood everything Levi said and picked out its meanings through his own special language that you’d grown accustomed to throughout the years of dating him. His responses and remarks that sounded condescending in speech could easily be interpreted into a much simpler meaning. ‘I love you and I don’t want you to be cold.’

[oblivious-nuisance]

ꨄ 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒

BUNGŌ STRAY DOGS VERSION (part 1 – ADA)

↳ includes: nakajima atsushi, kunikida doppo, dazai osamu, yosano akiko, edogawa ranpo, fukuzawa yukichi

a/n: i have no idea where this came from, but i love this thing from the bottom of my heart (　-̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥᷄◞ω◟-̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥᷅ )

warnings: gn!reader (that's, like, barely mentioned haha (´｡;ω;`)), fluff abundance!!! just,, so much fluff

— ATSUSHI

his smiles are the definition of precious. doesn't matter if it's a huge grin plastered on his face or just a soft smile, the corners of his mouth slowly turning upward, you can see it in his eyes: he's genuinely happy and content. they feel soft and buttery against your skin, or lips. speaking of which, he's the type to smile goofily halfway through the kiss, maybe even giggle a little. such a babey 🤧

— KUNIKIDA

rare and priceless are the first words that come to mind. kunikida isn't one to smile often, not because he doesn't want to, but because he usually forgets. although, when he does smile, either because of you being as passionate about something as he is about his ideals, or just because he's satisfied with how the day went, his smile spreads across his face, reassuring and strong and real. feels like dark chocolate in your mouth, because its taste stays with you even after minutes have gone by since you last kissed him

— DAZAI

bashful smile, ladies 😩 it's a wonder he hasn't already gotten an award for it or something. sweet and wide and playful, cheeky and fun to look at and feel against your mouth especially during a steamy makeout session tehee, but surprisingly unexpected. why, you may ask? because the man was born to smirk, to show that perfect set of teeth in such a condescending manner that it makes you weak in the knees. but, on the not so rare occasions that he's smiling genuinely, dazai will literally make the world hold its breath. his smiles taste like fresh mint, wet and alert and refreshing

— YOSANO

two sides of a coin: either tooth-rotting cotton candy sweet, making you swoon and loose your balance (only for her to catch you), or cold and tempting and intimidating. they sometimes taste metallic, like iron against your tongue, because she has a thing for kissing you and smiling while having a bloody mouth (even if she just bit her lower lip a little too hard on purpose). her smiles also feel (and taste) like lipstick, the right amout of moist, with a strong hint of bubblegum <33

— RANPO

cheerful and carefree, his smile is almost always resting on his face. it's honestly extremely peaceful to see him like this, see the sure and honest shape of his pretty lips lingering on his face. ceo of condescending smile, tho yes he passes dazai i don't think i need to explain why, he just does (dazai's is creepier at times, while ranpo's is just slightly amused), it's always so pretty yet so dangerous, because as grounding as it may be, his grin is always hiding something, there's always a lingering feeling that trails behind it. tastes like candy and something a little bit sour, that you can't really put your finger on. true definition of bittersweet.

— FUKUZAWA

fair and genuine, this man's smile offers so much reassurance it's crazy. there's something about the way the corners of his lips are upturned, the way the wrinkles around his eyes become more proeminent, the way his gaze softens and oh look you're melting. his smiles emanate warmth and safety and, above all, pride. they feel strong against your skin, sure and sweet and content, and they taste like parfait. truly divine, if i do say so myself 😌😌

©oblivious-nuisance - all rights reserved

no translations, edits, copying, reposting etc.

[eunoiaflow3r]

Agree to No Promises

A/N: I absolutely loved writing this, thank you for requesting!

Warnings: mistakes, angst, fluff, mentions of kidnapping (nothing gory), and language. fem!reader.

Word Count: 4.5k

Requests:

i have a spence request!! you know that one scene where he says “this is calm, and it’s doctor”. i want a whole fic of that kind of aggressive spence in which he defends the readers honour to the rest of the BAU people, maybe she makes a call that’s risky for her own safety and the others are calling her out on it and spence gets defensive and morgan is like “calm down kid” or it can be whoever and THEN HE SAYS THAT LINE I WOULD DIE ❤️❤️

actually, some enemies to lovers with spencer would be great if they work at the bau together and for years they don’t get along and bicker and the reader knows she’s in love with spencer but doesn’t have a chance and he finds out while they’re arguing

~~~~~

You wanted to punch Spencer in the face. You wanted to shut him up, and you felt in that moment - punching him would be the perfect way to do so. But no. Your brain was not listening to what you wanted, and instead what your heart wanted, but you could not afford that right now.

When you think of Spencer Reid, you think tall, skinny, uncoordinated, annoying, rude and cocky. You can’t stand the way he looks at you, or the way his hair falls over his eyes, and even the fact that a grown-ass man never wears matching socks. You also don’t like the fact that he always seems to be right, even when you wish he wasn’t. 

According to Spencer, you were no walk in the park either. He hates that you’re so dramatic, and that you’re so hell-bent on proving yourself right. He hates that you never listen to anything he tells you, and how you act like nothing can ever get to you no matter what it is.

When Spencer thinks of you, he thinks she’s self-righteous, and that you have this stupid hero complex that you need to get over.

_

“L/N.” 

“Reid.” You greeted with just as much hostility.

Even on the plane, you both seemed to successfully make eachother mad. The team always noticed the rigidness between you two, and had even asked about the elephant in the room multiple times, but the only thing you two had seemed to come up with to explain your behavior - which you both had ironically subconsciously agreed on, was that, “It’s not my fault he/she is impossible.”

On countless random occasions, the team had tried to help fix whatever bad blood was spilled between you, but you two never caved in and instead insisted on the fact that, “nothing could be done,” to fix the unyielding tension if the other wasn’t going to change.

After they went over the ins and outs and asked the necessary questions of the case like usual, Hotch began to put the team into pairs to send them on their individual assignments.

“Prentiss, Morgan, I need you to go to the morgue and see if there’s anything significant other than the ligature marks.”

They nodded.

“JJ, Rossi, I need you to go visit the victim’s families and see if there’s anything you can find that ties these murders together. Like we said, probably not, but it doesn’t hurt to look.”

“Of course.” JJ answers.

“Y/N, and Reid I need you two to go to the most recent scene and tell us what you find there. I’ll meet you there after I check in with the locals.”

Both you and Spencer looked absolutely offended, and you both collectively tried to come up with any reason in the books so that you would not be paired together.

“But surely-” you tried to reason.

“No.” Hotch interrupted.

“But I should -” Reid began to bargain.

Hotch interrupted once again with a cold stare, and an even colder if not snarky, “No.”

Yours and Spencer’s eyes met for a brief moment before you both decided to give up defeatedly, and roll your eyes at one another.

The team had noticed the interaction between the two of you once more and they couldn’t decide if they wanted to laugh at your childish actions, or if they wanted  to shake their heads in annoyance and say something about your behavior.

They chose the latter and ignored the both of you.

Once you had landed, and before the team all went their separate ways, Hotch told both you and Spencer to behave.

“No promises.” you replied opening the driver door to the black SUV that awaited the both of you to ride in.

Hotch gave you a  harsh glare.

“I’m joking Hotch.” you smile. “It’s a joke.”

Nodding, he walks away and gets into a car of his own with the local police department. Spencer gets in the passenger seat and immediately if not frantically, puts on his seatbelt.

You chose to ignore his actions, turned on the ignition, and drove out of the parking lot.

“Uhm, are you sure you should be driving?” Spencer asks eyebrows furrowed.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean since -”

“You misogynistic prick!” you practically shout, now pissed.

“You’re wrist.” Spencer nods towards your hand. “You were complaining earlier about how it was cramped and all.”

“What do you care?”

“Well, ya’know. I wouldn’t want it going out, and I don’t know, kill the both of us because you weren’t careful.”

“You’re a jerk Spencer Reid.” you shake your head not taking your eyes off the road. “You ever shut up?”

“I could ask the same Y/N L/N.”

-

Your relationship with Spencer has been this way since the day you arrived.

“Everyone, meet agent L/N.” Hotch introduces you. “Y/N, meet Penelope Garcia, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi, Emily Prentiss, and Spencer Reid.”

You waved at everyone and said a quick “hello,” before sitting in the empty seat right across from Spencer Reid.

Unbeknownst to you, Spencer had done a little back up check on you before you had even arrived. Your record was crystal clear, you had done nothing wrong, your parents were alive and well, and it seemed as though you had been through nothing traumatic and this shocked Spencer.

No one’s record was this clear, which meant you were hiding something. Because of this, he could not trust you.

Instead of asking you himself, he decided to just ignore you and act rude until he got the answers he wanted. Perhaps this was you’d feel the need to tell the truth - whatever that was.

_

“I’m sorry, did I do something to offend you?” You had asked once.

You had barely been at the Bureau a day and already you had seemingly made an enemy, which sucked because from what you’ve heard Spencer was the sweetest one there, and by the looks of it, definitely the cutest.

“No, you did nothing.”

“Okay.”

_

You don’t remember what he was talking about, but Spencer was ranting and that was one of your favorite things about him - just the way he could talk on and on and on about anything. 

His voice itself made you want to swoon, but everytime he spoke to you, he always seemed disinterested, and you hated that

_

You got on Spencer’s last nerve. How did you seem so perfect? You were beautiful inside and out, and he didn’t understand it. There were days where he literally just wanted to talk to you to hear your voice, and he wanted to just ramble on and on and on to you about everything, but everytime he stopped himself. 

He reminded himself that you were suspicious, and besides - with your beauty, who knew how many men you’ve been with. 

He didn’t feel like getting his heart broken anytime soon.

_

You gave him a couple of weeks - a month and a half - to warm up to you, and still nothing. 

His attitude had got nothing but worse towards you, which was confusing because when you saw him interact with anyone else, he was an absolute sweetheart.

“Why do you treat me this way?”

He ignored you.

“Fine.” You had grown impatient. “Don’t say I never tried Spencer.”

And you walked away.

_

You were no longer going to take the way he gave you the cold shoulder and the way he talked to you, so from that day forward you had done to him the same way he had done to you.

You gave him the cold shoulder, and acted annoyed whenever he spoke to you.

This had become routine for the both of you. So much of a routine, that you both had forgotten why you hated each other in the first place.

After awhile, all Spencer knew was that he couldn’t get your condescending voice out of his head, and even when he told himself that you weren’t, you were the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

_

Everyday was a struggle to get eachother out of your heads. It seemed as though no one but that small voice in your heads knew you were secretly pining for each other, and that “hatred,” was covering up something much, much bigger, but there’s doubt you’ll be uncovering anything any time soon.

There were nights where you laid in bed just thinking about him, and times you cried yourself to sleep because at some point you realized you were in love with him, but you knew he would never ever feel the same, and that’s what hurt you the most.

_

“Excellent work guys.” Hotch compliments. “We’ll pick this up in the morning.”

The team had come together, and gathered a significant amount of information about the unsub, but it was late, and everyone needed a good night’s sleep for fresh minds the next day.

Unfortunately, roommates were the team members you were paired with earlier that day, so you were stuck sharing a room with Reid.

You huffed and through your bag on the bed. The last person you wanted to share a room with was Spencer Reid. At least you didn’t have to share a bed.

Putting a fake smile on your face, you turned to him and asked, “So are you taking a shower first or am I?”

“I’ll take mine in the morning.” he answered shortly, seemingly unbothered.

“Okay, fine. Whatever.” you replied, kind of hurt.

A hot shower should do it for you. You brought your bag into the shower, and got ready to relax under the steaming water. You rubbed your hands across your face because honestly - you were stressed. Arguing with Spencer on a daily basis was just…tiring. Sometimes you wished you knew why he hated you so much, but you knew the man wouldn’t ever tell you.

You opened your eyes, and you looked around the shower for your shampoo, but on the wall right above it was a spider.

“Shit!! Oh my God!!” You jumped out of the shower as quickly as you could, wrapped a towel around your body, and just about flew out of the bathroom.

Spencer looked up hurriedly and jumped out of his seat, in fear that you were hurt. 

“What the hell? Are you okay?”

“No!” you huffed. “There’s a spider in the shower!” 

His face was now a serious Hotch-like face. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yes!”

Spencer walked into the bathroom and checked for the spider. He was now just as confused as ever.

“This is just a wolf spider,” he sighed, bringing it into the room in a cup with a napkin covering it. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“What the fuck Spencer, what are you DOING?” 

He looked at you, and then the towel around you and his nostrils flared. You were practically naked - as the only thing between the two of you was a flimsy hotel towel. He had to get out of there, so instead of answering you, he left the room and went to go free the arachnid.

Once he was outside, and had freed the spider, he took a few breaths. He was  frustrated. Absolutely frustrated, and he wasn’t sure what to do. All he saw now was that towel wrapped around your wet body and he hated the way his stomach clenched everytime he thought about that stupid towel and how easily it could have fallen and how he would have been able to -

No. He must not think this way about you. Not only was it incredibly inappropriate considering you were his coworker, but he had to keep up his, “I can’t stand her,” persona.

When he got back to the room, you were, he assumed, finished showering, and you were sitting on your bed in a pair of shorts and a tight fitted tank top leaving little to nothing of your figure to the imagination.

Of course, he was now incredibly irritated because you were real, and this wasn’t just one of his many dreams starring you where you two were using your mouths for a little something other than argue.

You had watched Spencer go into the bathroom, and you audibly let out a breath. He had said nothing to you, yet the way he looked at you made your heart and lower stomach go into a fucking frenzy. 

When he got out, he was dressed in just a regular t-shirt and basketball shorts.  You practically swooned. You had never seen him in anything other than his usual work attire, and you regrettably loved this look on him.

You shouldn’t have been thinking this way about him.

He hated you. How could anything ever happen if he was furious with you for every little thing you did?

“You know what I don’t understand?” Spencer asked climbing into his bed and turning the light off on his side.

“What?” 

You did the same so now you both were laying in the darkness.

“How do you face serial killers almost every single day, and you’re afraid of spiders?”

“Same way you’re afraid of elevator crashes I suppose.”

“But death by spiders are extremely rare - that spider was harmless.”

“I’m not afraid of getting killed by a spider, they’re just hideous.”

He laughed and said, “Yeah, well I’m sure they find you hideous as well.”

You both went to sleep with giddy smiles on your faces.

_

The next day went by pretty smoothly, and ever since the night in the hotel, Spencer had seemed a little less hostile towards you. You couldn’t help but wonder why. What changed?

Anyway, just like the day before, you were paired with Spencer, mostly indoors working on the board. Collectively you two had noticed some pretty interesting details, and you both realized you worked well together.

Soon after you gave a profile to the locals, Hotch told you and Spencer to follow a lead to a suspect’s home. You had knocked on the door, and nothing. You checked the front yard, backyard, and nothing.

It wasn’t until you checked inside a kids’ clubhouse, that you had found a secret trap door hidden underneath.

“Reid, call the team.”

He did, and once he was sure they were on their way, he helped you move the playhouse over so that you could open the door.

Once he opened it, all you two heard were sobs and the unsub yelling. You went down even after Spencer told you not to, and you saw the girl tied to a chair with a gun pointed to her head.

When the unsub saw you, a guy named Fred you believe, he changed directions, and held the gun out in front of him straight at your head.

“Fred? Hey. I’m Y/N L/N and I’ve come to help.”

“H-h-h-help? H-h-h-how can can y-you he-he-help?”

On your way over to this house, Garcia called and told you and Spencer that Fred had autism and, because of this he was like a child, he didn’t know what he was doing.

“Well Freddie,” you paused and looked him in his eyes, “May I call you Freddie?”

He nods quickly.

“Well the FBI is out there,” you heard the sirens a moment earlier, “and they’re upset that you took this girl. They might hurt you.”

“But I-I-I-I like h-h-her.”

You heard someone try to come down, and you yelled, “No!” which made all noises stop. “Do not come down here!”

Fred was scared, and confused, and he didn’t know what to do. All you could see was that the girl continued to cry, and he held his gin tighter.

You put up your hands dropping your gun, and this made him trust you a little bit more.

“Do you like me, Freddie?”

He nods enthusiastically.

“So, how about you let this girl go, and take me instead?”

“L-let her go?”

“Yes, Freddie, let her go and you can have me.” You were trying not to shake. “Can I untie her?”

“Yes.” he says and follows your movements with his gun. You walk slowly over to the girl, and untie her quickly. “When you go up there, tell them not to shoot. Tell them that the man is more unstable than we thought, okay?” She nods tears streaming down her face, and runs towards the latter.

_

Spencer was freaking out. He was pacing, and his heart was racing, and everytime he sat down his legs wouldn’t stop moving, and he didn’t know what to do with himself. He had cried, almost pulled out his hair, crumpled up papers in frustration and had yelled at almost every single one of his team members.

How could he have let this happen to you? He should have gone instead of you. He should have gone with you, he should have stopped you or something.

And on top of this, he always been an absolute prick to you, when deep down he felt the opposite and all he wanted to do was kiss you and tell you how he felt but now you were gone and he didn’t know if he was getting you back, and all he did know was that his heart hurt and all he wanted to do was just see you.

Just see you.

_

You had woken up tied to a chair in a child’s bedroom. 

You tried to untie or loosen the ropes, but it was no use - they were way too tight.

Fred came into the room with a tray of food for you, and he looked at you almost sadly.

“Freddie, you know they’re looking for you, right?

“I-I-I know.”

“So what’s going to happen when they do find you? You’ll kill me?”

He gasped and covered his mouth. “I could never hurt you!”

“But you hurt those other girls, Freddie.”

“Th-th-those g-girls hurt me. You’re r-re-really n-nice to me. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

You tried to smile, but all that came out was tears. You were scared to death and you had no idea what made you make the decisions you made.

“Oh, no Y/N p-please do-don’t cry.”

“Freddie these ropes really hurt, can you take them off?”

“But you’ll leave m-me.”

“Freddie, I won’t leave you, I promise okay?

_

They had a location. They knew where you were. Spencer couldn’t have been happier. 

Soon enough the team had found the house, and quietly came into the house. Morgan saw you first, relieved you were okay, and you silently told him that Fred was upstairs. He nodded and let the officers up there to make the arrest. You ran outside tears running down your face, and as soon as Spencer sees you, he runs up to you hugging you tightly. You wrap your arms around his neck and sob into his shoulder.

“Y/N are you okay? Are you hurt?” He says checking you as he pushes you away from him checking for any scratch or scar or anything.

“No, I’m - I’m alright.”

“Good.” he says, getting serious now. “Then explain to me why you would do something so incredibly stupid? We were all worried about you.”

“You were worried about me?”

He shakes his head and tries not to show how angry he was with you for leaving him. Instead of answering, he walks away.

He walks away because if he stayed, he would have kissed you, and he can’t - 

He just can’t.

If he shows you that he cares, you just might hurt him and sometimes it’s easier to just shut you out, than get used to you being around and then leave him. He doesn’t want you to know how much you could hurt him if he let you in.

So he pushes you away.

_

After everyone greeted you, and asked if you were okay, and the doctors checked you out, you were all on the plane home. 

You kind of just distanced yourself from everyone because all the team seemed to do was patronize you.

“That was a huge risk Y/N, did you even think about what you were doing?” Emily asked.

“Honestly, what if it didn’t work L/N? What about the girl?” Morgan said, shaking his head.

“You could have gotten severely injured Y/N, we’re just trying to look out for you.” JJ tried to reassure you.

Everytime you tried to explain yourself, you were bombarded with another stupid question, which caused silent tears to fall down you face. Spencer saw this, and he decided he had had enough with everyone.

“You guys act like you had never made a decision like this in your entire career. At the end of the day, everyone made it out alright, and I’m sure Y/N has learned her lesson, but you guys humiliating her doesn’t help at all. Think about what she’s just been through. Just for a second can you think about how she’s feeling right now?” He sighed. “This is the first time Y/N has dones something like this and you all are giving her the third degree. So just stop.”

“Hey, calm down Reid, It’s not that we -”

“This is calm Morgan, and it’s doctor.”

With that being said Spencer moved to the back of the plane, and sat across from you. You both said nothing, but you silently thanked him.

_

Once you were back at the BAU, Hotch told him he wanted you to take some time off, and you understood. The team left avoiding both you and Spencer, mostly because of what he said on the plane, and they weren’t sure what to do now.

“Reid, can I talk to you?” He was packing up to go home, you two were the only ones left on this floor.

“Yes?”

“Why did you do that - on the plane I mean. Why would you stick up for me?”

He shrugged, basically ignoring you. Just right where you thought you were getting through to him, he closes himself back up again, and goes back to being mean to you.

“Fine. Whatever. Just please don’t do that again. I don’t need your help.”

You were walking away, when he decided to argue back.

“Oh you don’t? So you'd  just would have wanted them to keep patronizing you? Honestly, I don’t see what your problem is Y/N, goodnight.”

And he was walking towards the door. You ran out in front of him blocking him from leaving.

“My problem?” You scoff. “Oh I’ll tell you what my problem is. I don’t need your saving. I don’t need you to come in like a knight on his steed and prove that you’re smarter than me every single time. Because yes, you’re smarter, and yes, you’re a doctor, and yes, I know you dislike me for some reason, but don’t go switching up your attitude if something happens to me. Just leave me alone.

Obviously you don’t know what it feels like to be me, otherwise you would know that the worst pain there is, is being in love with someone who just hates you. So, just stop. Please, just stop.”

And once you said what you needed to, you walked off gathering your things so that you could go home too. You felt like crying, but you couldn’t. Not here. You couldn’t believe you just said what you did.

Despite what he wanted, he stood frozen in place. He was conflicted. He didn’t know what to do. His mind was telling him to do one thing, while his heart told him to do another.

He took quick strides over to your desk, and turned your body gently so that you were facing him, and you were basically trapped between him and your desk behind you.

“I couldn’t save you.” He began. “I was with you, and then I wasn’t and I couldn’t help you. You were doing that stupid heroic shit you tend to do, and I wasn’t there to help you. You were hurting, and it hurt me that I wasn’t there to heal you. And believe me, it keeps me awake at night when I think about the way I treat you, and I’m sorry, I am. I’m sorry if you felt like I hated you, because believe me, I don’t.

There is nothing to hate about you other than the fact that you’re just so goddamn perfect and I know I could never have you, and even if I did, I would give all of me to you, and that scares me. It scares me that I would be so willing to hand my heart over to you, and it scares me that you have all this power over me. It hurts that you have the power to torture me, so yes, I push you away, and I’m sorry I care about you, but I just, I just-”

And this was that moment.

That moment where your head told you to punch him, because God knows you wanted to, but your heart told you to just swallow all of that angst and just give yourself to him. 

To tell him with your lips that you felt the same, and just leave all the arguing behind.

But something was -

You didn’t hate him. And he just confessed that he didn’t hate you, and now his face was under your fingertips, and your lips were on his. Tears were falling, you weren’t sure if they were yours or his, but he was kissing you back and his arms wrapped around your waist, and you felt like you were on fire. Your hands were now tangled in his hair, and his hands caressed your sides. He had brought you closer to him, and through this kiss you both felt all the so-called, “hatred,” and, “dislike,” evaporate into thin air.

He pulled away from you, and you wiped away his tears.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, you didn’t deserve what I did to you. None of it. If I could take it all back, I would. I’ll make it up to you, I promise I will.”

“You’re such a boy Spencer Reid.” You say.

“What?” He’s confused.

“Mother’s tell their little girls that when boys are mean to them, that they must like them, and that’s why they’re acting that way.”

“Well that’s not very healthy. That tells those little girls that when a man hits them, or is crude towards them, that that’s perfectly normal and that they should just take it because the man loves them.”

“Well true,” Spencer was still holding you, and you went on “but the point was that you must have really liked me since you were so mean to me.”

“I mean, sure. But I don’t see why a mother would -”

“Hey, agree to disagree, okay?”

_

A month or so passed, and the team noticed a huge shift. You and Spencer were no longer arguing constantly, well, of course there were disagreements and such, but you two didn’t act like you hated each other.

“Promise me you’ll stop trying to be the hero.” Spencer told you once.

“No promises.”

Because if you weren’t the hero, you wouldn’t have saved the girl, wouldn’t have gotten Fred help, wouldn’t have the arrogant prince turned good, and you wouldn’t have agreed to disagree.

~~~~~~

[sparetimeimagines]

Patience

Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Part 2 of Habits

Tags; soft core, smut, fluff, Soft Tsuki

Masterlist

“Go home, Tsukishima.”

It had been weeks since you’ve seen him.

No text messages.

No phone calls.

Nothing.

You felt yourself being played.

He finally got what he wanted, for you to confess to him once again that he was right.

Condescending asshole.

Why does this keep happening to me? You thought as though this time around things were supposed to change.

However, this time it felt different. This time, you felt him picking at the stitches he swore he wasn’t going to play with.

And now you feel stupid.

You feel stupid for driving all the way up there at two in the morning.

You feel stupid for believing he meant what he said and falling for every word of it.

“I broke my phone. I swear. I swear I wasn’t blowing you off. I had exams and my phone was broken. I didn’t have time to come down and see you. I promise you I wasn’t going to fuck this up again. God, you have to believe me.”

“Go home, Tsukishima.”

“No. Not until you let me explain.”

He shows up with flowers and you slam the door in his face.

“Baby, please.” You hear him through the door. “Open up.”

“No fuck you, Tsukishima.”

“Don’t be like that, Y/n.”

He had to manipulate you. You thought as long as you cut off everyone else, everything would work out right.

Some fool you are.

He can’t stay out there for long. Eventually he’ll have to go away, go home and leave you alone.

You open the door hours later to walk your dog; the same one he bought you for your birthday a year ago.

“I figured you’d still be here.” Unamused, you stare at the blond who waits with his elbows resting on his knees.

“Just let me explain.”

You sigh, letting him tag along.

“You can walk with us. She needs to go out.”

“What about the flowers?”

“Hold them. Toss them. I don’t care.”

He holds them the entire walk, them wilting in the process.

“She’s gotten big.”

“Yep.”

“I can’t believe you still have her.” He watches the fluffy black dog sniff around a tree.

“Her dad fucked up. Not her.”

“I know.” He frowns pushing his glasses up by the bridge. “I’m doing that a lot lately.”

You pay attention to him from the corner of your eye with nothing to counter him with, so you remain silent.

“You should have called.” Ten minutes have passed and he’s like a kid waiting to be lectured; quiet and focusing on anything to keep his attention. In this case, it’s the rocks he kicks from under his shoe.

“How could I have called if I didn’t know your number?”

“Find a way!” Your outburst catches you by surprise as you turn to him. “You could have found a way.” You turn away from him hiding your face. You didn’t mean to get emotional. It was supposed be quiet.

“Y/n.” He sighs, the tips of his ears growing red. “I had no way of getting to you. It was finals. What was I supposed to do?”

You had no intentions of letting him know how badly he hurt you.

You thought better of him.

You thought he knew that.

“I don’t know. You could have tried.” You sniffle trying to hold back tears, looking at the sky.

Are you crying because you’re sensitive? Are your feelings hurt? Are you upset with him? Why now? Why not earlier when he was locked outside of your apartment.

“I did try.”

“How?”

You turn to him with a stray falling from your eye. “I trusted you, Kei. You made me feel safe. Then you tarnished that.”

You focus on his face, red like yours.

“Do you know how that made me feel, Tsuki? Of course not. Because you only think about yourself.”

You point your finger at him, he remaining silent. Simultaneously, the four legged creature decided to run after a squirrel. The leash splits from your hand and instantly Kei starts chasing her.

You follow after them, he much faster than you. Following the duo on unstable ground, you step in a dip rolling your ankle.

Beside you, you welcome the bouquet of flowers Tsuki dropped chasing after your dog.

Minutes later he comes back with your dog on the leash and you sitting on the ground with an ankle starting to bruise.

“You’ve always been clumsy.” He chuckles looking over your ankle. “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t walk on it. Here let me help you.” He extends his hand to you but you whisk it away instead.

“I got it, Tsuki.”

You attempt to collect your ground, instantly failing when it came to applying any pressure to your ankle.

“See. Bad liar.” He scoffs.

“Shut up, Tsuki.”

He extends his hand once more, those long fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Just let me help you.”

“Fine. Fine.” You give up. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

He hands you the dog leash, scooping you into his arms.

“You’re making it really hard not to.”

Inside the home, he lays you on the couch letting the dog free.

“I try to make things right and you end up hurting yourself.” He groans giving you the side eye.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Well it’s your fault.”

“Whatever Tsuki. You’re so full of shit.” You roll your eyes throwing an arm over your face.

“Aww she’s sorry.”

You look out from your arm seeing Kei laughing at your pup dropping toys on your stomach.

“Yeah acts just like her dad.” You throw the ball with slight frustration while he watches amused.

He loves her. Always had. She always listened better to him too.

The pup brings her toy to Tsuki this time, begging for someone to play with her. He leaves out of your sight and returns with something frozen wrapped in a towel. He lifts your leg with ease and sets it in his lap.

“Now. Since there was so much to talk about. You know, from you ghosting me after I confessed to you, again, to how you rejected me, again. Explain yourself. And it better be good because I’m hurting really bad right now.”

He presses the cold compress hard against your skin making you jump, hissing in reaction.

“Tsukiiii.... shit.” You hiss throwing your head back.

“Mmm that’s not the first time I heard that.” He smirks watching you. “Besides woman, how many times do I need to explain this to you. I. BROKE. MY. PHONE.” He glares running his hand along your leg. “Take it or leave it. That’s my story.”

You return his glare and sigh.

“I hate you, Tsukishima Kei.” You groan with your eyes sealing shut.

“That’s not what you said last time.” His deadpan eyes were audible.

“Well, I take it back.” You allow your ears to guide you, his touch secondary to your hearing.

“You can’t just that it back.”

“Watch me.” You fold your arms across your chest, not bothering to look at him. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this position right now.”

“So it’s my fault.” He scoffs as you feel his eyes watching you.

“Yes, its your fault.” You sigh scooting closer to him.

“So I see.” He says. “How’s your ankle feeling?”

“I’m hurting so bad right now.”

He lifts the ice pack exposing your purple ankle.

“It’s going to hurt a lot more when you have my kids.”

That caught you off guard. Not that you haven’t mentioned having a family more than once in the time you dated...

“Your kids?” You sit up on your elbows watching him watch you.

It’s just been awhile.

“I’m six feet tall. Did you think they were going to be bite size like you?”

“There’s a chance. Besides, who said I’m still having your kids? Maybe I want someone else’s.”

Tsukishima bursts out laughing. “There’s no one in this world who’s going to put up with you. You’re whiney.”

“And you’re an ass.”

“And yet you sound surprised.”

“I’d kick you right now.” You roll your hips further in the couch, simultaneously closer to Tsuki. “You’re a jerk and I hate you.”

“Again with the catch phrase. News flash. You don’t mean it.” He sighs running a hand over your foot.

“Does that hurt?”

“Yes.”

“How about here?”

“Yes.”

He’s trying to massage your ankle, kisses on it, working up to your core.

“Here?”

“No. Tsuki, what are you doing?”

“Good. I think I should inspect this area a little longer.” He completely ignores your question. “You know, just to be on the safe side.”

His long fingers brush against the edge of your shorts, him receiving a moan as his lips touch your skin.

“Tsuki no, I’m hurting.” You moan, your mouth disagreeing with your body.

“I’ll be gentle.” His voice, soft and reassuring, matches the look in his eyes, those caramel irises rolling to you in a daze. He takes his glasses off placing them on the coffee table nearby. His fingers trace up your leg, delicate gestures along the curve of your body, feeling the tension building from the inside.

Those eyes reconnect with yours, he crawling on top of you with a leg on each side, straddling your waist but it’s obvious he’s holding back. His fingers trace along your jawline, guiding your lips into his.

This toxic, mesmerizing affect he has on you leaves you obedient and purring.

“Will you forgive me?” He hums into your neck leaving soft kisses in trail to your breast where he takes your shirt off.

“I’ve always loved your body.” He runs the back of his hand across your skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

His lips pepper you to your nipples, one hand caressing your skin in circles, the other massaging the free breast.

“Maybe this will distract you some. You know. From the pain.” He moans between the light bites.

The separate hand travels south to your navel, the backside painfully slow until he meets your shorts.

“Is this ok? I’m not hurting you right?” He stops, eyeing you as you exhale with a long relaxed moan. “I just want to make you feel good.”

You nod generously, your eyes closing ready to relax.

He slides your shorts off your hips.

“I never get tired of seeing this.” He moans leaving open mouth kisses on your hip bones. “You’re beautiful.”

His cold fingers trace along the exterior of your lips watching how you react. His hot breath teases your heat as he slides down into his stomach, wrapping an arm around your thigh pulling you closer.

“Mmm Kei.”

“Yeah? Baby girl you like this?”

“You said you were going to be nice.”

“No, no I said gentle. Purr for me.” He smirks exposing his teeth in glee.

“Tsukiii.” You pout arching your hips into him.

“Patience Baby.” He runs his index along your slit. “We have no where to be.”

“Kei, you know I’m impatient.”

“Yes, Baby Girl.” He slides the finger along the outside. “But I also know you’ve been neglected, and I need to fix that.” He spreads your lips. “And I am truly sorry.”

He slides his tongue over your clit, watching your eyes roll back in your head. Your body trembles preparing for him.

He brings the same finger from earlier to your entrance slowly stretching your needy hole.

“Fuck Tsuki.”

“Shhh Shh. Baby Girl.” He counters your long exaggerated moan. “I just want you to feel good.” Kei releases his finger from your core, watching your eyes open in distaste.

“Relax. I’m just tasting you.” Sliding his finger in his mouth, he keeps your eyes locked, sliding it back inside your ravishing flower. “You taste so good.” He moans feeling himself grow hard. “So damn good.”

Pumping your core, he slides a second finger into you adding more tension.

“I love you so much.” He mumbles, his insecurities exposing him.

You smile running your fingers through his curls as he lean in closer, licking your folds.

His left hand finally releases your breast, sliding to your adjacent thigh, barricade himself into your core.

He laps your slit too many times to count, the ecstasy overwhelming you as you buck your hips against his hold.

“Tsuki.” You moan while he pins your hips down.

“Patience Baby. This is all for you.”

“I need you. You have this control over me. And I hate it.” You pant with needy eyes. He stops what he’s doing, pulling out of your lubed heat, leaning over your body.

Chest to chest, nose to nose.

You grab his neck pulling him into you. Your taste on his lips, your tongue attacking his with needy lust.

Your fingers trace his face, cupping a cheek and you moan into his mouth.

“You drive me crazy.”

You break, turning to his neck licking the sweat from his skin.

“Can I have you?” You shutter, your words caught in your throat.

“Baby Girl, you can have whatever you want.” He hums kissing your lips tenderly.

“I want to feel you inside me.”

“Baby... you’re hurt.”

“I just want to feel you. Tsuki please. I want this.” He sighs and sits up.

“Somewhere else. I don’t have enough room on this couch. I’ll hurt you.” He eyes your bedroom door and back to you.

“Please, Kei.” You moan rolling your hips against his clothed bottoms.

He relocates you to the bedroom taking off his shirt. You stop to admire his chiseled body from volleyball, releasing a painful moan, sliding your fingers over your clit.

“Fuck... baby girl that’s my job.” He dives down in between your legs clasping his hands over yours, pinning them to the side, continuing laps from before.

“You feel so good Tsuki.” You moan as he sits up.

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

“You’re saying this like it’s my first time.” You smirk with a giggle.

“Look, Baby Girl. I really don’t want to hurt you. I can get... distracted.”

“I’m fine Kei. I promise you I’ll let you know if it’s too much, ok?”

He leans over your body, kissing your lips, your breast, your core and sits up, losing his bottoms.

“Promise?”

“I promise Kei.” You smile feeling him line up with you.

It was different this time. The lust was different. His touch is sensitive. He runs his hand along your thigh as he presses into you.

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He moans with his head thrown back. “You’re perfect.” You feel your breath hitch inside you with the new found pressure. He leans forward, slowly rolling his hips into yours again. His runs his fingers in your hair as he begins thrusting slowly.

Open mouth kisses, he hears your breath getting caught in your throat.

“Are you ok? Is this fine?” He asks and you nod.

“You’re just big. Give me time.” You adjust your hips and he slows his pace. “No... Kei. Keep going.”

He bottoms inside you scraping your cervix and causing you to gasp.

“Oh my.” You catch yourself and he pulls himself out halfway.

“Are you ok?” He watches your eyes and you nod with an embarrassed giggle.

“Oh my goodness, Kei. Just go. I’m fine.” You laugh frustrated while he smirks.

“Ok ok.” He kisses you and sets a steady tempo.

Are you ready to trust him again? Your heart races in your ears as thousands of things run through your head.

He’s feels amazing.

I want to trust him again.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

But can you trust him?

He leans into your neck leaving kisses too many to count.

“I’ve missed you.” His groan, so low you could have ignored it, sends chills down your spine. Your core tightens and he notices.

The cocky blond leans down and places his lips to yours. His thrusts are clean and he pulls you in. “I don’t ever want to be without you again.” He’s breathy and his body gives under pressure, collapsing as he finishes inside you.

His broad shoulders cover your body while he leaves kisses across your skin to your lips.

“Then don’t leave, Kei.” You bury your head into his chest as he kisses your forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere, Baby Girl.”

Tag List:

@kellyisalone

@girlyluke

Hopefully it’s something you will enjoy ☺️

[aurabird]

Tainted Blood

Joel doesn’t believe in the demon, going as far as to ignore him entirely. But the Mezalean King’s defiance isn’t what draws Xornoth to him...but something dark and violent, a thirst for blood that cannot be quenched.

What use could a desire so strong be when mixed with corruption?

Tw: I think just blood/violence and corruption for this one.

Also on Ao3

-------------------

Joel struggled against the chains binding him with a frustrated growl. It was obvious that he was in a dungeon of some sort as a prisoner given the way he was being restrained; arms above his head and his legs to the floor. Who would possibly have the audacity to capture him like this?

“Very funny guys. I’m not laughing, you can come out now and free me.” he shouted to no one in particular.

That is when he heard footsteps, his attention being drawn to the sound in time to see Sausage enter the room. The Mythland king wore attire in various grey shades, a black cape fastened around his shoulders by a ruby trailed behind him as he walked with calculated strides.

The outfit change wasn’t the only new thing Joel noticed about the king, black veins webbed across the man’s visible flesh in vine-like patterns, a faint crimson glow pulsating from them. Sausage turned to look at him, piercing red eyes only made more sinister by the same black veins on his face.

“Joel, good to see you’ve finally awoken!” he said with a grin that was far too sharp and a tone of voice that was only slightly off in normalcy.

“Sausage, what is this? I don’t have time for your silly games right now!”

“Games? Joel you wound me. If anyone has been playing games it has been you taunting Lord Xornoth.”

“That’s what this is about? As far as I am concerned the demon doesn’t exist, just some big elaborate prank someone is playing on all of us that we are falling for.”

Suddenly, Sausage was directly in front of him, the sharp grin still crossing their face “Ah, that’s right, he mentioned how you have been ignoring and irritating him.” the Mythland king took a few steps back before continuing, “But that’s why you’re here, he’s going to make sure you can’t ignore him anymore.”

Joel felt a shiver go down his spine at how calm and deathly serious those words were said. “He doesn’t scare me, Sausage, and neither do you.”

“We’ll see about that, King Joel. Yes we will.” came a distorted voice from everywhere in the room at once, the speaker soon materializing before the Mezalean king in a puff of smoke. Their skin was ebony in color, veins very similar to those on Sausage’s own skin covered every inch of their body and the sinister horns growing from their head were constantly pulsating purple and crimson underneath the shadows that slithered around them. A wicked grin stretched across their face, mouth not moving despite saying words.

“Leave us, Champion.” the entity that was definitely not a demon in any way ordered, dismissing the Mythland king with a wave of a clawed hand.

“Of course my lord.” he replied with a bow before taking his leave, the sound of stone grinding against stone was heard as a door closed behind him, leaving Joel alone with the entity.

“So, Xornoth right? Sausage claims you’re going to keep me from ignoring you.” Joel began with a bored, condescending tone in his voice.

“While that is true, your defiance isn’t what perked my interest in you, there is something else...something dark inside your soul that I am quite curious about. I believe you call it bloodlust?”

“What about it?”

“I find it something worth studying further.”

The chains binding Joel unlocked with unspoken command, causing him to slump to the ground where crimson tendrils were quick to coil around his limbs, preventing any struggle or movement as they held him against the cold floor.

The sound of a sword being dragged across stone drew his attention, Xornoth holding the blade in his hand, “What triggers it I wonder? Is it the sight of blood or the lack thereof?” Joel didn’t get to reply as the demon cut into his left arm, allowing crimson to poor freely from the wound.

  He ran through the forest, the wolves at his heels howling as they bayed for the blood of their prey, Joel giving a wicked grin as the desire to kill urged him forwards. He could hear them in the distance, the King and his Hand fleeing for their lives.

“THE RED KING DIES TONIGHT FELLAS!” he cackled with sadistic glee, a look of madness in his red eyes as they entered the war-torn remains of a desert.

  The scene faded as quickly as it began, Joel’s body shaking like a leaf in fear at what he’d just seen. He’d witnessed that moment countless times over in his nightmares, but never whilst awake.

Xornoth’s smile grew at the sight of the man’s fear, “Guess you aren’t as fearless as you like to believe.” he said.

Joel snarled, “Sh-Shut up. You know nothing about me!”

“I know you deny my existence and infuriate me with your defiance. I know of your bond with the Ocean Queen and the Codfather...”

“Don’t you dare lay a hand on either of them!”

His threat was ignored as the demon chuckled “Oh, I won’t. But you will.”

Agony coursed through Joel’s body at those words, a cry tearing from his throat as his skin burned where the crimson tendrils made contact with it.

  His foot nicked the fiery liquid pouring from above, an ember quickly setting his pants ablaze and causing him to panic. He scrambled as fast as he could to get over the stone brick wall and into the swamp water he knew lay beyond it.

In his act of desperation he got caught up in a lava stream which trapped his legs in sheer agony as it wasted no time incinerating flesh, his vision going black from the pain, a mercy from one of the most painful deaths.

Green eyes bore into his brown ones as the girl glared at him with a satisfied grin, the flames licking the walls of his house out of revenge casting a shadow on her decaying body and torn clothes.

The flames danced around him as he panicked to try and put them out, but to no avail, once more his body was consumed by an inferno.

  Joel’s eyes snapped open as he was brought back to reality, his gaze quickly locking onto the black webs slowly creeping up his arms from where they came in contact with the crimson tendrils.

Everything burned as the corruption spread through him, taking control of his motor functions and causing him to cease his struggling.

The demon's maniac laughter echoed throughout the room almost taunting him. Anger flared in his chest and the sight of blood staining stone from where he’d been sliced with a sword fueled a desire to kill.

His vision turned red as a haze began to wrap around his mind, but Joel didn’t fight it, the bloodlust was familiar and welcoming to him...but why there was also something different about it this time?

He had no time to question it as soon, Joel’s thoughts were no longer his own and the pain faded. The Mezalean King’s now-red eyes burned brightly as he looked up to meet those of his master, a twisted smile curving on his lips before he spoke.

“What do you wish me to do to them, Lord Xornoth?”

[shihalyfie]

Yamato, Adventure’s most dramatically emotional cast member

The “edgy cool bishounen rival” has been such a staple of shounen anime for years that the moment you look at Yamato and his position next to Taichi, it’s easy to go “ah, yep, there it is.” But just like how Taichi’s actually very different from the shounen hero stereotype, Yamato, despite what his first impression and character design might suggest, is in fact the complete opposite!

Actually, I’ll start this off with an interesting story from Yamato’s own voice actor, Kazama Yuuto:

Yeah. When my agent asked me which role I wanted to try out, I thought I couldn’t do a pretty boy character like him, so I was really astonished when I was chosen for the role. Afterwards, when I asked Kakudou-san [the director] about it, he said that he’d decided on me the instant I’d come in... I’d heard that Yamato was a cool character, which I thought was a part of him that didn’t agree with me. So there was that factor in the beginning. But I learned that he was actually quite similar to me, and a surprisingly passionate guy.

I don’t generally have a huge tendency to include voice actor comments in analysis about writing, but I do think it says a lot that even his own voice actor walked in expecting the typical “pretty boy rival” character to the extent that he felt he’d have difficulty doing the role at all, only for the actual nature of Yamato’s character to catch him off guard! Because, yeah, that really is the case: Yamato’s first impression really is very deceptive, and his actual personality is, indeed, full of open passion and emotion in nearly every way.

Yamato in Adventure

...No, really, it really does not take long for it to be very clear that Yamato’s immediately not like the stereotype his character archetype would suggest, considering that even as early as Adventure episode 2, he was depicted as very obviously being open about his opinions, even if that made him quick to criticize.

When you talk about “rival” characters, usually, the reason such characters seem cold and standoffish is that there’s a certain degree of pride to them, or, in other words, they want to keep up a facade of being “cool” and rational and thus aren’t quick to show their emotions. But Yamato isn’t like that at all! From the very beginning, he speaks often, is very open and honest about his thoughts, and doesn’t seem to even really care what others think at all.

The Adventure novels do, in fact, make clear that he was more closed-in prior to arriving in the Digital World, and these bursts of emotion were actually unusual behavior for him at the time -- but it’s not because he’s prideful or anything! Firstly, it wasn’t necessarily that he deliberately cut himself off from others -- rather, he was still willing to engage in some degree of friendly interaction:

It wasn’t because he was lonely. In fact, many of his classmates would greet him with a friendly “Yo!” or “Hi~!” when they came across him and, naturally, Yamato would respond back with a smile.

And, in fact, said novel indicates that there’s a lot going on deeper than him merely suppressing his emotions for the sake of it:

The people around Yamato may have thought that he was a cold, aloof person, but that was only because he didn’t show what he thought to other people. When had he become like that? He hadn’t been like that when he was younger. But after his parents decided to divorce and his mom took Takeru by the hand and left home… Don’t go! Please don’t go! Don’t leave me! The truth was, he had wanted to plead with her and cry — but he couldn’t. Part of it had to do with his father standing by his side. Maybe his mother had secretly wished for Yamato to say that to her. But at that moment, Yamato had thought that he would never show weakness in front of his mom, even if he died from it. It was his own decision to follow his dad. Ever since coming to the Digital World, even Yamato was surprised by how much emotion he expressed. All of the emotion that he’d held back while at home, at school, had come bursting out without pause.

It’s also important to understand the reasons why he blows up so easily at Taichi in Adventure episodes 3 and 6 and whatnot -- he does it because he’s constantly looking out for the others and worried about their welfare. Pretty much all of the arguments he has with Taichi for the majority of the series involve him objecting to his perception of Taichi as insensitive, because Taichi has a tendency to tease others or bid for everyone to keep pushing forward into dangerous situations or when they’re tired. So, really, Yamato gets angered and emotional and picks his fights with Taichi because he cares too much, not because he’s deliberately trying to cultivate an image of being detached. Once they were outside the range of his family and their classmates and stranded in another world, Yamato’s bleeding heart instantly won out, and he started advocating for the welfare of everyone else.

This is why Yamato’s the one who gets the Crest of Friendship, because even though he starts off by putting up a defensive wall between himself and the others and seems very difficult to deal with, even when he gets angry and upset, he’s constantly upset on other people’s behalf. Even from the very beginning of the series, he’s actually one of the most caring people in the cast!

Really, the entire first few introductory episodes with Yamato can be pretty succinctly described as Yamato coping really badly with all those years of emotional suppression and letting it out in some pretty severe outbursts, especially when it comes to Takeru, whom he’d never been able to properly take care of as an older brother due to their parents’ divorce. (And while he’s definitely a little better at managing it, Takeru himself is actually also doing a pretty bad job with that whole emotional suppression and lack of catharsis thing.) Standoffish and cold? Nah -- not when Yamato has the single highest count of openly breaking down and crying out of the whole cast in Adventure.

And, for all it’s worth, remember that stereotypical “cold rival” characters in this kind of shounen series would normally be very ashamed at others seeing them so emotional, but Yamato...doesn’t really seem to care about the others seeing him do some really embarrassingly reckless stuff during his episodes of exploding over Takeru’s welfare. Once it’s past him, he doesn’t really dwell on it and moves on. Again: Yamato isn’t the kind of person who actually cares that much about what other people think of him.

Adventure episode 18 is an often-overlooked episode when it comes to Yamato, but it’s significant because it makes it clear that he doesn’t really have a problem being conversational and friendly with others (especially since, remember, any emotional suppression had more to do with the trauma and sensitive feelings surrounding his parents’ divorce and a desire to not show weakness) -- he starts a very lighthearted, friendly chat with Koushirou over why they’re looking for their Crests, and even admits that the reason he wants his own Crest is that he’s self-conscious about the idea of everyone else changing and improving as people while he gets left behind. That’s a really personal thing to admit, and arguably something very sensitive! It’s something you wouldn’t even blame him for potentially being self-conscious about! But he’s perfectly humble in admitting that this is something he wants to improve in, and carries on this entire conversation in a light-hearted, cheerful manner.

This episode takes place during a time where everything seems to be “safe” (they’re within Piccolomon’s barrier and finally have a proper place to sleep), and are on the verge of finding their own Crests in a situation that does not ostensibly involve running for their lives, so this is when you get to see Yamato in a relaxed situation. And, really, he’s very friendly and open, with no restraint about it. He really isn’t the kind of person to be condescending or cold by nature!

It’s even more incorrect to pin Yamato as someone who tries to act more on rationality (again, like the “cold rival” stereotype would suggest) because, in fact, he’s the kind of person who gets completely carried away by his own caring for others to the extent of irrationality. For instance, in Adventure episode 23 when his conflicting loyalties to Takeru versus wanting to help Jou in his situation get all mixed up, and he tries to buy into PicoDevimon's trick to turn Jou against him as a solution to taking sides before Jou clearly indicates this is the case, and Yamato doesn't hesitate to feel really bad about it. Openly so. Condescension? Nah.

No, really, I could just keep taking screenshots from Adventure all day if you want evidence of “Yamato is openly and passionately emotional to explosive degrees because he cares too much about others, and makes no real pretense of hiding it.” If you’re still not convinced, I don’t know what to tell you.

When Yamato infamously succumbs to Jureimon’s bait in Adventure episode 44 and ends up picking a fight with Taichi -- possibly his most self-centered action in the entire series -- it’s interesting to see that Jureimon does use the word “rival”, the same word used in anime trope lingo to describe “the person you’re constantly fighting with and competing with in order to improve yourself”. The reason why this is fascinating is that Adventure is making a point here that this kind of “stereotypical anime rival” relationship would be extremely unhealthy for these characters.

No, really: at least as far as Yamato’s concerned, and what defines the kind of “friendship” these particular kids need, what these kids need is mutual emotional support, not engineered conflict that can be passed off as “they fight but it’s a sign of how much they know each other!” Remembering that Adventure is, in many ways, a series that prioritizes wanting to focus on portraying the intimate nature of human behavior, it’s not surprising that it goes out of its way to make clear that centering your relationship with a friend around needing to “outdo” them is a really bad thing. (Observe how 02′s Daisuke and Ken also don’t fit the “rivals” archetype at all and are merely a straightforward relationship of best friends in little to no conflict, despite occupying the stereotypical position.)

But Jureimon successfully digs into all of Yamato’s insecurities about his perceived lack of self-improvement and his tendency to compare himself to the polar-opposite Taichi in terms of Taichi’s charisma and way of (ostensibly) playing better to Takeru’s dislike of being coddled. And so, the engineered conflict happens, and, of course, it traumatizes everyone around them. When Yamato finally manages to get over himself after some timely intervention from “the one who seeks stability” (Homeostasis) in Adventure episode 45, everyone in the group is miserable from the ordeal.

Adventure episode 51 basically lays down the two major issues Yamato had been facing up until that point, and ties it into a neat bow: the reason Yamato had become so obsessed with self-improvement was because he wanted to prove he was "independent" and "not weak", but in the end, he still sees himself as an inferior person compared to everyone else -- culminating in him eventually seeing Taichi as a better person than him. Gabumon reaches out to Yamato by clarifying Yamato’s right to not compete, but be unique; it’s not about competing or being a “better” or “worse” version of others, it’s finding his important niche in the group or in the world with the things only he’s good at. Yamato says it in explicit words in Two-and-a-Half Year Break:

Dad doesn’t remember. On the day when we had to decide whether Takeru or I would go with him… Neither Dad or Mom could decide, so I did. I thought, this way, Takeru would be able to stay with Mom. I chose for myself. And after that, I always chose for myself. Or that’s what I’d planned to. Even though I was called a Chosen Child, it was me who was going to choose what to do. No way was I going to be used for other people’s convenience. Maybe that’s why I went so far to keep myself from making friends. But in the end, I acknowledged that what I was doing was unreasonable. After all, I’m not living in this world by myself. If I hadn’t met Gabumon, I never would have realized that. The person I am right now, is not alone.

As long as Yamato only ever sees himself as a replaceable piece meant to fill in the same niches as everyone else, he’ll continue to be horribly critical of himself for not being a perfect person and ultimately being “useless” or “not necessary”. But it’s not about being perfect or a better or worse replacement, it’s about embracing himself and what he can do in his own way, and, indeed, at the end of the episode, Yamato’s arrival on the scene makes it clear that the group ultimately needs both of them, not just one.

It’s also interesting in that, whereas most of the kids (especially in the Adventure finale) are very open about their own feelings to their own partners, Yamato and Gabumon are capable of “communicating” in some sense just by Yamato playing the harmonica. But it’s perhaps because Yamato is normally so open and passionate about his own feelings that such a tacit method is something they can do -- they’ve already bared themselves to each other so many times already, that in the end, all they need to do is just enjoy the abstract things together.

Yamato in 02 and after

So by the time we get to 02, any trace of coldness or detachment from Yamato has completely vanished.

I cannot emphasize this enough: completely vanished. Even in the middle of being a heartthrob for the teenagers in school thanks to his good looks and work with his band, he’s open and lacking in condescension whatsoever, and it’s basically like seeing the openly friendly Yamato from Adventure episode 18 for a whole series. Actually, it already says a lot that he’s in a band, considering it feels like shifting his music activities to a full-on band is there to make a deliberate statement that Yamato is now much better at socializing and working in organized groups now -- it’s a far cry from having to work solo or independently, and it’s significant that “the person who wanted to be able to do everything by himself” is now interested in doing something a bit more cooperative. (And to lend further to the idea he’s sentimental and constantly thinks of others, his band, the TEEN-AGE WOLVES, is all but confirmed to be named in indirect tribute to Gabumon.)

He’s open, conversational, makes a lot of silly faces throughout the series, and basically the only thing he has left that remotely resembles the “pretty boy rival” stereotype is that he’s deep in the aesthetic. But even then, you get the impression that he just does that because he genuinely likes it, not because he’s trying to be “cooler than you” or anything. And it’s easy to see why: Yamato, quite simply, got over himself. He stopped restraining himself all the time in his attempts to become a perfect person, and simply let himself loose to express himself how he wanted, and ultimately became a perfectly sociable and friendly person who’s now even popular at school!

Yamato’s punch on Taichi in 02 episode 10 is often taken as evidence that Taichi and Yamato embody the “rivals who constantly get in fights but are somehow still friends” trope, but this tends to avoid the actual context of the rest of the scene -- in fact, Daisuke himself rightfully points out that if Yamato had done this out of any actual anger or condescension, this would have been a really cruel thing to do to Taichi when he’s already going through so much. But Yamato’s not doing this out of resentment or condescension, he’s doing this for Taichi’s own sake to help him get out of his stupor, and the important part here is that he immediately holds out a hand to him afterwards. Or, in other words, this isn’t something they’re doing out of conflict, but out of communication, and it’s now at the point where Taichi understands Yamato’s intent, and Yamato knows that what he wanted to do would be conveyed to Taichi, without words.

That is why Taichi and Yamato are finally so close now: they understand each other’s feelings. They’re not competing with each other. They’re not resenting each other. They’re sympathetic and forgiving of each other, and they communicate, verbally or otherwise.

It’s followed by a scene in 02 episode 11 that’s also often construed as Taichi and Yamato advocating fighting as part of a healthy friendship, but, again, this omits context: they talk about their fighting in past tense! They’re referring as fighting having been part of the things they had to do to understand each other now, when they clearly aren’t in that kind of conflict anymore. The idea they’re espousing is that Daisuke and Takeru need to let out their feelings and have some catharsis if they want to truly understand each other (which is, indeed, how Taichi and Yamato eventually settled their differences) and hopefully get to a position of mutual understanding, instead of the others forcing them to have peace for the sake of peace and not letting their feelings get out on the table. (And, ultimately, Daisuke spends the rest of the episode thinking about Takeru’s position, and none of the 02 kids ever end up in this bad of a brawl for the rest of the series, yet manage to build a friendship in spite of that -- so, yes, the important part was that they had their feelings out in the open and got catharsis, not fighting in itself.)

Yamato also has an interesting role in the 02 drama CDs, including one entirely devoted to him (Letter). Said drama CD has quite a few things to note:

Gabumon says that Yamato being rather silent and not speaking up about what he’s thinking is unusual behavior for him.

As much as Yamato’s managed to do a better job opening up in general, he’s still suffering from extreme self-worth issues, considering himself as worthless if he’s not able to do anything for a girl in the hospital, even though it’s of course completely reasonable he can’t do much. Despite that, he continues to emotionally fixate on her welfare and basically self-flagellate and do a lot of pretty emotionally occupied things in the process.

Speaking of getting emotionally occupied, as much as he ends up snapping a bit at the people on the beach who keep annoying the hell out of him, he eventually feels so bad for the shaved ice seller that he forces himself to eat it just for him. (Even though it’s freezing.)

Yamato’s a really poetic person. Almost sappily so.

On top of that, Armor Evolution to the Unknown gives us an ever-so-slight glimpse of his dating life with Sora -- which, while he hadn’t been super-flagrant about, he also hadn’t been hiding either (he’s clearly willing to engage in a bit of PDA as per 02 episode 43), and, if the admittedly-kind-of-crack drama CD is to believed, he’s actually very emotionally passionate about his relationship to her, and very dedicated! Beyond just the (very sudden) passionate declaration of love to her in the middle of tap dancing, when Sora is found to have been worrying about him being cold lately, he immediately goes out of his way to try and make things right and prove his love...

Yamato’s initial appearance in Kizuna pretty much defines in a nutshell what his and Taichi’s relationship eventually turned out to be: they’re willing to banter because they’re comfortable with each other, but when it all comes down to it, they appreciate and trust each other deeply. Again, the point is that Yamato and Taichi are emotionally there for each other, considering that (even if he ribs Taichi a bit for it) Yamato’s willing to come all the way down to meet Taichi for late-night beer and talk to him through his emotional troubles.

And, yes, Yamato’s still there to be a concerned minder for Taichi and to make sure he doesn’t get too inconsiderate of what he’s doing -- but there’s no conflict over it, just the two of them balancing their necessary roles as part of the group and keeping each other in check. Again, as was made clear back in Adventure, it’s not about one person being more necessary than the other, it’s them both working together to fulfill their own roles.

As one of the central characters in the movie, Yamato’s also having an existential crisis of adulthood, and in his case, it’s that he’s playing everything too much by ear but isn’t really sure what he wants to commit to. He’s still enjoying music as a hobby, but it’s apparent he doesn’t want to commit to it as a career (which is, well, quite the common thing for those who have hobbies in middle school) -- and moreover, the novel indicates that it’s not bringing him happiness the way it used to. (The movie goes out of its way to depict Yamato feeling isolated with both a harmonica and a band, referencing that neither Adventure nor 02′s ways are doing it for him anymore.)

Beyond the motorcycle we see Yamato driving a few times in the movie, the official website profile makes it clear that this is one of his major new interests, and it’s presumably why he’s also attending an engineering school -- he can’t decide on a long-term goal, so he’ll at least experiment with the thing he likes. Yamato’s always been someone who thinks with emotions and feelings, so it fits him.

We also learn that he’s surprisingly studious, and is picking up some things that run contrary to his image (the glasses!), including the fact he seems to like school enough that he wants to do more school while he figures out what he wants to do. This is something that happens in real life for a certain kind of person in a career-based existential crisis -- as many people as there are who play very badly with educational structures, there are also people who rely very heavily on the structure of college or grad school basically handing you tasks to do on a plate, and find the job market to be scarier than staying within that bubble. It’s not too unreasonable to imagine that Yamato, who in certain ways has never really been the kind of person to assertively have an idea of “this is what I want to do!” and generally works by immediate feelings instead of long-term goals, would end up becoming that kind of person. As he says, it’s really just him trying to postpone the inevitable decision and get a grace period.

Since “shutting out one’s own partner (and therefore one’s own inner self)” is key to the cause of partner dissolution, Yamato’s way of it isn’t as direct as Taichi or Sora (who end up actively shutting out their partners in a bid to become an adult), but is most certainly there -- especially when he’s the one who drops a mocking line about the idea of bringing Gabumon to his school. (It’s not about whether it’s actually doable or not; it’s the fact that he laughs and scoffs at how stupid this is.) The fact he treats friends drifting apart as an “inevitable” thing, and eventually is shown very obviously to be keeping Gabumon out of the phone conversations (in stark contrast to the 02 quartet going out of their way to keep them involved on the other end) ultimately boils down to: neglect. Yamato’s coasting by on everything he likes, but it also means he’s just letting everything happen, instead of consciously pursuing things and passionately following things with gusto, the way he used to.

But we do see Yamato’s single-minded and passionate side come out again -- while Taichi shuts down and ruminates on what to do about his impending loss of Agumon, Yamato’s the one who desperately runs around trying to figure something out, recruiting the 02 quartet into it, losing sleep over it, and eventually having a passionate confrontation with Taichi as the climax approaches. (Note that this, again, is not a real conflict in nearly the same way the two of them would be spitting insults at each other all the way back in Adventure; it’s just the two baring their own feelings, and Yamato quickly accepts Taichi’s answer very easily because he, too, feels the same. Again: they’ve become very good at communicating.)

Yamato does eventually let Gabumon back into his periphery instead of neglecting him so much, and their final scene together in the movie involves them resuming their old method of tacit communication that they’d once shared together, with Yamato playing the harmonica. It’s a sign of Yamato finally embracing those things in the past that used to make him happy rather than cultivating an uncomfortable relationship with it just because he’d kicked it out of his career prospects, and ultimately coming to terms with what he likes and what makes him happy.

And speaking of career prospects...

The question of “why did Yamato become an astronaut?” is one that’s infamously weirded out people all over the globe because of how much it clashes with his image, and how much of a kind of “out-there” thing it is that had virtually no precedent whatsoever in Yamato’s prior hobbies. (Although, if you really think about it, space travel isn’t that huge of a hurdle as it sounds for a world like this where Digital Gates exist to bend space-time; you just send a probe with a Digital Gate link up there...) The original meta reason was, simply, that it was a holdover from one of the original ideas for the third Adventure series, in which they would be investigating forces that were obstructing evolution from space. (The original logical progression was that Adventure would have a threat from the Digital World, 02 a threat from the real world, so the theoretical third series would be space...) When you think about which of the original Tokyo Chosen Children would be the most likely to actively pursue this route, it actually is likely to be Yamato, given that Taichi is more of a person who’s an overall leader and coordinator, whereas Yamato, who’s much more up-front aggressive and openly passionate, would be more likely to want to tackle the situation with his own hands.

Kizuna -- or, more specifically, its novel -- offers another (and not mutually exclusive!) explanation:

While studying at graduate school, Yamato came up with a dream he had for his future. He wanted to study cosmology, and become an astronaut. The way there would not be easy. There was a whole mountain of things he’d have to do to get there. But Yamato had a certain ambition in mind. Someday, he was going to go to space with Gabumon. Whenever he thought of that future, Yamato was willing to do anything to get there.

Remembering that Yamato was at an engineering school (presumably originally from the motorcycles connection), it seems that he eventually “ran into” the career option by chance and happenstance, and thought about it and decided he wanted to follow it for the sake of going with Gabumon. It’s a very “romantic” and sappy kind of “out-there” dream, and, actually, that’s the point -- Yamato is a ridiculous romanticist, the kind of person who waxed about barbecue back in Adventure episode 6, and compared his relationship with Takeru to Hikoboshi and Orihime back in 02 episode 17, and spouted a bunch of poetic words at the sea during Letter. And, remember, he’s always been openly shameless and passionate about everything he’s felt and liked, and has never cared what other people would think.

And in the context of Kizuna, where Yamato was slowly losing touch with himself and his passions and eventually lost Gabumon as a result, it’s a very important sign that everything’s on its way back to healing, and that he’ll be able to achieve that future where they meet again.

[meat--grindr]

NFSW with Yandere Harry Warden.

Finally, after like, ten thousand years, it’s here! I’m so sorry this took so long. Both the Christmas break and the 46-page essay I wrote just before really swallowed my routine and motivation whole. But! I think I’ve found my words again, which means it’s back to the grind, baby!

Just some notes before we get going: as with the previous Yandere ask featuring best-boy Brahms, I feel I should give out a little warning. In general, I am not really a fan of the whole yandere thing, and I have some real issues with it when it comes to NSFW scenarios. I’m not judging if that’s your thing, I’m just saying it isn’t mine. That being said, I find the more possessive/protective aspect of the yandere troupe fits really well with slashers (possibly because I find it attractive on the lowest of keys asdkaskah). As was the case with that previous ask, I have taken some liberties that tend more toward ‘possessive’ than properly ‘yandere.’ As always, if this isn’t at all what you were hoping for, my DMs are open. Perhaps we could figure something else out together!

Under the cut you will find two different scenarios which follow a similar premise—you were flirting with someone else at a bar to make Harry jealous. When you get home, he takes matters into his own hands. Honestly, this is just borne out of my deeply held belief that our Valentines’ Slasher is a switch ;)

Jealousy: A Double Feature (Yandere [?]) Harry Warden (Gender Neutral Reader) – NSFW

The Set-Up:

·       Harry had been with you all night, that much you knew, though you had only caught sight of him once. He was tucked away in a dark corner of the bar, the brim of his hat pulled down low over his eyes. You spotted him over the shoulder of the friend of a friend—a stranger really, though that hadn’t stopped the pair of you from orbiting one another all night. You knew he was the perfect choice from the moment you set eyes on him. He was tall, broad shouldered, cut rough around the edges, but he had a sweet smile and an open face. It was one that said there would be no hard feelings at the end of the night if he didn’t end up going home with you. It almost made you feel bad, leading him on as you were. Almost.

·       The way you smiled and laughed at his (admittedly quite funny) jokes, the proximity of your hand to his on the table, the way you pressed your cheek to his, feeling the scrape of stubble along his jaw—none of it meant anything. You knew it and you were pretty sure Bradley (Braden?) knew it too. Harry Warden definitely knew it, but as you peaked over a flannel clad shoulder, you could see, even from a distance, the tight set of his jaw, and the tension in his shoulders. You smirked at him and leaned in to whisper into the stranger’s ear.

·       It was something utterly trivial—a compliment about his jacket, or a comment on how badly you needed another drink if your friend was going to play that song on the jukebox—nothing of substance, but you knew it would make Harry’s blood boil all the same.

·       When Happy calls last orders, you stand, exchanging lengthy Maritime goodbyes with close friends and friendly-for-the-night-strangers alike. Casting a glance around, you can’t find Harry. He must have slipped out already, not wishing to be spotted as the crowd thins. Coming out at all had been quite the risk for him and had taken more than a little convincing on your part.

·       You expect to meet him in the lot, but his face was not among those still milling about their cars, stuffing drunken friends into backseats or beginning tottering journeys down the street.

·       You count the alleys on Atlantic Street as you pass them, sure you’ll catch him in your peripherals, but you find each unoccupied, save for one. A pair of rats fight over a scrap of bread, their beady little eyes and slimy coats catching the dim light of the streetlamps in a greasy fashion that makes you almost ache for a shower.

·       Your eyes scan the streets as you walk, senses on high-alert for any sign of his presence—the puffed clouds of his breath in the cold or a late-night smoke curling up toward the streetlamps in the distance, a kicked pebble scraping across the pavement, anything. You find yourself jumping the gun and mistaking familiar landmarks for a more welcome shape in the darkness—the saplings you’d helped Mr. Hastings plant in his front yard in the summer, the devotional cross behind the hedges at St. Andrews Presbyterian, the statue of the town’s founder in the square. Even with each disappointment, your mind jumps to the next place he could be waiting for you: the grocer’s lot, the schoolyard, the ballfield—all empty.

·       It isn’t until you turn into your driveway that he materializes, as if from the darkness itself. His face is bathed in shadow, his shoulders hunched against the cool breeze. He follows you up the drive, hands dug deep in his pockets. He’s utterly silent, but you’re relieved to see him anyway. He slouches up the steps, bracing a shoulder against the weather-worn siding. It creaks beneath the pressure. 

·       “Well, you sure got here quick. I didn’t see you leave.”

·       He makes no attempt to respond, merely waiting for you to produce your keys and let him inside. While his silence is not wholly unusual, this one feels…pointed. Perhaps you had upset him more than you had intended.

·       You chew your lower lip as you contemplate this, fishing your keys from your pocket and turning them in the lock. The grating screech of rusty door hinges proclaims your late-night return into the silence. You cringe as the sound carries, echoing around the enclosed back porch. You hope your neighbours are heavy sleepers, as if not there would surely be some comment made in the morning. The folks around here are nice enough that you doubt there would be any legitimate animosity in it, but sometimes their friendly commentary comes off more passive-aggressive than not, and their interest in your life more condescending than genuine. You know they mean no harm, but that doesn’t stop them from getting on your nerves now and again.

·       Fixing the hinges would have been a quick and easy thing, sure—a drop or two of WD-40 and a filthy rag were enough to work a quick miracle around these parts, but you knew they would only rust again when the heavy snow came in a few months time. And despite the optimistic predictions of a mild winter folks were spouting around town, come you knew they would.

·       The snow would drift in, creeping up the porch as it always did. First just a dusting, thin and powdery as icing sugar, easier to remove with a broom than a shovel. Then, almost overnight, the heavy snow would come, whipped by the wind as it howls across the harbour into great peaked dunes, waist-deep and packed tight against your door. On more than one occasion, you had found yourself climbing out through a first-floor window to dig a tunnel just to get the damn thing open.

·       No, it would be far less of a hassle to simply leave the hinges as they were—at least until the spring. By that time, there would hardly be a scrap of metal in the whole damn town that wasn’t oxidized nearly past the point of usefulness. Let the neighbours complain then, as if their hinges wouldn’t be squeaking just as badly.

·       Pushing through the second screen door, you stumble into the kitchen, already in the process of kicking off your boots. Your companion slips in behind you, allowing the screen to bang against the doorframe as it closed. The noise echoes around the tiled kitchen, battering your ears. You wince, but at least it wasn’t quite as piercing as the protesting hinges.

Part One—Domination or Mine, Mine, Mine:

·       The metallic music of jangling coat-hangers greets you as you throw open the closet and hang your jacket. Your fingers smooth over the wrinkled denim in a vain attempt to make it look even a smidge more presentable for the next time it’s worn. Deep down you know what it really needs is a good pressing. But you hated pressing clothes and would probably put it off until it couldn’t wait a moment longer.

·       Behind you, you hear the screen door woosh open again—probably Harry going out for a smoke, you think. Then the scream of the hinges pierces the night, and the resounding SLAM of the outer door shakes the house. You hear the lock click into place, a quieter sound, though it’s no less forceful. You whirl around, equal parts frightened by the noise and irritated by the man who had caused it.

·       “For Chrissake, Harry! It’s late, would it kill you to be more qu—!” You don’t get the chance to finish your reprimand before Harry’s strong hands catch you around the waist. He swings you about, storming forward to slam you against the door. The wood shudders with the impact, the flexible mesh of the screen warping around you; a thin net between the rough wood and your shoulder blades. Your head cracks against the door, white light bursting across your vision, blotting out the dark kitchen and the even darker shadow of the man who stood before you.

·       Even as the blinding brightness behind your eyes dissipates, you struggle to make out his features in the darkness despite your proximity. Then, his lips press against yours and the breath stills in your chest, unable, or simply unwilling to rise beyond the catch in your throat. They are warm and wet, tasting of bitter liquor and a recent cigarette—du MAURIER’s, you thought. You’d never seen more than the very tip of a pack peaking from a denim pocket or the rolled cuff of a shirtsleeve, but the red box was distinctive. He must have smoked it on the way home. The thought comes to you sluggishly, stuttering through the few sparking neural pathways that hadn’t shut down entirely when he’d first grabbed you. Dimly, you are aware that it’s an utterly absurd thought to have in this moment. How can you think of anything at all when Harry’s got you pinned against a door and he’s kissing you like a man starved? Maybe you’d knocked your head harder than you’d thought.

·       You try to clear your mind, directing your focus away from cigarettes and packaging and back to the matter at hand—Harry Warden.

·       You can almost feel the anger rolling off of him. It’s in the tightness of his jaw, the rough press of his hands against your hipbones, and the strength with which he keeps you pinned against the door. It thrums through his lips where they press against you and jolts through you when his teeth clash against yours, or his fingernails dig into the sensitive flesh just above the waistband of your jeans.

·       You reach for him with trembling hands to cup his jaw and kiss him harder, to wrap around his neck and pull him even closer, to feel in your hands somehow, anyhow, solid, and warm. But he catches your hands, pinning them roughly against the door, his grip so tight it’s nearly painful.

·       A keen, stinging pain blossoms on your lower lip as his teeth sink into your flesh, hard and sharp. Then he’s gone, melting into the shadows of the dark kitchen. You’re left there, back braced against the door, breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. Quite suddenly, you realize you’ve gone hot all over, as though a fever had dug its claws deep into you in a manner of seconds. Your brain struggles to restart its thinking processes through a fog of unsavoury thoughts and debauched imagery. So, this was to be the consequence of your actions. I can live with that.

·       With a shaking hand, you feel your way up the wall to your left, groping along in the darkness, until you find the light switch. With a muted click the kitchen is bathed in a soft glow. After so much time spent in the darkness, the light, low as it is, is dazzling where it bounces off the white tile floor. You raise a hand to shield your eyes but catch a quick glimpse of Harry. He’s standing over by the table, a hand on the arched back of a white-washed chair. His head snaps to the side, dark eyes fixing upon you, unwavering.

·       His voice is low, a gravely growl that rumbles from deep within his chest, “Turn it off.”

·       You blink at him, stupidly, one hand still hovering over the switch. He wrenches the chair from its place at the table, swinging it around and slamming it down before him with a BANG. He takes a menacing step toward you, never once taking his eyes from yours. “Turn. It. Off.”

·       You jump, rushing to do as you were told, flicking the switch again. As the darkness settles over the room like a blanket, your eyes, now more accustomed to the light, struggle to pick out his shape in the gloom. A small patch of sodium-orange light streams through the window above the sink, staining a patch of floor before the chair. Beyond that pool of light, you can see nothing.

·       Your ears, however, do not fail you as your eyes have. You can hear him rifling through a drawer. From the rattling, you assume it’s the junk drawer—a messy collection of odds and ends that seemed to have no other place in the house. You were always saying you’d get around to cleaning it out one of these days, but it only ever seems to accumulate more junk.

·       You peer into the darkness and find, if you squint, you can just make out what you think is Harry’s form. He’s hunched over the drawer, picking through the bits and bobs, looking for…something. Maybe if you had cleaned the drawer out, he’d have an easier time of it. Alas.

·       Then, he stills, the drawer slams shut, and the room goes silent. The hazy smudge retreats further into the gloom, and you lose him again.

·       For a long moment, the silence fills the room, pressing against you, an almost tangible force. Then, with a single word, it is shattered, “Strip.”

·       Despite the bright bolt of heat that single syllable sends thrumming through your gut, you almost laugh aloud. “I-In the kitchen?” Your incredulous tone does little to mitigate the warmth rising to your cheeks, nor the desire that flutters to life within your chest.

·       Harry does not respond. You can feel the command hanging in the air, and with it, the weight of what he has asked of you—a display of willing vulnerability. Your gaze is once again drawn over to the kitchen window. Set above the sink it faces out onto the street. The blinds are raised, as you had left them after dinner, and the lacey white curtains do very little to obscure the view in either direction. Usually, you see this as a blessing, watching the comings and goings of the world as you eat breakfast or dry the dishes, but now it makes you squirm in discomfort, “I don’t know, baby…the window’s open. Someone could see us…”

·       You peer into the darkness again, craning your neck, hoping to catch another glimpse of him, but everything beyond that smudgy patch of orange light remains lost to your eyes.

·       Harry’s voice rings out from the opposite side of the kitchen, much closer than you had realized. You hadn’t even heard him move. He was so quiet you’re sure the neighbourhood cats would swat at his boots in a jealous rage as he passed…if they could hear him coming that was.

·       “You didn’t seem to care who saw you with that fuck in the bar.” His tone is even, but there is a tightness about it that betrays him. “You know this town. You know how people talk. It’ll be all over by tomorrow. ‘That lonely soul from 214 out on the town. With a man no less. Could be the start of something.’ They’ll ask all about it, I’m sure. And you’ll just brush it off like you always do, but they’ll speculate all the same. Little do they know; I’ve already got my stamp all over you.” There’s a short pause, “Now, strip. I won’t ask you a third time.”

·       You turn your head to face him, but are met with nothing but the seemingly endless, empty void. Usually, you wouldn’t have any qualms about pushing back against his commands. You both got off on it in fact—you know just how much he likes putting you back in your place, though sometimes he lets you get away with misbehaving. But you could usually see his face. You knew by the set of his jaw, or the narrowing of his eyes, just how much harder you could push him. Now, however, you could hardly place him in the room, let alone determine how much pushing he was willing to tolerate. If the sharp, impatience of his commands was anything to go by, you could tell the answer this time around was little. Very little.

·       You eye the window again, weighing the risk. Sure, someone could pass by and see you, but it was late—so late it was almost early. Plus, it was dark enough inside someone would have to press their nose up against the glass to get much of a look, and if that was the case, you likely had a much bigger problem on your hands. And you cannot deny the thrill that shudders through you at the thought of stripping down for Harry when he gets like this: all demands and possessiveness. Then there are the thoughts of what he might do to you once you have. Those come quick and easy: his lips on your throat as he hoists you up onto the counter, strong hands on your thighs as he sets to work on your most intimate spots with his tongue, his cock stretching you open as he takes you in that chair, bent over the table, spread out on the floor. You feel a damp patch beginning to form in your underwear, a heat spreading between your legs that wants and wants and wants.

·       Fuck the risk.

·       You fumble with the button of your jeans, fingers trembling with a jangly mixture of excitement and trepidation. You peel them down your thighs, the thick denim seams scraping against your skin. You kick them off and into the darkness, not caring where they land. Your shirt quickly joins the pile, a rumpled ball of coloured cotton. It’s only as your fingers dip below the waistband of your underwear that you meet resistance from Harry.

·       “No.” The command echoes, again, from a new spot—this time somewhere behind the chair. “Leave them on.” You frown a little, but obey, leaving the cotton garment alone…for now. “Sit.”

·       You edge forward, socked feet sliding against the tile. Your legs are trembling, something you hadn’t noticed with the door against your back, assisting in keeping you upright. You knew it had nothing to do with the night’s boozy beginnings. When you’d left the bar, you could feel the pleasant hum of alcohol buzzing at the base of your skull, but now, in all honesty ever since that kiss, you would swear you were stone cold sober. No, this shaking has nothing to do with the drink, and everything to do with the man who waited for you in the darkness, and the promise of what he was going to do to you.

·       Not wanting to push your luck, you slip around the patch of light on the floor. If you caught so much as a glimpse of someone through that window before you had even started, you knew you would lose your nerve and that would be that.

·       When at last you plant yourself firmly in the chair, you jolt, squawking in surprise, knees reflexively shooting up to your chest. “It’s freezing!” You curl in on yourself, wanting as a little of your bare flesh touching the chair as physically possible. You hear him chuckle, a dark, rich sound that makes you shiver almost as much as the sudden chill. “Poor baby.”

·       You wrinkle your nose at him, huffing in indignation. You were no baby. It was just cold. Still, you take a grounding breath or two before you can find the courage to press your temperature-sensitive flesh back against the cool surface of the chair. You know the wood will warm beneath your skin in no time, but your muscles jump and twitch regardless, making their opposition known. It’s not an unbearable chill, despite the wave of goosebumps slowly spreading across your exposed skin; perhaps a touch uncomfortable, but it will pass.

·       Your ears prick up as you hear Harry approaching from behind. “Hands behind your back.” He says, his breath stirring the little hairs at the nape of your neck as he bends over you.

·       When you comply, he grasps your wrists roughly, winding something coarse around them—it feels like a length of cord, old and fraying at the edges. You squirm in your seat, rolling your shoulders and wriggling your hips, not quite fighting against Harry, but not making it easy for him either. Still, he manages to wrangle the rope around you and pull the final knot tight. He pushes two fingers beneath the cord, exploring the space between it and your skin. Clearly satisfied with his handiwork, he withdraws, sweeping around the chair to face you.

·       Dropping to one knee, he forces your legs together and binds them at the ankles in a similar fashion. You notice, however, that he does not tie your ankles to the chair itself, merely to one another. With a little squirming and tugging, you discover the same to be true of your wrists. Again, he ties the final knot, and eases a finger between your skin and the cord. He looks up at you, his handsome face only semi-visible in the gloom. You realize, after a long moment, that he’s waiting on your approval. You give the ropes a little pull each, and nod.

·       Harry is on his feet in an instant, looming above you. “‘magine my surprise,” he says, voice low and dangerous, “When I see my baby making eyes at some other cocksucker in a bar.”

·       You supress a smirk. You’ll play along with his game, sure, but that doesn’t mean you won’t have your own fun along the way, “Some other cocksucker? You really are a man of many talents, huh?”

·       His hand is around your throat in seconds, pressing you back against the chair, but not squeezing enough to cut off your airflow, “Keep mouthing off, see where that gets you.”

·       You roll your eyes, though you’re not sure he can see it in the dark, “C’mon, Harry. You know it didn’t mean anything. We were just talking.”

·       His hand snaps upward, abandoning your throat in favour of your jaw, blunt fingernails digging into the soft flesh beneath. His face comes into focus, mere inches from your own. You can see him clearly for the first time: the sneer on his lips, his eyes alight with jealousy. “Yeah, you’re real good at that ain’tcha? Had him hanging off your every word.”

·       You swallow hard. The waver in your voice is only half-forced, as most of your bravado evaporates in the face of Harry’s dominating presence. He’s a small fellow—short and slender—but somehow, he’s able to fill out the meager space his physical body takes up as though he’s twice his size. It’s in the way he holds himself, coiled like a snake about to strike, like he’s used to throwing and dodging punches alike. He’s rough around the edges, scrappy, and though you knew he’d never lay a hand on you that you don’t want, it doesn’t make him any less intimidating when he looms like this. “Doesn’t mean I was interested, Harry, you know I’m yours and—"

·       Your words are squeezed into a premature silence as Harry squishes your cheeks together, pushing your lips into a pronounced pout. His thumb sweeps soothingly across your cheek. “I know that,” His grip tightens as he leans in closer, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own, “I think you might need a little reminder of jus’ who ya’ belong to.” His eyes flicker down to your lips, and for a moment, you’re sure he’s going to kiss you. But he simply releases your jaw and melts back into the shadows.

·       From further back in the kitchen, you hear him say, “Can you be good for me and let me remind you?”

·       You swallow thickly, feeling the heat pooling in your gut with every word he speaks. God you want nothing more than to be good for him. You nod emphatically, then with a jolt, you realize that if you can’t see him, he likely can’t see you either. You croak out a wavering, “Yes,” through a throat that’s suddenly far too dry.

·       “Yes, what?” You can hear him rummaging around again, though by the sounds, you’d wager he’s searching the countertops this time. For what you couldn’t say, but that pronounced clink was certainly something bumping up against your sugar jar.

·       “Yes, Sir.” What could possibly be on that counter that was more important than you, bound and promising him your good behaviour? Nothing obvious springs to mind, and yet he keeps searching all the same.

·       “Good.” A shudder passes through you, and you know you’d do almost anything to hear him say that again. At this point, the impact that word had on you was damn near Pavlovian, especially when he said it like that, with a smirk on his lips and a rumble in his chest.

·       The room falls silent again as Harry puts hands on whatever it is he’s looking for. In the quiet, you get the distinct impression that he’s looking at you, even if he is unable to make out your form in the dark. Maybe he can see you, maybe he can’t. Either way you know he can hear you just fine. Why not give him a little show?

·       You whine, long and low into the darkness, struggling against the bonds and rubbing your thighs together, seeking any sort of stimulation that might abet the growing heat between your legs. As expected, you’re sorely disappointed with the results. Huffing your displeasure in what you hope is Harry’s general direction, you hurl a desperate plea out into the kitchen, “It’s so cold, Sir. Please come touch me. Please.”

·       You hear him let out a shaky breath. You know how much he likes to hear you beg and frequently use it to your advantage. Harry wasn’t one for poetry—the point of pretty words was mostly lost on him—but a blunt statement of exactly what you wanted from him—how deep, how fast, how hard—tinged with the desperation of needing him and needing him now? Well. That was a different story altogether. Begging was usually an easy way to get exactly what you wanted out of Harry Warden. This time however, much to your personal frustration, he manages to collect himself in record time.

·       He tuts softly as he strides past you, visible for only the briefest of moments as he passes through the patch of light. “What have you done to deserve my touch?” He stops behind you, “An’ no, flirtin’ all night wit’ a stranger don’t count.”

·       You throw your head back to look up at him, a pout on your lips, “Wasn’t flirting.”

·       “G’way witcha. You were so.” His hand whips out and grasps your chin. “I can’t have that. See, you’re mine.” He’s wearing his gloves, though not the soft leather pair you’d bought him for Christmas last year. Those, in all likelihood were stuffed into his coat pocket. No, these were his old work gloves. The tough leather was cracked and torn in places, exposing the cotton padding. They smelled heavy—like dust, like the depths of the mines. You didn’t even know he still had these.

·       “You know what I think?” He leans forward, scraping his teeth against the sensitive skin just below your ear, relishing in the shiver it elicits, “I think you was doin’ it on purpose.” He trails a line of searing, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your neck, murmuring against your skin, “Trying to make me jealous. Well, guess what?” He sinks his teeth deep into the meat between your neck and shoulder, “It fucking worked.”

·       You cry out, the mix of pleasure and pain stirring up the heat that had been steadily blooming inside of you. Sharp and bright, it spreads up through your gut, filling your chest and seeping out into your limbs. You can’t help but smirk up at him, “Good.”

·       He presses his lips into a thin line to keep from smiling too, “Uh-uh. That’s bad. You’ve been real bad, haven’tcha?”

·       You chew your lower lip, pretending to mull it over, “Maybe…”

·       “I think you have.” He trails a gloved hand down and over your shoulder, pressing into the bitemark he’d made. The shredded fingertips of the glove burrow into the indentations left in the wake of his incisors. A dull ache pulses to life beneath the skin, forcing a pained hiss of air between teeth clenched tightly together.

·       “Aww, does it hurt, baby?” Condescension drips sweet and thick from his words as he digs his fingers in harder, you nod frantically, face scrunched up in discomfort, a gasp tearing from your lips as you attempt to flinch away from his touch. “Poor little thing.” A second, gloved hand joins the first, trailing down the other side of your neck. The texture of the old leather ignites a new wave of goosebumps, spreading with the shivers that race across your skin. His fingers trace the tendons in your neck, lingering over your pulse points, scraping gently against the sensitive spots he knows so well just to watch you squirm, “Mine.”

·       The chair creaks as Harry leans over your shoulder, reaching further down your body. He lavishes your collarbone with gentle touches, exploring the dips and hollows he finds there with a rare patience—one you see in him only when he is well and truly set on teasing you. He drags his fingers down, ghosting across your chest, circling your nipples, and tracing your ribs. You shudder beneath the cool leather. It isn’t right. Harry’s hands should be warm and calloused, two points of bright heat against your chilled flesh. That’s what you really crave: the felling of his skin, bare and burning against yours. You open your mouth to ask him, beg him to take the gloves off and touch you properly, but your mind goes fuzzy and blank as his lips find their way to your neck, leaving soft kisses and pressing the points of his teeth into the skin above your pulse.

·       His narrow chest presses hard against your shoulder as his hands roam even further down, trailing across your stomach. You can feel his heartbeat. A little thrill jitters through your chest when you realize that despite his calm outwards demeanor, all steady hands and cocky words, his heart is racing—jackhammering against his ribs so hard it must be painful. A giddy wave washes over you then, knowing he wants you with the same mad desperation. Of course, you had known that from the start, from before that even, still it made your heart shake and your lips twist into a dopey grin.

·       Deft fingers press against your sides, teasing the ticklish spots that make you squeak, and wriggle beneath his hands. A soft chuckle rumbles through his chest, though he decides to take mercy on you, sliding his hands down to caress your hips and the tops of your thighs. “All mine.”

·       One hand drifts, pressing against the seam where thigh and hip join. The pressure feels strange, the muscle jittering beneath his touch, though it doesn’t hurt. His fingers follow the natural curve of your body, pressing into the space between your thighs. You try to part your legs for him, but the cord binding your ankles only lets you go so far. Still, it’s enough for Harry to slot his slender hand into place, fingers pressed tight against the wet spot that’s been steadily spreading across the cotton fabric of your underwear.

·       His tongue flickers over your neck, a snicker bubbling up in his throat, “Well, well, well. Aren’t you just a little fucking slut for me tonight?”

·       You whimper, the sound sitting high in the back of your throat, “Take the gloves off and touch me.” What was meant to be a command comes more as a cracked plea, half-whisper, half-sob.

·       The bark of his laughter is muffled against your skin. His fingers remain pressed against you, but they stay frustratingly still. The pressure is delicious, sparking your touch-desperate nerves, but not providing the stimulation you so desperately crave—you need him to move. “Who said I was gonna keep touchin’ ya’ ‘t’all?”

·       “Please!”

·       Deaf to your pleading, he remains utterly motionless, and you feel something inside of you shatter. Perhaps it was your patience, perhaps it was the last of your inhibitions. Whatever the case, Harry had chipped away at it, cracking it piece by piece with his teasing. Now it lays in shards within you, and you know the only way to get what you want is to take matters into your own hands.

·       You buck against his fingers and for a moment, the pleasure swallows you whole. Your head falls back against the hard wooden back of the chair, a moan tearing itself free from your throat unbidden. Your toes curl as you begin to move your hips, grinding against his fingers, glassy eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

·       Behind you, Harry growls. Dimly, through the fog of pleasure clouding your mind you realize you may have made a mistake. A split second later, his fingers disappear. Your hips jerk forward, desperately trying to follow. You thrash in the seat, a sob wracking your chest, as the pleasure deflates into a dull throbbing. “No!”

·       You feel the smile slide onto Harry’s face, more teeth than lip, “Oh no, no, no, Sweetheart. You’ve gotta earn that.”

·       The simpering edge to his voice has you bucking into the empty air again, “Then let me.” Your struggle to catch your breath, craning your head to look at him. “Let me earn it.” The silence stretches on in the darkness. Was he considering it? Would he refuse? Not if you could help it, “Please, Harry. Please.”

·       A soft sound leaves him then—when you say his name like that, a prayer—a sound like he’s been punched, a rush of air accompanied by a soft groan. Though he’d never admit it, your voice had such an impact on him. Especially when you sound like this, husky and wrecked. Desperate. It takes him nearly a minute to find his voice again, and when he does, it’s rough, a rocky rasp caught low in his throat, “Maybe I will.”

·       He slides back up your body, his weight lifting from your shoulder. You give the joint a quick roll, working out the stiffness you’d failed to notice growing beneath the pleasant weight and warmth of his body. Quick as a flash and silent as a shadow, he sweeps around the chair, appearing before you.

·       With strong, sure hands, he seizes you by the arms, dragging you to your feet. He kicks the chair back, sending it sliding across the floor with the screech of wood against tile. In the darkness you hear the snick of a switchblade. You still, a prick of fear piercing your chest despite yourself. Harry drops to the floor. In a matter of moments, your ankles are freed from their restraints. Though you expect him to do the same for your wrists, he flicks the knife closed, leaving you partially bound. You hear something land nearby on the floor, though for all your squinting, you cannot make it out.

·       He reaches for you then; with a gentleness usually reserved for after your more…strenuous encounters. He strokes the back of his hand down your cheek, and you jolt against his touch, realizing it’s the touch of bare skin. You attempt to lean into it, but he’s already pulling away. His other hand snakes up, fisting roughly into the hair at the nape of your neck. Instinctively, you arch your back, craning your head and bowing against him to lessen the sting.

·       He presses down, forcing you to bend toward the ground until you lose your balance and collapse, bare knees colliding with the cold tile. Your arms jerk against the cord, as you attempt to catch yourself, but the knots hold firm. You wobble, momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden change in position but manage to remain at least partially upright.

·       Even before you hear the jangle of his belt buckle hitting the floor you know just what he wants from you. You readjust yourself, sitting higher on your haunches. The rustle of his jeans hitting the floor makes your heart flutter with excitement.

·       Harry looms before you, a great dark shape. Though he isn’t overly tall or broad, he towers over you when you’re on your knees for him. The pad of his thumb traces your lower lip, the rough skin dragging against your flesh. Your tongue flickers out to meet it and he stills. He hooks the digit into the corner of your mouth, pressing it into the soft meat of your cheek. You press your tongue against it, sucking gently and he groans. “I think my baby can handle somethin’ bigger, yeah? You want something bigger?”

·       You whimper your affirmation, letting him slip his thumb from your mouth, waiting patiently as he pulls his cock from his underwear. He presses the tip against your lips, hissing as your tongue slides wet and warm against it.

·       “That’s a good pet. Open up.” You open your mouth, pushing your lips down over your teeth as he presses into you. “That’s it, baby. Take it all. Show me how good ya’ can be for me.”

·       Breathing deeply through your nose, you try to remain as still as possible as his cock slides into you inch by inch. Your jaw is already beginning to ache from the stretch, but a sore jaw will certainly be worth the reward if you can be good for Harry now.

·       The tip bumps against the back of your throat and you have to fight not to gag. “Fuuuck.” He presses in further, hips canting forward as you choke around him. The tip slips down into your throat, and you panic. The sensation is entirely new, never having taken him so deep before. You jerk back, a string of saliva connecting your lips to the head of his cock. You gag, doubling over in a fit of coughing that wracks your body. Harry’s hand is in your hair again, tugging gently. You look up, vision blurry, and the tugging becomes a gentle petting, his fingers carding through your hair soothingly, “Are you okay?”

·       You take a shuddering breath, but nod. Your voice comes out in a shredded whisper, “Just s-scared myself is all.” You draw yourself back up onto your knees and take his cock into your hands.

·       “Take your time, pet.” He groans as you begin pumping his length slowly, but you can hear the grin in his voice, like he knows he’ll get what he wants from you sooner or later. “I’m in no rush.” Cocky bastard.

·       You trace the vein on the underside with a finger and he pulses in your hand, a bead of precum dripping down his length and onto the floor. You dip your head to kiss along the shaft, following the thin wet trail as you work up the courage to take him into your mouth again.

·       You take a deep breath and sink down onto him, relishing in the growl that rips through the air above you, “Mmm! Mind the fuckin’ teeth, Sweetheart!”

·       Your legs begin to cramp beneath you, but you press forward, swallowing around the length in your mouth. He bucks into you, the tight heat drawing him deeper in, the tip once again bumping against the back of your throat. This time, however, you’re ready and manage to keep control over your gag reflex. You swallow around him again, and the hand in your hair tightens, dragging your head back. His cock almost begins to slip from your lips, before he pushes his hips forward again. “Let me fuck your mouth, yeah?” You moan around him, letting the slackness of your jaw speak your permission for you.

·       Curses tumble from his mouth as he rolls his hips into your waiting mouth again and again—a litany of ‘fucks,’ and ‘Christs’ and disjointed praise mixed with a constant stream of ‘Mine, mine, mine.’ The sound of his voice and the drag of his cock over your tongue is nearly hypnotizing. You flatten it against him, hollowing your cheeks as you do, and his hips stutter, your name suddenly the only thing on his lips. It makes you throb. You just need a little friction to take the edge off, to ease the dull ache between your thighs. You squirm, twisting your wrists against the bonds. Harry makes a sound above you, and for a moment, you freeze. Had you been caught? You glance up at him, but you find his head tilted back in pleasure, eyes cast to the ceiling.

·       Feeling a little braver, you begin to bob your head along with his thrusts. His grip on your hair tightens in response, and he moans long and low in the back of his throat. He seems far too occupied with your mouth to take any notice of your hands.

·       You twist your wrists again, feeling the knot beginning to loosen. So, you keep at it, working the cord further and further up your hand until it pops free. Your body jerks with the momentum, momentarily thrown off balance, but you recover quickly, forcing yourself to choke, as though Harry had pushed too far into your throat again.

·       The ruse appears to work, as Harry’s hips buck forward and still, lost in the tight squeeze of your throat. You ease your thighs apart and slip your fingers between them. The cotton of your underwear is soaked, likely to the point of transparency. You can’t help but moan long and low around Harry’s cock as you brush your fingers against the drenched fabric. The wave of pleasure that rolls through you is heady and electrifying. You want more. Right now. Your fingers press harder and your hips jerk up against your hand.

·       Even in his pleasure, this gets Harry’s attention. Looking down at you, he almost laughs, the sound caught somewhere between a snicker and a moan. You feel your cheeks heat with the shame of being caught, though by this point you’re so tightly wound you can barely find the brain space to care. You can practically hear the cocksure grin on his face, “You greedy little whore.”

·       You try to pull your hand away, but Harry’s boot comes down over top of it. He doesn’t press down hard, but you can feel the thick treads grinding against your flesh, indenting the pattern into it. Your fingers are trapped right where you wanted them: pressed against the damp fabric of your underwear and the sensitive nerves beneath. They spark and throb against your fingers, begging for more stimulation and you can do nothing.

·       You sob around Harry’s cock as he begins to thrust into your mouth again. “You wanna touch it so bad, baby, I know,” He presses down harder with his boot, and you whine around him, “But’cha can’t.” He’s pushing deeper into your throat now with every thrust, “You can’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.” His hips begin to stutter now, losing their rhythm as he picks up the pace chasing his release. His voice has gone taught, shaking with both the pleasure and the exertion, “You’re all mine, Sweetheart. All mine.”

·       His cock throbs against your tongue. He pushes to the back of your throat one final time, and he’s cumming, letting it fill your mouth and leak down your throat. You sputter, swallowing around him in a desperate bid not to choke. His thrusts have gone shallow and lazy, but he doesn’t stop. Groaning, he grips your jaw, “All fuckin’ mine.”

·       You swallow a final time, and he pulls out. You cough, gasping for breath. Dimly, you’re aware of the rustle of denim and the metallic chirp of a zipper being done up. Regaining control of your breathing, turn, cleaning your drool covered chin on your shoulder. You inspect the wrist of your free hand. The skin feels tight and raw but doesn’t appear to be broken. You assume the same is true of the other, where it remains trapped under Harry’s boot. “Fuck, baby. You take it so well for me.”

·       You tilt your face up toward Harry, chest tightening with the praise. “Harry,” Your voice is raw, your throat aching from the fucking it had just endured, but you beg him anyway, “Please, I was good. Touch me…or let me do it myself. I-I’ll put on a good show for you!” You buck up against his boot, throwing your head back and whimpering.

·       He grinds his boot down against your hand, and your vision fills with white spots. You jerk against him, unable to still your hips. His voice floats down to you through the fog of pleasure, as though from far away, “I’m not so sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

·       You sob, bucking against both boot and hand alike, until he presses down harder, and the blinding pleasure becomes a crushing pain that sucks the breath from your lungs, “Harry! Harry, you promised! Fuuck, please! Please! Ow! You said If I was good—"

·       The pressure lessens, “Now, now, baby. Don’t get so worked up. I said I might let you cum. Never said when.” He laughs at your devastated expression. “We’re just getting started.”

Part Two—Submission or Yours, Yours, Yours:

·       The metal hangers burst into a jangling song as you fling the coat-closet open to hang your jacket. The padded denim will probably see you through another month if you layer properly beneath it. Too much longer than that and you’ll be pushing your luck. Perhaps tomorrow you would go through the ‘winter clothes bin’ and bust out the ole’ windbreaker. Of course, to do that you’d have to spend an hour sifting through the assorted piles of junk in your basement to actually find the ‘winter clothes bin.’ Now that you think of it, despite the numerous trips you’d taken down into the dark and dingy space, you haven’t actually laid eyes on the bin since you had put it into storage last spring. Ugh.

·       Though, maybe Harry had seen it. Three days ago, you’d woken up and stumbled to the bathroom to find a steady stream of water pouring from the cabinet space below the sink. It must have been leaking for a good long while before you found it, because the floor was soaked—the bathmat was so saturated with water it had actually squelched underfoot.

·       Luckily, it had only taken Harry around five minutes to fix the problem—a loose ring nut of all things—but he’d spent a good deal longer than that tearing the basement apart in his mad hunt for the toolbox. After a great deal of shuffling, banging about, and swearing, he’d found it wedged between the wall and a cardboard box of assorted holiday decorations. He’d rushed up the stairs, breathless and wild-eyed, “Christ, but it’s a mess down there. This?” He’d said, brandishing the toolbox in his left hand, “stays in the porch from now on.” He’d swept passed you then, leaving no room for argument as he marched off to save your bathroom from any further water damage.

·       Point is, Harry’s ‘leave no stone unturned’ approach to impromptu basement reorganization may just free up your afternoon and save you a headache—he’d probably seen the bin and with any luck would remember where he’d moved it. If not, finding the damn thing would be tomorrow’s problem. Still, it couldn’t hurt to ask while you were thinking of it.

·       “Hey, Harry? When you were down in the basement the other day, did you see the—” Turning to face him, you’re shocked to find that he isn’t standing behind you anymore. You could have sworn you’d felt him there with you right up until you’d turned around. You call his name out into the darkness but receive no response. You roll your eyes, sometimes he got like this when he was in a mood—preferring silence to a solution.

·       Your left hand finds the wall, feeling your way along the cool plaster until your fingers find the switch. Light floods the kitchen momentarily flaring too bright against your retinas, and you realize he’s not even in the room anymore. You hadn’t heard him leave, but he’s certainly not still here, unless he’s somehow managed to master the art of invisibility without telling you. He’s a remarkable man, you’ll give him that, but you highly doubt he’s that remarkable. In all likelihood, he’d just popped out for a smoke. Though you’d love to know how he managed to sweettalk the squealing hinges into silence.

·       Crossing the room, you pull the screen door open, bracing it against your hip to keep it from banging closed on you. You crack the main door open just enough to poke your head out. You go slowly, easing it open bit by bit—the hinges whine high and thin into the night, but it’s nothing compared to the fuss they’d made when you first came in. peering out into the darkness, you don’t see Harry in his usual late-night smoking spot—leaning out over the porch railing, one hand curled around a cigarette, the other cradling his chin as he stares out into the relative seclusion of your back garden.

·       Around this time of year, it wasn’t much to look at—the leaves mostly gone from the trees, the shrivelled corpses of your flowers littering the rapidly browning grass—but in the spring, it was a sight, bursting with blossoms and buzzing insects alike.

·       You suppose it doesn’t matter though, Harry never gets to see the butterflies and bees anyway. Not when he only comes out to smoke at night. On the bad days when he’s stressed, or tired and really croaking for a smoke before the sun dips down into the harbour, he usually retreats to the basement, cracking one of the tiny windows that looks out onto the street. But otherwise, he’s an exclusively nocturnal smoker.

·       One night in the summer, when it had been far too muggy to do anything but lay in bed and sweat, you’d given up on sleep to sit out with him. Outside, the air was no less close, but even the pitiful, sporadic gasps the breeze offered had felt so good against your feverish skin you couldn’t bring yourself to complain. He’d stood there, leaned out over the railing, the cherry of his cigarette flaring red-hot in the darkness. You had hopped up onto the railing beside him, dangling your legs out over a bed of wilting marigolds—even they were flagging in this heat, not that you could blame them.

·       For a long while, neither of you spoke, content to simply inhabit the same space at the same time. It wasn’t long before you were lost in thought; staring up at the stars and marvelling at how the scent of your little lavender bushes almost covered the stink of the harbour. Almost. Then, Harry blew a cloud of smoke out into the darkness, which drifted sluggishly across your vision, bringing you back to the present moment. To this day, you don’t quite know why you’d asked the question, nor where it had come from, “So…you only smoke at night, huh?”

·       He’d frowned a little, his eyebrows pulling together as though he was only realizing this for the first time. He’d maneuvered the dart into the corner of his mouth so he could speak around it, “I s’pose so…”

·       “What’s up with that?”

·       He chewed on the end of the cigarette, jaw working as he thought, “Probably got somethin’ t’do with spendin’ so much time in…” He raked a suddenly shaky hand through his hair, “…the pit.”

·       “You were a miner?” You had known so little about him in those days.

·       Again, he ran a trembling hand through his hair, the silence stretching long into the humid night. “It…uh…fucks your sense of time real good. Y’get used to it bein’ dark all the time.” He takes a deep drag, letting the smoke curl about in his lungs for a good long while before letting it go with a heavy, rushing sigh. “‘N ya’ get to like it better that way.” With a practiced flick of the wrist, he taps the ash from the end of his cigarette, scattering in on the wooden deck-boards beneath his boots. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

·       And so, you’d let it go. But the pieces had begun to fall into place: Why he never went out with you, why he was so hesitant to talk about where he’d come from or what he’d been running from the night you found him shivering and soaked to the skin at the end of your street, why he’d asked you to keep quiet about him, why he hadn’t told you his last name—a name everyone in town both knew and feared.

·       He’d told you half the truth then you suppose. After all, he is a night-owl, and that probably did have something to do with his previous profession. However, you think his late-night smoking habit likely also has something to do with risk. You know now who he is and what he did. If anyone knew he was back in town, there would be trouble no doubt. Of course, the rumours that would start flying about if a strange man were spotted hanging around your place would also be trouble, just the type you were more accustomed to handling. There had been jaw about you in town before and there would likely be again. You could deal with a few stray comments from old folks with nothing better to do than gossip and young folks who did but wasted their time on it anyway. You knew for certain that you could not handle the sight of Harry beaten and dragged off to God-knows-where by a mob of angry townsfolk or worse, the police. No, if it came down to it, you’d take the rumours.

·       Shuddering, you close the door, locking the knob and sliding the deadbolt home. You lock the screen door as well, something Harry always teased you about. You could picture him now, leaning against the counter, hands in his pockets. An easy grin slides across his face as he watches you, ‘Now what’cha lockin’ that for? S’not gonna stop nobody from comin’ in if they really wanna.’ But you always locked it anyway—it made you feel safer. Sometimes you’d tell him so, but that smile would only grow as he pushes off from the counter and scoops you up into his arms. He is really quite strong despite his small stature. ‘Don’t need locks for that no more, Sweetheart. You got me.’

·       But he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know you’d never locked your doors before he came along. Not once. There was never any need to. The community was small and tightly knit. With only one notable exception—the cause of which now shared your bed on the regular—the crime rate was so low hardly anyone locked their doors at all. But since Harry, you had felt compelled to do so. Not out of obligation to the town, rather an obligation to Harry. They didn’t need to be kept safe from him—they had already paid for their mistakes. If they were smart, they’d never give him reason to shed blood again—no you locked the doors to keep Harry safe from them.

·       Though there was a memorial plaque dedicated to the lives lost in the mining accident right there in the middle of town, it was something the residents rarely spoke about. Most were content to forget it—and the grisly murders that followed—entirely. But when February rolled around again, an oppressive tension swept through the streets. Even as people pretended to carry on with their lives like nothing was wrong, their hushed whispers and conspiratorial glances spoke the truth plainly—they hadn’t forgotten at all. They couldn’t forget. Harry Warden had stained their community, perhaps forever, and they hated him for it. Many would rather see him dead than locked up and you could think of one or two who might actually try if given the chance.

·       Maybe there was a time when you would have let them, out of fear or some misguided sense of morality. But now that you knew him, everything was different. That night, when he’d finally told you the truth about who he was, what he’d done, the place he’d escaped from, he had seemed so small—trembling on the floor of your living room, fingers digging hard into his arms, unable to look at you for fear of your reaction—and you’d decided then and there you would stand between him and that hatred. You would keep him safe. Locking that door was just one of the thousands of small ways you had found to do so. Maybe a part of him knew that. Maybe not. Still, that door stayed locked at night.

·       Now, if he wasn’t outside and he wasn’t in the kitchen, where else could he be? You pad quickly through the kitchen, your thin socks only able to protect you so much from the chilly tiles. On your way by, you pop your head into the den, wondering if he’d decided to curl up on the sofa in front of the TV—a favoured spot for a deep sulk. If his attitude in the driveway told you anything, this had been be a pretty good guess, but the room is as dark and empty as the kitchen. Strange.

·       Rounding the corner at the end of the hall, four doors stand before you: the bathroom, the office, the guestroom and your bedroom. The bathroom door is closed, and through the crack beneath, you can see the light is turned off. The same can be said for the office, and upon closer inspection, the guestroom as well. You suppose he could be in any of the three rooms, but if that’s the case, it’s safe to assume he really wants to be left alone.

·       Perhaps you really had hurt him in your silly attempt to make him jealous. You both knew it was dangerous for him to go out, but you’d pushed him anyway, and he’d said ‘yes,’ because he trusts you and he loves you. And what had you done? You cuddled up to a stranger all night and let him watch. When you think about it like that, a hot wave of shame rolls through your gut. You feel nauseous.

·       You stand there in the hall, chewing your cheek and wondering what you should do. You could knock, calling his name softly and apologize. Maybe he’d open the door and come to bed with you, maybe he’d choose to sleep on the sofa and send you to bed alone. Either way he’d know you were sorry. But trying to force a conversation Harry wasn’t ready to have was often like talking to a brick wall—a brick wall which could get up and leave the room. Perhaps it would be better to let him come to you when he was ready. But if you leave him alone, he might think you don’t care. But if you push him, he might not take you seriously. As you weigh your options, a flicker of movement from further down the hall catches your attention.

·       Your bedroom door is open just a crack, and through it a quavering light pools on the carpet. At once confused and curious, you creep down the hallway. Pressing your ear to the door, you don’t hear anything out of the ordinary. In fact, it doesn’t sound like anyone is in there at all, and yet the light from within flickers as though something is moving in front of it. Curiosity burning in the pit of your stomach, you press your palm against the faded wooden door and give it a push.

·       Candlelight spills out into the hallway, its warm glow washing gently over you. There must be a hundred candles in the room, as every available surface from the dresser to the desk is covered with votives and pillars, tapers and tealights. Were these all yours? You can’t recall ever buying so many, yet here they are. The air is filled with their mingling scents: apples, beeswax, and fresh linen, but beneath that the smell of smoke and the sulfurous scent of the matches he’d used to light them all linger in the air. It can’t have been long since he’s finished lighting them.

·       Harry himself kneels on the floor at the foot of your bed, thighs spread wide. Though he’s facing the door, he hadn’t looked up when the it opened. His eyes remain trained on the carpet before him. His hands though firmly clasped behind his back can’t have been there for long—both the button and zipper of his jeans are fully undone, the fabric stretched wide and slung low across his hips. Beneath the jeans, his boxers have been pulled low, exposing his cock, already hard and drooling precum onto the carpet beneath him.

·       Stunned by the unexpected sight before you, you can do little more than stand there in the doorway, gaping. Harry had certainly never done this before—he’d knelt for you on occasion, sure, but never without being asked first. A tight heat begins to stir within you as the blood rushes from your head to much more…important areas. Feeling a little lightheaded, you find yourself leaning against the doorjamb for support. Though your legs feel as though they’ve turned to jelly, you find your words again with your shoulder braced firmly against a solid surface, “What’s all this then, baby?”

·       He makes no attempt to look at you as he answers, his eyes glued to the floor in a clear sign of submission, though his tone is anything but. There’s bite in his voice, an anger that thrums through his every word, and vibrates through you even from your spot in the doorway, “Jus’ wanna show ya’ I’m good.” He clenches his jaw, eyes burning holes into the carpet, “Make you forget all about him.” He spits out the word like a mouthful of rotten fruit.

·       You grinned. So, he is just jealous after all. Good.

·       “Look at me, Harry.” His eyes flash in the low light, still blazing with anger even as they find yours. His while body is tense with that rage, every muscle coiled and ready to strike, through he remains still, head bowed, arms folded behind his back. His voice is tight, enunciating very clearly, his usual industrial drawl combed into something smoother, “I want to show you I can be just as good for you. Better even.”

·       You smirk down at him, “Oh really?”

·       “I can—” He begins to shift, the movement dragging his shaft against the rough denim of his jeans. He shudders, the words momentarily dying on his tongue. His fingers sink into the carpet at his sides, knuckles going white as he struggles not to roll his hips, bucking into that coarse pleasure. His cock pulses and another bead of precum oozes from the tip. “Fuck,” He takes a shuddering breath, his eyes squeezing closed for a brief moment, “I…I can prove it.” There is a pause, his jaw working as he struggles to force the next word out, “Please.”

·       Oh, he really is wound up. Begging doesn’t come easily for Harry Warden, but that just makes it all the sweeter to hear when he does.

·       “Please, let me prove it to you.”

·       You can’t help the grin that slides across your face. “And just how do you intend to do that, baby?”

·       He goes still for a moment, eyes narrowing, still angry but acknowledging the challenge. His gaze slides down your body, dark eyes drinking in your form, coming to rest on the carpet at your feet. “I’ll do anything.”

·       Your grin widens, “Anything?”

·       He swallows thickly, nodding.

·       “Anything?” You’re just teasing him now.

·       “Yes.” His voice is tight and there’s tension building in his shoulders, but you think you can push him a little further.

·       “Anyyyything?”

·       His head snaps up, eyes boring into yours, ablaze with frustration, “Yes for Chrissake! Anything. Just,” He sighs through his nose, bowing his head again, “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

·       You push off from the doorjamb, managing to wobble only a little, as you saunter into the room to stand before him, “Shirt off.”

·       It takes him less than a second to respond, pealing the white cotton shirt over his head, exposing the hard planes of his chest and stomach. “Mm, good boy.” You flop down on the bed, tucking your legs up beneath yourself. “Now, touch yourself.” He reaches for his cock, “Ah, ah, ah. I didn’t say ‘touch your cock,’ Harry. I said, ‘touch yourself.’”

·       Harry makes a noise caught halfway between a sigh and a whine but does as he’s told. He sits up straighter, his neglected cock bobbing against his stomach. His hands trail up his sides, pressing against toned muscle and bone alike. He shivers as his fingers brush against the scars that litter his chest, remnants of the accident that nearly took his life. “Feel good, baby?”

·       He wrinkles his nose a little, “Not…really? They’re numb kinda…”

·       “Keep going then, you can’t stop until it starts to feel good.” He swallows and brushes his fingers across his nipples. His jaw goes tight, fingers stilling for a moment. You know he doesn’t get much out of touching himself like this, much preferring to fist his cock fast and hard until he finds his release. This is mostly for you—he cuts a lovely figure half-undressed, hands roaming across his body—but if it’s the only stimulation he’s allowed, you figure he’ll find some enjoyment in it. And this hypothesis seems to be correct thus far, as he continues to play far more attention to his chest than he usually would, the fingers of one hand digging into the flesh of his pectoral as his thumb rubs a slow circle around his nipple. His other hand is trailing up his neck, pressing against the sensitive spots just beneath his jaw.

·       His breath is coming harder now, and he’s making lovely little sounds at the back of his throat. His hips press forward, seeking stimulation. “A little lower now, baby.”

·       As commanded, his hands slip down across his ribs, over his stomach. His hands hover about his hips, hesitating, waiting for your instructions. “Oooh, there’s a good boy. Let’s test your self control, shall we? How close can you get to it before you can’t keep still anymore?”

·       He heaves a shaky breath. His fingers dip below the waist of his jeans, tracing the bones of his hips and the tops of his thighs.

·       “You can do better than that. Closer.”

·       You can see his thighs beginning to shake as his fingers slip ever closer to his cock, teasing the inner most spots on his thighs and the seams of his hips, spots you know he loves and hates to find your mouth in equal measure.

· It isn't until his fingers brush against the sensitive flesh just above his cock that his hips stutter forward and a soft cry tears free from his lips.

·       You slip from the bed to kneel before him, pressing your face close to his, crooning praises into his ear. “Is it too much for my good boy? That’s okay, you follow orders so well.” You can feel his cheeks heating us as he flushes a deep red in the low light.

·       Cupping his face, you tilt his chin up, forcing him to look up at you. “Good boys deserve rewards, don’t you think.” Despite the deepening blush, his haughty expression tells you he’ll get you back for this someday. Every word of simpering praise, every degrading kindness will be repaid in full. You can hardly wait. You tilt his head up and down in answer to your own question, “Yes they do. So, let’s give that cock some attention, hmm?”

·       In that moment, Harry forgets himself. His hands shoot out, reaching down to wrap around his length. “Stop!” You bark the order, and he freezes, fingers curling against the air, rather than his throbbing length as he so desperately wants. “Not with your hands.”

·       A long breath hisses out through his teeth. His tone is petulant, “Then how am I supposed to—”

·       “Is that backtalk I’m hearing? Because if it is—”

·       “No!” And just like that the attitude is gone, replacing with a stumbling apology, “I-I’m sorry, I’ll do what you asked. I was just…just clarifyin’. How do you want me to…get off?”

·       “No one said anything about getting off.” You press a finger against his chest, slowly dragging it down over his pecks, his sternum, his stomach, until you find his cock. Your touch merely ghosts over his sensitive flesh, but he trembles beneath it, moaning low in the back of his throat.

·       Your finger finds the tip of his cock, and slips to the underside, stroking roughly against his frenulum—the most sensitive spot on his body. In an instant he’s bucking against you, your name tumbling from his lips along with a litany of trembling pleas for more. While it’s tempting to indulge him, you don’t want this to be over quite so quickly. With a lopsided grin, you withdraw your hand. Harry whines in frustration at the loss, his hips stuttering against the air.

·       His cock drags against the rough denim of his jeans, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He hesitates for only a moment as he looks at you for permission. You nod and his shoulders slump forward, his hands shooting forward to catch himself. His fingers sink into the carpet before his knees, and his thighs slide further apart to accommodate this change is posture.

·       The drag of coarse denim against the over-sensitive flesh of his cock can’t have been the most comfortable sensation in the world, but one wouldn’t get that impression from watching Harry’s expression. Though his head is tipped forward, you can see still his eyes, screwed shut in pleasure. His teeth catch his lower lip tightly. It’s really such a pity, because you know he’d make such lovely noises if he would just open his mouth. You suppose you could just order him to let you hear him, but it was always so much more satisfying to pull the sounds from him yourself.

·       Dipping your head, you press your lips into the column of Harry’s exposed throat. For a moment he goes utterly still, shuddering beneath your mouth. In between peppering every available inch with little kisses, you murmur, “Keep going baby,” against his skin. It takes him a moment to process your command. His lust-fogged mind is able to focus on only a few things at a time, and your lips are taking precedence over everything else. But when it finally clicks, his hips jerk back into motion

·       You graze your teeth along his jaw, catching the spots his fingers had toyed with earlier. Like a latch clicking open, his teeth release his lip, and he moans—a soft sound, almost a sigh. Beautiful. You fall into that spot, nipping and sucking at it until the sounds—moans, whimpers, and curses alike—are tumbling from Harry’s lips one after another.

·       You dig your teeth in hard, and his hips slam forward, a gasp on his lips. The force of his movement pushes his cock further through the opening of his jeans, and the teeth of the zipper drag across his flesh. He hisses, sharp and sibilant, as the sting overtakes the pleasure. God you wish you could see his face—the pleasure swiftly transforming into agony then back again. Though you’re sure your imagination pales in comparison to the real thing, the pictures your mind conjures are enough to send a throbbing wave of want through you. The tortured mix of pleasure and agony on his face is a sight, second only to the beauty of Harry’s expression when he cums for you.

·       As though he could read your thoughts, Harry’s hips jerk down, rutting against the fabric from a different angle. His pace becomes quicker, more frantic as his orgasm looms large on the horizon. You grin against his throat. “Are you close baby?”

·       Harry doesn’t speak, but you can feel him nodding, his bony jaw bumping against the top of your head. “That didn’t take very long. Were you playing without me earlier?”

·       Of course, you know the answer is ‘yes.’ He’d likely been kneeling right there, bucking into his fist while you were locking still the doors. But you wanted to hear him admit it. “Answer me, Harry.”

·       His voice is trembling when he replies, speech lust-slurred and sluggish “Yesss, Ssweetheart”

·       Tsk, tsk. Maybe I shouldn’t let you cum after all.” You place a hand on his hip, stalling his movement. He’s strong enough he could just shake you off, keep going until he finds his release, but he doesn’t. That’s not the game you play. Instead, he shudders under you hand, trembling as his release slips away from him, the pleasure fading to a dull throb between his legs.

·       “No!” His cock pulses, the precum shiny and wet against the tip. “Please, I-I’m sorry. I jus’ wanted to be ready for ya’, I didn’t mean to break the rules.”

·       “I know.” You pat his cheek affectionately. “I understand. It’s hard to be a good boy when it’s in your nature to be a filthy little whore.”

·       Harry’s chest heaves as he comes back down from the edge. His ego chafes under your degradation, but his body shudders with the thrill of it. He rolls his head back, shooting you a sideways glance, “You’re so mean, you know that?” Though his words are anything but, both his expression and his tone are utterly adoring.

·       You peck his cheek, “You love it.”

·       “I do.”

·       You stroke his cheek gently with the back of your hand “Can you start again?”

·       Harry rolls his hips forward, experimentally. His teeth fix into his lower lip almost instantly, but he nods. You can tell the break wasn’t quite long enough, but that’s okay. You’ll just need to keep a closer eye on him to make sure he doesn’t slip over the edge before you’re ready to let him.

·       Your hand finds his hip again, slowing him to a stop. “I think we’ll play a different game this time. Wouldn’t want you getting bored.” You glance down at the rough denim, “Or chaffed up.”

·       Your hand slips into his jeans and grips his cock firmly around the base. He cants up into your hand almost reflexively, heating flesh sliding against your palm. You smile, “Oh no. None of that. You’ve gotta stay still this time, baby. In fact,” You give his cock a gentle pump, causing him to buck into your hand despite your instructions. You pull you hand away. “If you move, I’ll stop. Understand?”

·       Harry’s knuckles go white in the carpet as he struggles to keep himself under control, but he nods. “Good. Now,” You wrap your hand around him once again. “I won’t make this easy on you.”

·       He grins, “Wouldn’t be any fun if ya’ did.”

·       You can’t help but grin back, an expression of your adoration for the man before you as you begin to move your hand. As promised, you set a brutal pace, your grip tight around his feverish flesh.

·       His head falls back, eyes going wide, “Ohh, fuuck!” His hands are shaking where they’re dug into the carpet and his thighs tremble with the tremendous effort of keeping still. And though he takes a near herculean stab at following your instructions,  when your thumb swipes gently over the tip of his cock at the end of a stroke, he falls apart. His hips jerking forward into you hand

·       “Ah, ah,” You say, pulling your hand away despite the high whine at the back of Harry’s throat. “I said don’t move.”

·       His breath is coming in ragged gasps, “Let…Let me try again. I’ll be good!”

·       You purse your lips, as though to say, ‘I’m not sure you will be.” But he leans in, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and whimpering, “Please,’ against your skin, and you’re almost convinced.

·       Your pulse jumps as his lips press against your skin. The need to put hands on him again bubbles up within your chest until you cannot fight it a second longer. You hand finds his cock again, sliding against his skin which is now positively radiating heat and slick with precum. He’s really enjoying this. You squeeze your fingers around him a little tighter as he twitches in your hand, “Look at you! Taking it so well for me.” He whimpers in repose, the sound vibrating against your throat as his mouth works against your skin.

·       Swiping your thumb over the head of his cock again, his voice breaks, climbing higher into the back of his throat. Yet his hips remain still. So, you do it again, thumb spreading the slick precum gathering at the tip of his cock across the head. He shudders against you, sinking his teeth deep into your neck. He’s putting up a good fight, but you can tell he isn’t far from breaking. You begin to move you hand more quickly, squeezing your fist tightly around his shaft.

·       “You’re doing so well, baby. But I wonder…” Your other hand hovers just above the tip of his cock. “What would happen if I…” You touch his tip gently, ghosting your fingers over. The combined sensation of the rough pace of your hand and the gentle touch of your fingers makes his thighs tremble. He’s cursing now, a steady stream of ‘fucks’ and half-coherent pleas tumble forth into the hollow spaces between your collarbones.

·       You press a little harder, rubbing a gentle circle around the head of his cock, and he bucks into your hand, pressing the tip hard against your fingers, desperate for more. Through clenched teeth you can hear him chanting, “No, no, no” over and over, clearly frustrated by the betrayal of his own body.  

·       You smirk down at him, “Looks like you’re really sensitive here huh, baby?”

·       Harry doesn’t respond, merely shuddering against you, his head still buried in the crook of your neck. “It’s not your fault though.” You release his cock, stroking you hands soothingly against his trembling thighs. “You know, I think it’s partially my own fault for not touching you enough. But I can fix that.” You can feel the confused frown pulling against his handsome features, one that begins to melt into a look of shocked horror as he realizes what you’re about to do.

·       He pulls away from your neck just a moment before you set upon the tip of his cock. Your fingers making a tight little ring, you squeeze around him. His head jerks back, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. You stroke your thumb against the tip, rubbing tight quick circles against his weeping slit. He finds his voice, broken and wavering and cries out your name, begging you for more and to stop in the same breath.

·       His hips buck into your hand wildly, but this time you don’t stop, squeezing tighter, as your fingers slip beneath the head, rubbing relentless circles against his frenulum. His body seizes up, his voice momentarily dying in this throat. When it returns, he’s babbling, nearly sobbing with the pleasure, “Need t’stop…” He whines, “Neet’sssstop or I’ll cum,” His speech is slurred, punctuated with sharp moans and deep gasps for breath.

·       “But I thought you wanted to cum, Harry.”

·       His chest is heaving now, sweat slicking his sandy hair to his temples, “I do, fuuuck, IdoIdoIdo, pleassse, but…” He swallows hard, struggling to grind out the words around the white-hot pressure building in his stomach, “Wanna...wanna be good for ya’, don’t wanna…c-c-cum until you let me.” Despite his words, he grinds down against your fingers, unable to stop himself. “Please lemme be good, FUCK! Please, babyssstop! I’m gonna cum,”

·       For just a moment, you consider letting him. But the beseeching look in his eyes tells you even if you did, though the release would be satisfying, it wouldn’t be good enough. Harry wanted, no, needed to be good for you. Taking pity on him now wouldn’t help.

·       You pull your hands back, and despite himself, Harry sobs, a fat droplet of precum spilling down his pulsing length. Harry shudders as it rolls down his flesh, over-sensitive as though he’d just cum. You realize then, just how close he’d actually been.

·       You take him into your arms, pulling him close and petting his hair gently as he struggles to get his breathing under control. He jitters against you, a low whimper in his throat as your repositioning causes his cock to rub against you.

·       “Christ, I’m sorry,” He says, voice a cracked whisper, “It’s been so long since we’ve…”

·       You shush him, “I know baby, take your time.” His head falls against your shoulder, the weight of his shuddering body a welcome pleasure. He presses soft kisses into your neck, trailing up to your jaw, your cheek, your lips.

·       He kisses you softly, his lips sluggish against your own, but still no less adoring. He pulls back enough to whisper, “I’m yours.” And you smile.

·       “I know.” You run your fingers down his back, ghosting over exposed skin and he shudders.

·       “No one else will ever belong to you like I do.” Despite Harry’s fragile state, it isn’t a question, rather a statement that isn’t to be questioned.

·       “No one else.”

·       He melts against you, “Then touch me. I can take it.”

·       You push him back, searching his dark eyes. What you find there is the same lust that’s driven you since the beginning of the night. You tug him to his feet, gripping his arms tightly as he wobbles on stiff and tired legs.

·       “Get yourself out of those jeans, and get on the bed. We aren’t finished.”

[kkrazy256]

Title:  Pretend It’s Not Forever 

Prompt(s): Day 4 Bonding | Laughter

Warnings: None

Characters: Boba Fett, Commander Fox, Bossk 

Additional Tags: Deception Arc, Missing Scene, Canon-Compliant, Fox Helps Boba Escape Prison, Dialogue-heavy, Just Two Bros Having A Serious Chat While Breaking The Law

Word Count: 4130

Summary:  Boba gets separated from Bossk during the prison escape and runs into a familiar face

[On Ao3]

@loving-fox-hours

It’s really no different than all those lockdown drills back on Kamino.

At least that’s what Boba keeps telling himself as he presses up against another wall to let a wave of prisoners run past without trampling him. 

“Bossk?” He shouts over the noise, walking with his hands splayed against the metal of the corridor. He had lost the Trandoshan about two levels back. They hadn’t exactly been very good at making friends. Boba couldn’t just let himself look soft . He had already gotten laughed at enough for not being able to kill a Jedi, he wasn’t about to let them think he was an easy target. Never show weakness. 

Bossk has gotten into enough fights on his behalf to run into a few assholes looking to get a final punch or two in. 

“Boba, just go! I’ll catch up.” Bossk hisses, throwing one over his shoulder and baring his teeth at another. Two clones run into the hallway, shouting orders and raising their blasters. Bossk bowls them over with a snarl, and then Boba’s scrambling out of the area without looking back.  

A Weequay skids around the corner, shoving Boba’s shoulder hard in his mad dash for freedom. He hisses, rotating his arm with a scowl. That Hardeen bastard’s grip had been tight, and the condescending air around him still stung deep within Boba’s chest. 

You don’t want to do this.

Get him, Hardeen!

Kill that brat!

Show him how a real Jedi Killer does things.

He wishes Bossk would’ve let him try and kill the asshole after the fighting started in the mess hall. The guy hadn’t been anything special; Boba could’ve definitely taken him down if they went for a Round 2. The handful of credits from Bane would have to do for now. It should be enough to catch a ride to the lower levels. Maybe even a nerfburger to share with Bossk. He’s not going to miss the prison slop any time soon.

He flinches when another loud crack echoes down the halls. The drills on Kamino were never so chaotic. Here, there is yelling and the sound of blaster fire, both live and stun rounds. Some yells become shrill and just a touch too scared. Too hurt. It makes Boba feel cold. The monotone overhead speaker drones on, its facility on lockdown warning barely audible over everything else. 

The passageways in the prison are darker than the blinding white of Kamino. They’re more narrow, with sharper turns that have Boba’s heart in his throat every time he peeks into a different hallway and waits for the inevitable blaster bolt to the face. It never comes, so he keeps moving. 

He avoids running into any more prisoners, and the new area he’s in is relatively void of activity now. There’s an occasional squad of clones that hurries by, shouting orders into their communicators. It sounds like a majority of the riot has been contained. Boba hopes he’s going in the right direction. 

Back on Kamino, everyone moved at a brisk but controlled pace. There had been rules on where everyone had to go and stand before the lockdown ended. There were protocols that told everyone which group they belonged with. 

But Boba didn’t remember any of those; he never had to go with any of the others. All he had to do was find dad.  

But there’s no dad here to look for. Boba swallows, standing straighter. There’s no dad anywhere. Not anymore. There are only others with his face and his voice. But it’s not the same. It’s not the same helmet, not the same tone. They’re all younger. Younger than dad, and in some screwed up way, younger than Boba too. 

It’s not the same. 

And dad hadn’t always been on Kamino. There were times where he’d be off-world for a job that he couldn’t take Boba along for. That left Boba wandering the halls, doing his best to look like he knew where he was heading. 

If dad’s ever not on Kamino and there’s an emergency, he was supposed to find—

You go find Wolffe and the others in that group. You stick with them until I come home. 

And you’ll come home soon, buir? 

Of course, ad’ika. You’re here, so that’s where I’ll come home to. 

That doesn’t mean osik now. 

Wolffe is working with the Kel Dor Jedi that had brought him here in the first place. Boba had kept his head down when the Jedi met up with Wolffe on the trip to Coruscant ( how long has it been since then? He doesn’t even know anymore) . He hadn’t wanted to see the disgust that was probably obvious in Wolffe’s face. 

Cody is working with that Kenobi bastard, but Hardeen had apparently taken care of him. Guess that guy isn’t half bad for a jerk.

He has no idea where Bly and Fox went after their deployment nearly two years ago. 

And Ponds—

He slams a fist against the wall and the hollow ring lingers for several seconds. The clattering of plastoid in the adjacent corridor stops at the sound before coming closer. Boba lets out a soft gasp and barely manages to press himself into a small crevice in the wall just as three clones run by. He doesn’t breathe until the footsteps grow faint again.

And he had kil— Aurra had killed Ponds. 

Aurra had. 

But does it even matter? Ponds had been dead the moment Boba and his group boarded the Endurance . He had just been too dumb to see it at the time. Aurra is probably dead too. He remembers the other Jedi mentioning her crashing the Slave I in a fiery explosion.

His dad’s Slave I . Up in flames.

His dad’s buy’ce , in pieces back on the Endurance . 

His father’s belongings, gone and with nothing to show for it. It’s just Boba, wandering the hallway of a prison trying to make his escape. 

Some legacy he turned out to be. 

Dad is gone, and Boba can’t go to Wolffe and the others. Especially not any other clone. He doesn’t have allies here, only enemies. He can’t trust any of them. No clone would come across him and see him as a friend. Not after what he’s done. 

They’d come across him, stressed and with their blasters raised. And then…

Would they hesitate? Like Boba had? 

Or maybe after all that he’s done, he doesn’t even deserve that? 

He turns the corner without checking and hits against something solid, stumbling back onto his ass. 

Plastoid. 

Boba looks up and all he sees is red, white, and the black of two gun barrels aimed at his face. 

He counts silently in his head, the tightness in his shoulders leaving as he relaxes. There’s nothing more he could do here. 

He wonders how many seconds of hesitation he’s worth. 

The hands holding the blasters lower. 

“...Boba?” 

He tenses, looking the clone over. Their armor is different from the typical guard’s. The colors are all the opposite. Most of them knew who he was, it isn’t like there are many like him being held here. But something tells him there is more going on than just that. 

“Why don’t you just get it over with?” Boba juts his chin out, looking straight into the dark visor. The clone seems shocked that he had managed to meet eyes through the helmet, but Boba’s had enough practice to do it easily. 

The gloved hands move purposely slow and Boba can’t blink. 

They holster both blasters, and one reaches out to —

To him.

Boba can only stare, jaw dropping. What in the Stars does this mean?

“Boba, it’s Fox.” 

Fox. 

If there’s an emergency, you go find Wolffe, Ponds, Bly, Cody, or —

“Fox?” He whispers, taking the offered hand automatically and letting Fox haul him to his feet, “wh-you ended up being sent here?” He considers the kama and extra embellishments on the armor, “you’re a commander?” 

“Even better, a Marshal Commander.” 

The present situation comes rushing back, and Boba yanks his hand back the moment he’s steady. This isn’t Kamino. Fox isn’t just another clone being asked to watch over Boba while Jango’s out.

This is Coruscant. This is a maximum security prison. Boba is a prisoner during a riot. Fox is the Marshal Commander of the Guard. 

There are no friends. Only enemies. Trust no one. Never seek out help. 

He’s learned that the hard way. And he’s not about to fall for it again. He’s smarter than that, he’ll do better. 

“Come on.” Fox says, jerking his head towards the end of the hallway.

As if. 

Boba shifts his weight to the balls of his feet. It would take a second for Fox to unholster his blasters again. He has a chance.

Fox grabs him by his jumper, shoving him around the corner.

“hEY—”

“Shh!” The sound is hissed out, barely audible through the helmet’s speakers.

“Commander!” 

Boba shuts his mouth and shifts just out of sight. Fox goes still, shoulders squared and back straight as he turns to regard someone.

“Report, lieutenant?” His voice is a lot more steely. 

“The riot’s been contained. We’re mainly chasing stragglers now.” 

“Casualties?” 

“Over a dozen prisoners and eight troopers. Live and stun rounds were used.” 

Boba’s heart skips and he breathes out through his nose. Bossk is strong. Bossk is okay. He has to be okay.

“Prioritize the critically wounded. We can’t have another medbay overflow. And the instigators?”

“We think we’ve got three that escaped via the crematorium.” 

“Through the morgue?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“The spaceport in sector 8 is the only route they can reach from there. Have Thorn’s team cut them off.”

“Yes, sir. General Yoda and General Windu are on the line. They want a status update.” 

Boba hears Fox’s muffled curse.

“I’ll be with them after I finish clearing this level. Head back to Command and oversee until I return.”

“Yes, sir!” 

The footsteps grow faint, and Fox prods him again, “lets go.” 

Boba shuffles his way down the corridor with Fox at his heels. 

Every so often, Fox would place a hand on his shoulder and steer him in a different direction. Moments later, a trooper would pass by the way they had just been headed. 

He resists the urge to rub his shoulders. Fox is helping him. And Boba doesn’t understand why. 

“Where are we going?” He bites his lip, and finally asks, “this isn’t the way back to my cell.” Is he being punished? Is he being brought to a different cell? A smaller one? One with no windows? No cellmate? None of those options sound good.

“Do you want to go back to your cell?” Fox simply says, and Boba scowls. He’s always been a snarky asshole, even back on Kamino. Boba doesn’t have time for this. He’s tired, hungry, and his shoulder still hurts from Hardeen’s hold. If he can’t escape, he just wants to be thrown back in his cell. And hopefully, Bossk would be there too. 

 If not, then maybe he got out. Without Boba. But getting left behind shouldn’t come as a surprise anymore. 

 “Where’s your scaly friend?” Fox asks, as if reading his mind. Boba huffs. 

 “Don’t know, lost him in the crowd. We were supposed to meet up again.” He pauses, squinting up at the blank visor, “he’ll be here any minute and then I’m out of here.”  

 “If he’s smart, he’ll be heading towards this sector.” Fox agrees, and Boba frowns. 

 “Why do you know about him anyway?” 

 “The reports say he was registered at the same time you were. The Guard tells me he’s been keeping an eye out for you.” 

 Fox has been keeping tabs on him, Boba realizes. He’s the Commander of the Guard, he knows that Boba’s been here since the day they brought him to Coruscant. 

 Fox hasn’t visited once. 

 Boba knows he shouldn’t have expected him to, even if Boba had hung out with his batch the most back on Kamino. 

 Because in the end, they all grew up without him. In the end, Boba isn’t one of them. He’s gotten one of them killed. He has gotten many of them killed. 

 Fox should be mad. So why is he...

 “Why are you helping me?” Boba wants to stop walking, but Fox continues to gently push him forward, “you know what I’ve done.”

 “And what is it that you’ve done?”

 Boba takes two brisk steps ahead before whirling around to face Fox with a snarl, “Ponds.” The name echoes and it felt wrong for him to say. 

 “I…” He looks at the grey floor, he can’t stand looking at that blank helmet. But he doesn’t want to see the alternative either, “that was my fault.” 

 “It was Aurra Sing that killed him.”  

 “She shot him, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t part of the whole thing.”  

 Fox tilts his head, “she promised you something, didn’t she? Something that made you agree to work with her.”

 Boba blinks, then blinks again when his eyes start to sting, “she said she knew him, that they worked together before….” 

 His hands shake from how tightly clenched they are, “she said she’d help me get revenge. For...for…”

 “For the Prime.”

 “For my buir .” His cheeks feel hot, and wet. Fuck , he’s too old for this.  

 “...I hurt a lot of people. A lot of clones.” He thinks of Jax. We’re all in it together. The betrayal etched across all those faces just like his own when he left the pod. The betrayal on all those older faces that will eventually be his own. 

 “You did, I saw the reports.”

 “So why?” He sucks a breath in and his voice shakes, “why aren’t you angry!?” How can he just stand here, so damn calm while Boba’s the one falling apart? It’s just not fair.  

 “...Do you want me to be?”

 No.

 “Yes!” He throws his hands up, “it would make more sense than whatever the hell you’re doing right now. It’s treason, isn’t it? Isn’t that all you guys care about? Being loyal?”  

 He’s breathing hard, and Fox approaches him, kneeling down and holding a hand out. Boba turns his head towards the open palm. They’re large, hidden under a layer of fabric and protected by a dark red plate. It’s not the same. 

 “Boba, you’re—”  Fox’s hand hovers for a long three seconds before he drops it back at his side, “you’re a damn kid. And under all those circumstances? I-, I can’t say that I agree or that I would’ve done the same.”

 The gloved hands ball into fists before relaxing again, “but I understand, alright? It’s not as simple as right and wrong, and I sure as hell don’t see it that way either.”  

 Boba sniffs, rubbing his nose with a sleeve, “doesn’t make what I did okay.” He’s not going to pretend it is. Dad taught him to own up to his mistakes, even when it’s hard to. 

 “No.” Fox sighs, “no, it doesn’t. But that doesn’t mean jail is the right answer. There’s nothing in here for you.” 

 “There’s nothing out there for me either. I’m alone.” 

 Even back on Kamino, surrounded by so many just like him, he was alone. And as he grew older, he only found it to be more true.  

 “Well, you won’t always be. Sooner or later, you’ll find people who will want to be with you for you.”

 “...And not because of what my dad left behind?” 

 He’s lost the helmet, he’s lost the Slave I . It’s just Boba now. Nothing but Boba. Is that enough for anyone? 

 “Just for you. People who won’t care about that reputation of yours.” 

 “...Do you mean it?”

 “...Yes.” Fox answers softly. It’s the same dark visor staring back, but for a moment...Boba imagines there’s a face there. Not quite his dad’s, not quite his own, but a face.

 “But…” Fox stands to full height, straightening out his kama before giving him a look, “that can't happen unless we get you out of here.”  

 He holds out his hand again.

 Boba takes it without pulling away this time. 

They navigate the halls in silence, dodging other Guard members every so often. The lieutenant had been right about getting the riot under control. Boba can no longer hear any more sounds of blaster fire. The amount of footfalls have decreased. They are running into less and less people.

“Are we almost there?” 

“Almost.” Fox rolls his neck in a way that looks like he’s rolling his eyes instead, “if it were that easy to break out of prison, we’d all be fired.” 

“You don’t get paid. I don’t think you can get fired.” 

“Touché”

“Actually,” Boba looks up with a smile, “I think I’ve made more money bounty hunting than you’ve ever had in your life.” 

“Way to rub it in.” He flicks the back of Boba’s head, and he resists the urge to kick the asshole in the shins. It would hurt his own foot more.

They continue walking.

“Do you remember what you said earlier?” Fox starts after a minute, voice sounding weird, “about loyalty?” 

Boba frowns.

“What about it?” 

“It’s true. We were trained to be loyal to the Republic. But you know what else we learned back on Kamino? Something that wasn’t taught?”

Boba raises an eyebrow, and Fox places a hand over his chest plate thoughtfully. He looks around, as if checking for someone listening.

“Our loyalty is with our vode, first and foremost.”

...Boba knows that. He’s no stranger to the closeness of the other clones back on Kamino that persists even after they’ve become grownups. Boba had his dad. The clones had...well, they have each other. They are vode . He knows that, so why is Fox telling him this now? Unless...unless? 

“...Am,” He swallows his spit nervously, “am I one of the vode? Even though I’m not like you all? Even-, even though I screwed up?” 

Fox sighs again, leaning down until—

Cool plastoid taps against his forehead, and Boba forgets to breathe. The hand on the back of his head scratches at the short, trimmed curls and Boba closes his eyes with a shudder. The last mirshmure'cya he had—

Beskar. Warm from battle. Dusty with the sand of Geonosis. Empty.

He no longer remembers how it feels anymore.

Until now. 

“Ori’vod,” Fox’s voice is quiet, close enough to be heard without the robotic quality of his helmet speakers, “you never stopped being a vod.”

By the Ka’ra , Boba needs to stop crying in front of Fox. 

“Asshole,” he shoves Fox away after an embarrassingly long time, hiccuping and rubbing at the corner of his eyes, “you know I hate it when you guys call me that.” 

Fox snorts, reaching to rub the top of his head, “we know. But you are our littlest older brother, and nothing’s going to change that.” 

“Quit it, di’kut ! Don’t touch me.” A squeak escapes him and he dodges more attacks on his buzzcut by skipping ahead with a grin. 

Crash

He turns around just in time to see the overhead vent hit the ground and a blur of orange and green land on top of Fox. 

Bossk . 

The two tussle in a mess of limbs, snarling and hissing curses. Fox slams his head back, helmet nailing Bossk in the snout. The Trandoshan grabs the hand reaching for the holster. His other clawed hand grabs Fox by the head, pulling so his neck is exposed. He opens his mouth, rows of fangs gleaming in the lights as he dips down to bite—

“BOSSK, STOP!” Boba shoves his fingers between the gaping jaw, and Bossk immediately pulls away with a growl.

“How many times have I told you to not put your hands in my mout—” 

“—Don’t hurt him! He’s okay, he was helping me!” 

Bossk tilts his head, hands still wrapped around Fox’s throat while he kicks uselessly at Bossk’s side and scratches at tough, scaly skin.

“Boba, you know this one?”

“Yes! That’s my...my younger brother. So, so let him go already!” He demands. 

Bossk looks between the two of them one more time before dropping Fox. The Commander lands on his knees, coughing and rubbing his neck. 

“Younger brother, huh? Shit Boba, do I have to teach you math too?” 

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, leaning down to pull Fox to his feet, “you okay?”

“Not the worst I’ve had.” Fox mutters once he’s steady. He glowers at Bossk, “glad to see you finally caught up.”  

The Trandoshan sneers at that, but doesn’t do more than flex his claws. Fox isn’t going for his blasters either, so okay maybe things aren’t too bad. 

Boba catches Fox’s gaze, “you’re gonna let him leave too, right?”

“Funny if he thinks he has a say in it.” Bossk’s tongue darts out, flickering in the air.

Fox crosses his arms over his chest, “if you take three lefts from here through the vents, it’ll take you directly to a landing bay that isn’t being used. There won’t be any patrols there.” 

“...that’s awfully kind of you, Commander. No traps or anything fun like that?”

“I just want to have your word.”

“On what?” 

Fox pauses, looking down at Boba.

“That you’ll look out for him.” 

Boba opens his mouth. He doesn’t need anyone to —

Bossk gives a teetering laugh, slamming a large hand over Boba’s head and rubbing it, “been doing it for months, no reason to stop now.” 

“Quit it!” He does not whine . He doesn’t. 

“Good. If I find out you ditched his sorry sheb , I’m dragging yours back here.” 

Bossk grins. 

“Now go, you don’t have much time.” Fox points at the open vent and Bossk nods.

It takes him one single leap to scurry his way back into the ceiling. Show off. 

“Didn’t find anyone else crawling up there, did you?” Fox shouts as he kneels under the vent, cupping both his hands together. Boba takes a step onto it. 

“None that I didn’t already toss out. It’s my escape route, I’m not sharing.” 

Fox actually barks out a laugh, and it nearly startles Boba off his hand before he finds balance.

“Hey,” He whispers, and Fox looks up, “I uh…” His mouth feels dry, “thanks.” 

“Remember what we talked about, alright? Don’t do anything stupid out here. You have to stick around to find those people.” 

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” Bossk groans from inside the vent, holding out a hand.

“But it seems like you’re not as alone as you thought, kid.” Fox hums. 

“...Yeah.” 

With that said, Fox gives him a boost and Bossk pulls him up the rest of the way. 

“Clean up your damn mess.” Fox heaves the grate off the floor and hands it off to Bossk to put it back in place.

“Easy there, Commander. I might drop it again.” Bossk snickers, but does as he’s instructed. 

Boba scoots his way over the grate, peering through the slits. 

“Will I see you again?” 

“...I don’t know. Maybe.” Fox’s voice sounds distant, “when the war ends.” 

“Okay,” Boba nods, “don’t die before then.” 

Fox gives another laugh that sounds weirdly choked up, “that’s my line, ori’vod.” 

Boba grins, “ Ret'urcye mhi "

“ Ret'urcye mhi ."

The crawl towards the abandoned landing bay is quiet, the only sound being the rumbling of the vent space as they inched forward slowly. Bossk isn’t exactly light. Too much movement and noise would get them caught. 

“You know,” Bossk finally says once they make the final left turn. The exit grate is in the distance, “I thought all clones were awful. But I guess that one’s okay.” 

Boba turns with a frown, “hey! I’m a clone too, y’know.” 

“I was including you in that statement.”

“Oh...okay.” He turns around, stops, then whips back again, “wait, in which way?” 

“In that you’re also awful, kid.” 

“You take that back!” He gasps, and Bossk cackles.

“C’mon, Boba. We’re here. You got that grate?”

He hmphs , grabbing the vent grate and shaking it. 

“Yeah I got it, it’s loose enough.” 

He pulls it off, letting it drop onto the ground below. 

“...Boba?” Bossk’s voice draws him out of his thoughts when he doesn’t move.

“...what will we do now, Bossk?” He is ship-less. He has nothing but the handful of credits from Bane. 

A hand settles on his shoulder, “whatever you want, little boss. I’ll be here.” 

Boba pats the hand, lips curling up just enough for Bossk to respond with a toothy smile of his own. 

Boba jumps out of the vent, landing on solid ground. He takes a deep breath, reveling in the air of freedom that surrounds him.

“I’ve got a name to make for myself.” 

/

[ao3] if you wish to kudo/comment <3