#the fucker has been Bathed like he's never been washed before

[peripateticavian]

MY FUCKIN BABY CAT JUST HOPPED THE WALL INTO THE NEIGHBORS YARD TO JUMP INTO A

✨ HOLE TO NOWHERE ✨ ???

🕳️

[charliedawn]

Okay Charlie hear me out on something, and I’ve been thinking about this for a while, it’s not a request it’s more of an idea or thought. (It might be dark idk)

Let’s say the nurse went to a different sanitarium, and the patients she treated were horrible towards her, what do I mean? I mean like they were all a group. Each and every one of them broke her down and she just accepted it. They played around with her like a doll didn’t care about her, they used her for anything and she accepted it. It took a lot for her to leave all of that toxicity leaving mainly scars on her back. Once she came to St. Louis (if I spelled it wrong correct me)

Obviously, she thought the same thing would happen, until the slashers actually started to like her and treated her differently. Sometimes she’ll flinch thinking they’ll hurt her like the others did but will play it off, until maybe…idk pennywise or anyone else who has mind powers finally goes in her head to see what happened, or maybe one of them catch her with the scars on her back. like when she first arrived she was all stone cold until she slowly opened up a little more. She promised herself to never cry in front of people but them confronting her about it just made her emotional since she felt worthless and used at that time and knowing they care means a lot

Like I said just a thought I had and would see what you’d like about it.

The slashers knew that you had transferred from another mental hospital before coming to St Louis. They just didn’t know how bad it was until one day…The scars showed and some of the staff members started gossiping about it. Soon, all the patients knew of what had happened, and they decided to try and see the scars for themselves…Not expecting how bad they were.

Jason saw them when he asked you to give him a bath. You rolled up your sleeves and he noticed familiar marks on your body.

But, you weren’t the only one being exposed.

Jason normally never showed his scars to anyone but his mother. But once in the bath, you eyes traveled along his scars. There were ugly red angry scars. He was covered in them.

You didn’t say anything, he didn’t either.

You just kept washing his hair and he stared at the ceiling—barely giving you a few glances from time to time. He could see that the scars weren’t only on your arms. He could see they were going far beyond what he could see.

When you were about to leave, he surprised you by grabbing the hem of your shirt and looking at you with pleading eyes.

You knew what he was asking for. Your eyes stayed locked and even though he didn’t utter a word, you had learned to understand him without the need for him to speak.

You sighed before wordlessly raising your shaking hands to your collar as you started unbuttoning your shirt. As you went along, his eyes stayed glued on you—watching intently as each scar was revealed to him.

He was actually surprised to find that you had almost as many as him. But unlike him…His eyes lowered a little…You weren’t even a killer.

He wanted to speak. It was the first time he wished he could actually speak and find the words to make it all alright. But the moment he looked up, you were already gone…

Freddy Krueger :

"…You don’t need to hide them."

You stopped dead in your tracks before turning around to face Freddy with a slight frown of incomprehension.

"…What ?"

He tilted his head and for the first time, Freddy wasn’t smiling. He eyed your body up and down and leaned forward.

"You can try to cover them up all ya want, sweetheart. The scars ain’t gonna poof out of existence just cause ya want them gone. Believe me from experience. So, if ya wanna hear my advice ?" He crossed his arms over the table and laid his chin on them before looking straight at you. "…Be proud of them. Wear them like a fucking flag and make fuckers shake in their boots cause ya too damn badass for them to break ya."

You stayed silent as you kept looking at Freddy and you smiled—your eyes softening as you realised that Freddy was trying to make you feel better.

"Thanks, Freddy. You’re pretty badass too."

He huffed a laugh—but his eyes showed more than his smile as he replied.

"Yeah. Right. Be grateful you can hide the scars and don’t look like an overused chewing gum…" He grins. "Besides, haven’t ya heard ? Scars is the new sexy."

You laughed and shook your head.

"Right. Then you must be the god of sexy."

He smirked.

"Oh, honey…~Of course I am."

Brahms Heelshire :

You were playing dress up. Brahms had insisted you play with him and wanted to dress you up with some of the dresses Barry had made.

He waited for you to change, but he couldn’t help to take a sneak peek at you—an old habit from his days hidden in the walls of his old house.

But, he didn’t expect to see the subtle rivers of red scars running down your back. He stayed shocked for a few seconds and it gave you enough time to notice his reflection in the mirror.

You quickly turned around and he could see it in your face. You were upset.

"Brahms ! I said not to look ! Bad boy !"

In normal circumstances, that last part would have made him whimper and beg for your forgiveness. But, not this time. This time…Brahms seemed to realise that you had a past he knew nothing about and suffering he would probably never be able to understand.

He came in and hugged you tightly.

You were about to speak up when he beat you to it.

"You look really pretty…"

Your eyes widened at the compliment and you didn’t know what to say. You knew he was talking about the dress and how it looked on you—but you still started crying. You embraced him back and for once, Brahms was the one to comfort you as he held you in his arms and couldn’t seem to find any other way to reassure you but to keep complimenting you and hoping that if he said it enough, you would end up believing it…

Michael Myers :

Michael noticed the bandages around your wrists and the fact that you seemed to hide your body with sweaters and jackets…He knew.

Of course he knew.

But, he didn’t ask at the beginning because well…He didn’t care enough to ask. And then, he started to care. And that made him afraid. Because Michael Myers always kills the people he cares about. And he didn’t want to kill you.

But, he could see your suffering and the fact that nobody else seemed to understand or even notice your pain was driving him insane. Until, he couldn’t stand it anymore.

He grabbed your wrist and as you were about to ask what was going on, he dragged you back to a room. Once you were alone, he wrapped his arms around your waist and whispered.

"Show…me."

You didn’t understand at first, not until he started pulling on your sweater and lift it just enough for his hands to touch the scars.

Your eyes widened in shock and fear as you tried to push him away.

"No, Michael ! No !"

But, he didn’t listen. He would see them. He would feel them. And he would heal them…Because that’s what you were doing for the slashers on a regular basis. And he would drop dead before letting you think he didn’t see you…

He laid his hands flat on your back as he pulled you into a tight embrace.

"…I…care." He buried his face in your neck. "I care…"

You were so shocked about hearing him speak that you actually stopped struggling and started crying instead—finally hugging him back.

"I know, Michael. I know…"

Bo Sinclair :

"…Look at that. We got matchin’ friendship bracelets, darls’. If that ain’t a sign ? Then I dunno what is."

Bo noticed your wrists and the familiar binding scars. He had the same damn scars around his wrists. He knew what they meant. He knew torture and pain.

It was even worse when it came from people you thought cared about you. He thought for a long time that his ma and pa had a good reason to attach him and force feed him. He always thought they loved him…But it was only an illusion.

Your older patients…You surely cared for them—or you tried to. But, the scars were proof enough that this care was one-sided and that at the end, they had taken more from you than they had ever given you.

Bo stroked the scars on your wrists and offered you a sad smile.

"…They may not have loved you, nurse. But you can be sure that we’ll love ya bette’ for it," He looked up at you and "You’ll be a’right. I’ll make sure of it."

He grabbed your forearm and pressed his own scars against your own before pressing his forehead against yours.

"…We gonna be a’right. You and I. We gonna be a’right. I promise."

Your eyes filled with tears as you squeezed his forearm back.

"Yeah, Bo. We’re going to be alright."

Penny :

It was in your bedroom when Penny first saw them. He was hiding underneath your bed and was waiting to jump scare you when you started undressing and his eyes widened when he saw your damaged back.

He kept staring before you were asleep in bed and then, he slowly crept up your bed until his face was right above your sleeping face.

He started sniffing your scars and growled lowly when he realised where you had gotten them from. They had hurt you…

He then slowly opened his mouth to lick your back—trying to soothe the pain. Some of them even healed up a little as he tried to make them disappear. He didn’t like to see you hurt.

Not a lot of people knew of Penny’s healing abilities. Especially since he didn’t like to use it on just anybody. But for you ? He’d make an exception…

When you stirred in your sleep, he had no choice but to stop. But, he still raised his hand to slowly caress your face and giggled quietly.

"…Brave, nursy."

He whispered as you kept your eyes closed and Penny sighed before nuzzling your face.

"…They will pay. They will pay. I will devour their stupid souls and eat them whole. I’ll make them regret every hurting you, my little nurse…"

He then kissed your cheek.

Your eyes suddenly opened—but he was gone.

Pennywise :

Pennywise sat down next to you as you were having your break. He didn’t speak at first. You glanced at him curiously, but you didn’t try to break the silence.

You were starting to wonder if whether or not you should say something or leave when he finally spoke up.

"I saw many people with scars. Even Penny. I saw men, women and children try to hide their physical scars in fear or shame but…" Pennywise slowly removed one of his gloves and your eyes widened in shock when he actually laid his hand flat on yours. "…I don’t think so."

You stared at his hand on top of yours and were speechless for a second. Pennywise didn’t like to be touched. And the fact that he was now holding your hand was a real shock.

"Pennywise…You do not have to…" You tried to tell him.

He looked at you and smiled.

"It won’t bother me as much if I know it is for you…"

He tried to sound nonchalant, but his hand was shaking. He was forcing himself to stay still and make you feel better.

Finally, he retreated his hand, but the fact that he had actually succeeded in holding on as long as he did was a huge progress.

You smiled to yourself before looking at him.

"Thank you, Pennywise."

He smiled back.

"You’re welcome, sugar."

Dennis :

You were washing the dishes with Dennis when his eyes spotted the little red scars on your arms. You followed his gaze and sighed before lowering your sleeves a little. Dennis looked up at your annoyed expression and wordlessly finished washing the dishes with you.

As you were leaving to get to your office however, he grabbed your hand. You frowned and looked back at him and he opened his mouth. He was silent for a few seconds before finally telling you:

"…The Horde expected me to protect them, so I did…But nobody came to help me when I needed protecting. So, I know how it feels. And that if you ever need protection ? I am here. And I…understand."

As you weren’t reacting, he thought you might find his words inappropriate or odd. He sighed and released your hand.

"…Just wanted to let you know."

He then turned around to leave.

But, you caught his hand before he could walk away and Dennis was momentarily stunned before he looked back at you and his astonishment turned to worry when he saw that you were crying.

But, his eyes widened when he felt you squeeze his hand and you offered his a small smile.

"…Thank you, Dennis."

He looked back down at your hand holding his and gulped before squeezing it back with a small smile of his own.

"…You’re welcome."

Norman Bates :

"…Y/N…" His voice was weak. It was the first time Norman seemed so upset. He stared at your naked back and the angry red scars. They were so deep and some looked like the red feathers of imprinted wings.

He was speechless. When you tried to cover up, he stepped forward and held you closely—kissing the scars on your back gently.

"…I am so sorry, darling. I should have been here. I should have…" Norman felt so ashamed. He knew you from far before any of the slashers met you. But he had never really realised how bad it was.

"You couldn’t have. You didn’t know." You tried to reassure him, but he only held you tighter.

"I should have. Forgive me, my darling. Forgive me." He pleaded and his eyes filled with tears as he embraced you tightly and kept kissing your scars.

He wanted the pain to be gone.

Why hadn’t you said anything ? Why hadn’t you told him the truth ? Why hadn’t you given him the opportunity to avenge you ?

He felt anger bubbling in his chest.

…People were going to die tonight…

[dunmeshichilchuck]

For That One Guy On Tumblr, part 2

Chilchuck x !fem !Halffoot Reader

@dunmeshimeshi @leguink

Yes, union! What-" Chilchuck stopped and frowned. "Wait...how long had this dungeon been open when you entered?"

"...maybe six months? I joined on with a party dedicated to finding and destroying the mad mage instead of treasure hunting. How long has it been?"

There was a stunned silence. 

Finally it was broken by Chilchuck whistling through his teeth. "pheeeeeeewwww, you've been here a long time then. It's been almost six years since this dungeon was discovered."

The tall man beamed. "Woooahhhh this is so cool! I guess it doesn't matter how long it's been, as long as the body isn't too damaged and everything is there the soul sticks around! That means if we preserved bodies in something like vinegar they could stay in stasis indefinitely!" 

The elf rounded on him. "thats not- this poor person just found out she's been...gone for almost six years and that's your reaction??"

The tall man raised his hands defensively. "It could just have a lot of applications, okay? Has anyone even been ABLE to be revived after so long? No one thought it would be possible but clearly-" he gestured at you "she's living proof it is!" He stopped abruptly, as if realizing something. "Ah, sorry! What's your name? I'm Laois!"

Your mind whirled. How did this happen? What about the people you knew? Oh god, what about your sister? She'd be up near what...27 now? Was she technically the same age as you now? God she'd never let you live that down. 

"I'm...y/n....six...six years? How is that even possible? Oh! Who wound up defeating the mad mage? Did they wind up being the ruler like the dead guy said?" 

There was an awkward silence. Finally Laois said "ahh...hmmm... Well he's not been defeated yet...people have been trying all this time..." 

"What...? How? We figured we had to get in fast before everyone else started flooding in but....six years? Has someone at least gotten close?" 

A sudden pang of regret struck you. There was no hurry. Your party could have prepared more. You could have vetted your party members more....maybe you could have made it. And since Laois would definitely know if they had succeeded...they were either dead or given up. The thought gave you some small satisfaction.

You hoped it was a trap that did them in. Fuckers shouldn't have tossed you aside so easily.

Laois continued "but! I think we've got a solid shot at it now! So don't worry, we'll definitely defeat the mad mage!"

Chilchuck quietly snorted, and rolled his eyes at you. 

The elf stepped in. "It's nice to meet you y/n! My name's Marcille." She pointed at the dwarf and then the cat girl and said "his name's Senshi, and she's Izutzumi." 

"Nice...nice to meet you..." You stuttered out.

"Nice to meet you!" Senshi said, smiling up at you. Izutzumi just continued looking bored. 

"Food is ready!" Senshi continued "now I'm sure you have more questions for us, but you must be starved from resurrecting and there's no rush. Let's eat a meal first and then we can talk. But! Before we eat you're going to need to wash up and get some fresh clothes. No sense in eating a meal with dirty hands." 

You looked down at yourself, he was right, you were filthy and your clothes hung off you in tatters, grimy and soaked with disgusting water. Now that you paid attention, to your embarrassment you realized you definitely smelled. 

Marcille hung up some blankets to give you some privacy so you could quickly rinse off, and you could hear them rustling around in packs and discussing what would fit you. The water felt amazing, and you realized even before your....death. you hadn't bathed in a very long time. You must have already absolutely reeked before you went into the ice.

After a few minutes Marcille popped back inside triumphantly brandishing a pair of pants, a shirt, and a...length of white fabric? The shirt looked like it would fit you, the pants....not so much. 

"We found some clothes for you! Chilchuck had an extra shirt and I had some pants. We'll roll them up for now so you can go ahead and eat and then we can hem them up later."

Chilchuck interjected from outside the blankets. "I'm going to want that back at some point! That was my one extra shirt!" 

Marcille ignored him and thrust the clothes at you. "Oh! And-" she dropped her voice to an embarrassed whisper. "I knew my um...underclothing wouldn't um...fit you...but I figured we could make a quick ah, fix using some fabric? And maybe a better one later?"

"Oh you mean wrap this around my chest as a makeshift bra? Sure we can do that." You didn't bother lowering your voice. Who gave a shit if some random guys found out women wore bras. 

You quickly dressed, making a makeshift bra with the fabric that you were actually kind of proud of.

The pants ballooned out around your legs but it couldn't really be helped, and you could tailor them to you later. Surely they had at least a needle and some thread.

You felt optimistic for the first time. This could actually be doable. You could be useful enough to earn your keep, especially if they had plenty of food anyway. You were pretty good at drawing off and distracting bigger monsters so even with fewer traps you'd come in handy. This could really be your chance to carry on with the quest and succeed, or if they sent you back, oh well, you wouldn't be worse off than when you started. 

Yeah, this could really work. 

[mangoshorthand]

If you see this as a request or are not interested to answer generally, feel free to ignore! But I've been wondering if you have any personal headcanons about Five? It could be about everyting. Habits, behavior, even if he sleeps in full pajamas or just in a shirt and boxers.

I find it really interesting what people have in mind about him what the show doesn't tell us, and since I really like your portration of Five I thought I might try to ask~

Oh God, there are too many to mention. You might recognise some of these if you've read my stuff because I incorporated them.

This sort of request is fine BTW as it takes me less than an hour to answer.

Habits

Full button down pajamas are his default I think but might forgo the shirt on warm nights. Also sleeps in underwear and possibly day clothes when drunk

Always puts his shoes parallel to one another facing the wall with the laces tucked inside.

...But his socks somehow never end up in the laundry hamper. They end up down the side of the couch, under the bed, one even ended up in the microwave once. He has no recollection of how this happened.

Talks to himself when working. It's a hangover from having Dolores. If there is a human or animal in the room, he will talk to them instead.

He loves showering and bathing . It never gets old for him. He really values feeling clean because it was a rare luxury in the apocalypse. Every time he washes himself, he thinks about how good he has it.

Linked to the above: Meticulous about skincare, anti-perspirant, keeping his facial/body hair neat.

Likes/dislikes

Enjoys analogue watches. They remind him of his power, the way they work fascinated him from being a kid, but as he got older, he began to appreciate them for their styling in the same way he enjoys a well-tailored suit.

Secretly enjoys The Spice Girls. Would die rather than admit this.

Is a total boomer about cell phones. Could tell you how one works and probably adapt it so it could make calls across time, but hates their ubiquity. Has one out of necessity and is in group chats with his siblings but refuses to upgrade his handset until it is totally 100% obsolete.

Loves babies. Particularly babies in his family, but if you show that fucker any baby, he loves it. He's like a grandpa pinching cheeks.

Relationships

Waited ten years before -uh- consumating his relationship with Dolores. Before that point he didn't allow himself, knowing that it was crossing a rubicon. Sheer stubbornness carried him through his horniest teen years but, at twenty three, he gave in. This triggered one of multiple nervous breakdowns.

Had a slight pre-sexual crush on Viktor when they were kids that he didn't realise was a crush at the time. He is now grossed out by it but it makes him laugh too because it's symptomatic of how weird their childhood was.

Secretly admires and envies Luther for his open-heartedness and moral certainty.

This list is definitely non conclusive. Five lives rent free in my head.

[barbiewritesstuff]

The Playboy And The Coffees

-- I know I need to upload part 3 of the Hotch series but I’m still writing it so here’s something else :) Playboy Hotch lives in my mind rent free.

Before I start… do y’all know how long I had to search to find Hotch’s handwriting??? Outrageous. Also yes, I know graphology is heavily critiques, but this is fanfic, let me pretend. 

Thank you to @lgg5989 :) and @ravensmadreads :) for beta reading and inspo!!!!

TW. Mentions of sex, violence and concussions and that’s it I think, Ope, no, also TW. for super out of character Hotch :) –

You don’t know much about your neighbour. You know his last name, because it’s on the post box. You know he has a monthly subscription to psychology today, and you know he sees his sons on weekends. And you know that because A. Hotchner, as his letterbox says, has a revolving door of women on all other days of the week.

And it’s starting to piss you off.

No, scratch that. You have just gone through a week and a half of gruelling shifts at the hospital. You have been scratched, bitten, attacked with a bedpan and called every bad name under the sun, and now the fucker next door, whom you share a bedroom wall with, is having sex loud enough that you could probably recognise the woman by voice alone. 

You are beyond furious. 

Furious enough, in fact, to march down to his flat and hit and kick his door until he opens it. He stands there shirtless, having hastily put on his underwear and with an angry frown on his face that disappears as soon as he sees you. You know you look like you’ve been through hell, and in your mind, you might as well have. Your hair is dishevelled, your scrubs are torn and one of your sleeves is hanging off limply, three large scratches red and swollen showing in the bit of uncovered skin. You look like you’ve walked away from a bear attack and you can see the thought cross his mind.

He opens his mouth to say something but you launch into a tirade before he can. You whisper-shout it, because you’re a decent person and you don’t want to wake anyone up, “It’s three am. I have come back from a twenty-four hour shift thinking I’d be able to have a good night of sleep, only to find out my dick of a neighbour is having a woman over -- and I’m not even going to call it having sex with her, because with the noise she’s making, I don’t know if she’s having fun -- do you realise I can hear everything? Every stupid thing you say? How you’re going to ruin her? How you’re going to make sure she can never walk again? How you love how dumb she gets for your dick? Buddy, no dick has that power, she’s just stupid. Which is why she’s sleeping with you. Either you keep quiet or I swear I am calling the police to report a fucking murder. And you best hope it’s not yours.”

Feeling slightly better, as though unleashing on your shitty neighbour has relieved you from the pressures of the day, you turn on your heels and walk to your own door, slamming the door as quietly as possible. Seconds later, you hear his door click shut and then their activities resume, punctuated every so often by him shushing her and telling her to be quiet. You draw yourself a bath, bubbles and all, and begin a cycle on the washing machine, ready to unwind before bed. It works a little too well and you wake up an hour later, shrivelled like a prune, with just enough energy to make it onto your bed before you crash again.

At seven, there’s a knock on your door and you go to open it, feeling frustrated. A. Hotchner stands in front of you, a little boy holding his right hand, his left one occupied by a coffee. 

“To apologise,” he says, extending the coffee towards you.

“Can I pet your cat?” the little boy says, “I know you have one. He’s black and white and he meows funny.”

You smile at the boy, “I do have a cat, but maybe you can pet him another day. I came home from work not that long ago and I’m very tired,” you explain to the child, before turning to your neighbour, “Usually when someone comes home at three in the morning, they don’t take well to being woken up at seven” you say, you grab the coffee and turn away, closing the door as quickly as you could, hoping that the wind slapped him in the face, something you really wish you could have done yourself. 

Inside, you take one curious sip of the coffee and immediately annoy yourself further. It’s good coffee. Probably from that upscale place in town that charges nearly ten dollars a small cup because their organic coffee is ground on site, which, you want to tell your sister whenever she gushes about their seven dollar espressos, you’re pretty sure all coffee places do. 

A. Hotchner also somehow managed to get the order just right, and even though it doesn’t take a genius to figure out you like caramel lattes since your recycling box is made up largely of your starbucks cups, you wonder how he managed to get that right and still forget that there were only four hours between three am and seven am. 

Luckily, you manage to sleep through the rest of the morning and wake up in better spirits than before. You have the rest of the very good coffee, which still manages to taste okay after being microwaved, forgotten and then microwaved again and set about studying for your postgrad exam. You resurface again just in time for dinner, like a bear coming out of hibernation, your mind so used to focussing that it’s hard doing normal things. 

The next day, the first Sunday you spend at home in about four weeks, is spent pretty much the same way, save for a good night of quiet sleep and no morning time interruption. Then, much to your dismay, Monday arrives and with it, a day shift.

The day is quiet and goes by fast. You haven’t been hurt, so this is one of the best days you’ve had in the past month and you’re in a very good mood, so good, in fact that when A. Hotchner, whose first name you still don’t know, starts his weeknight ritual of keeping you awake with his revolving door of women, you’re only a little annoyed. 

Then, at ten, right when you are about to go to bed, your phone rings with a work emergency. The girl he has over next door is screaming so hard that your colleague on the other side of the line asks if you’re okay, and then, embarrassingly, if you are safe and you have to explain that yes, you’re fine. You just live in a cheap apartment where the walls are made of cardboard, which sends you back into a near homicidal rage. You agree to come in, but only for a couple of hours, until the nurse that was supposed to come in can be located. Once you get there, a couple of hours turns into eight, and by the time you’re out you have an hour before your shift starts. You have to go home to feed your cat but petty as you are, and wanting to make someone pay, you buy a cup of cheap mcdonalds coffee and stick a post-it to it, depositing it at your neighbours door.

Vinnie, your cat, is happy to see you. Or as happy as a cat can be, meaning that he follows you around but acts offended whenever you try to pet him. Eventually, you abandon the search for affection and drop some kibble into his bowl before promptly leaving again. The cup is still on his doormat, so you turn the cup so the message (“She was faking it”) will immediately be visible when he opens the door and knock loudly. You disappear down the stairs before he can catch you, trying to psych yourself up for what you feel will be yet another shitty shift. 

By the time you come home again, the cup is gone, and a new one awaits on your doormat. A message is written on the cardboard band around it but you don’t read it until you’re inside. You open the door to Vinnie, your only friend by now, meowing at you like he’s asking where you’ve been.

“To work,” you reply, “Someone needs to pay for the rent. And the high end kitty kibble you demand, you freeloader.”

He meows at you again. It’s short and deep, and makes him sound like a 1940s mafia man, which is why you’ve called him Vinnie and why he gets dressed in a little suit and tie with a fake cigar for every Halloween since the day you adopted him. Or he adopted you, because you were only at the shelter to accompany your sister, and Vinnie, the spry young kitten, climbed your leg like a tree and took shelter in your coat refusing to be removed. He screamed so loud and for so long that his vocal cords were damaged. 

You think it’s sweet that he wanted to be taken home so badly, but you can’t help but wonder if he’s not regretting it now. Your apartment is shit, you get paid peanuts and you’re barely ever home. Maybe he’s lonely. Adopting another cat isn’t really viable, because you can’t afford the vet bills, or the insurance. Maybe getting A. Hotchner’s (okay, you really need to ask his name) kid to come by isn’t such a bad idea.

Speaking of, you remember your coffee. It’s from the nice place again and you savour it, not willing to stop for a second to read the message, so you twist the band off and read it like that. 

“You’re just jealous.” 

You smirk. As much as he annoys you, you’re happy he’s humouring you. And the fact that he keeps getting you good coffee when you got him a terrible mcdonald’s one isn’t entirely lost on you. Either he’s got money to spare -- he probably hasn’t. He lives in the same, shitty apartment building you do -- or he wants you to have the good coffee. 

You need to study, and try to push the thoughts of A (seriously, you need to ask. There aren’t that many possibilities… Alexander? Anthony? Andrew? Adrian? Aaron? Austin? Adam? You’re not sure, but the rest of the names google suggested when you typed in ‘boy names starting in A’ seems too modern. He really doesn’t look like an Ace… Or does he? No, definitely not. With his brown eyes, black hair and handsome face, he looks more like an Andrew or an Alexander. Andrew Hotchner sounds good too…) out of your mind, but it fails spectacularly. 

That little voice in your head, the one you don’t want to listen to because it likes to remind you of attractive boys and of the fact that you could be married by now, pipes up and reminds you that in your search for the correct A name, you described him as handsome. It also tells you that you’ve been staring at the cardboard band for nearly an hour now, with your search engine open to a tab on graphology -- and you learn that he’s a relatively calm but anchored person with good perception and memory skills (medium pressure on the pen), but also a fast and energetic writer, who is usually assertive and confident (right slant), and is overall a fairly extroverted and outgoing person (large size of the handwriting), who, at the time of writing the message anyway, is in a happy or pleasant mood (upwards tilt) -- you’re also unable to take in anything that’s written in your syllabus because you’re too busy pushing the voice down in your head to a place where you can’t hear it, all the while the rational part of the brain is telling you that maybe it has a point, you do have a crush.

You’ve met him twice, and considered strangling him both times. Is it sad to have a crush?

You don’t hear him come home that night and you sleep like a brick. Then, it’s the same for the night after that, and the night after that. You’re starting to worry, so like any normal person who’s trying to distract herself from a crush, you request an extra shift. It’s not pleasant but it works, and when you come home, A’s shower is going and you feel suspiciously relieved.

You don’t retaliate with the coffee, not wanting to stoke the fires of your crush but he doesn’t let them die. You nearly knock the coffee over as you step out to go to work. 

“Still alive?” the message says (the tilt is down now, which means he’s sad and you wish you’d never even learnt about graphology) and your heart soars. Before you take a sip, you notice something else in smaller print, “Usual place is closed, new place didn’t have caramel. You’re a girl under the age of thirty, I assumed you’d like pumpkin spice lattes.” 

The audacity of this man. You stand in front of your door in shock for a second and a half longer than Vinnie is willing to put up with so he kicks the door closed, kool-aid man style and brings you back to the real world. There’s nothing truly offensive about the message, you’re just annoyed with him as a base emotion and even more so because he’s 100% correct, you love pumpkin spice lattes. They’re actually your favourite and the only reason you don’t have them as often as caramel lattes is because coffee shops are always out. 

You stop by starbucks on your way home to get A the best coffee you can afford, and write him another post-it, “Missed my performance ratings?” you write and in small print, “The cat is called Vinnie, your kid can come by on Saturday. Also What’s your name?”

You drop it off that evening and wait for him to come home. He doesn’t. You sit on your sofa until past midnight, watching tv. They’ve interrupted the broadcast of the game show you were watching to air a press conference, headed by an FBI agent. She’s good, clear, concise and she stresses the importance of staying safe, especially for hospital personnel. If any of them experiences an attack from one of their patients, they need to report it at the number flashing on the screen. 

The group chat you set up with a few of your colleagues is going nuts, crying from laughter emojis are being sent by the dozen and you have to admit it’s amusing. They’re all counting down the injuries they’ve had on the job in the past month, and you have plenty to add. Someone offers to compile them a spreadsheet. 

You fall asleep on the sofa and wake up sore in the morning. He’s still not back by then.

----

“I assume you saw the broadcast?” another nurse asks as you sit down to have your lunch. You nod at her, “Do they think we meander through fields of roses or something?”

“I don’t think it’s a well known part of the job,” you reply between mouthfuls of instant noodles, “People think it’s easy to be a nurse, that doctors do the brunt of the work.”

“I beg to differ,” she says, unpacking her own lunchbox and diving into a muffin like a starved man on a buffet, “I had to stop Dr. Atkinson --”

“Girls, we have a code violet in the ER, all hands on deck,” Dave, the only male nurse you know by name, tells you when he pops his head through the door. 

You groan. Code violet means someone is fighting back, which likely means you’ll be sore in the morning. You’ve been attacked before, and it’s never been that bad, but when you get there, you see why the other nurses are having problems. 

It’s a young man, probably about your age with a backpack and an absolutely deranged look on his face. A bunch of staff are already littering the floor when you get there. He’s throwing punches and anything he can get his hands on at anyone who moves. Dave gets a stack of magazines in the eye and your colleague with the muffin gets slapped across the face so hard that she looks dazed for a moment. You’re the unlucky one though, because the man takes off his backpack and swings it at your head, you collide with it and it feels a little like someone’s thrown you at a wall. 

You collapse and lose consciousness almost immediately. When you come to, with Dave calling your name and holding an ice pack to your head, things have gone quiet again. The fighter has been carted off by police, and the only people left on the scenes are the patients you need to care for and half a dozen FBI agents wearing kevlar, supervising the situation. 

Dave helps you up to a nearby chair, where he instructs you to keep your head between your knees while he goes looking for a bucket. You look green, he says, and yeah, you feel it too. It feels like your entire brain’s been rearranged or scrambled in the worst way possible. Seconds later, someone silently takes the seat next to you and bumps your elbow.

“Apparently coffees aren’t good for concussions,” the person says, you look up, recognising the voice as soon as it leaves A. Hotchner’s mouth. He hands you the cup of tepid water and you take a sip, taking in his appearance. He’s wearing kevlar too, and underneath that a magically uncreased shirt, tie and slacks. All that paired with his gorgeous face, and you’re sure you’re never going to get rid of that crush. 

One of his kevlar wearing friends comes to fetch him.  A stands up, shooting you a wink and a grin as he leaves. Out of habit, you look at the cup for his handwriting. 

“Apparently, it’s not good to be alone when you have a concussion… Dinner at mine?” 

[sundaynightlive]

You Are in Love (Steddie)

Yeah, I’m a Swiftie, deal with it.

(TW: blood and death, I guess?)

Steve and Eddie’s dramatic ass reunion after the Upside Down debacle, secretly-daring-before-season-4 edition.

Just some sappy, fluffy shit. So short—impossibly short.

I have so much I wanna write and post but my wifi is down and I hate writing on my phone so we all out of luck until my grandpa fixes it lmao.

You can hear it in the silence.

Quiet, as the dust clears. Steve’s heartbeat is in his fucking throat—the tear is closed, and they’re alive. They’re all alive, even—

You can feel it on the way home.

It’s time he was honest, he knows that. He knows how long he’s been lying, how much he’s been hiding from his people—his family. They didn’t deserve that, but he couldn’t help not being ready.

He’d only managed to tell Rob, for obvious reasons.

He’s far from Steve, separated by the chaos, bleeding profusely from long scars on his back where there used to be wings—dirty, hair soaked with rain and blood and sweat—he’s looking at Steve, wide-eyed, probably shocked to be alive when not too long ago he was undead, and not long before that, just dead.

God, how that had torn Steve apart—no one to cry to except Wayne and Rob, nobody to talk to, avoiding Dustin like a plague, unable to offer a shoulder when he needed one himself.

More than a shoulder—whole bodies, whole hearts and minds to console him in his grief.

And Dustin is still pissed at him for this, and Steve has a lot of apologizing to do for the way he’s been. He has a lot of apologizing to do for his refusal to explain himself.

But right now isn’t the time to worry about that.

You can see it with the lights out.

Steve is crying before he’s moving, choking out sobs before he even thinks to go towards Eddie to hold him for the first time in ages.

He’s wiping his eyes, rooted to the spot, blubbering like a goddamn baby until Robin pushes at his shoulder, urging him forward, and he realizes that yeah.

Yeah, he should probably go.

“Go, Steve.”

You are in love. True love.

He stumbles first, and then he’s running. He’s never run while crying before, and finds himself teetering and stumbling, but it’s not enough to stop it.

It’s been so long. So long.

God, Steve can’t wait to bring Eddie home, to laugh and cry and settle in Wayne’s arms, too, and then get that fucker in a shower, and maybe climb in there with him.

Or a bath. Maybe even a bath.

He can’t wait to crawl into bed with him again, to wake up in the morning to coffee and breakfast, courtesy of Wayne. He can’t wait to show him all the things he’s missed, to bring him to Hellfire and let him learn Will’s campaign, to get him a job, to get him a life. Get him his life back.

He can’t wait to wake up whole. Without that empty fucking space, and that empty fucking vest.

“You fucking idiot,” he sobs.

You are in love.

Eddie holds him, bares the force of him and then holds him tightly, laughing hysterically, crying, too. Steve is smearing blood across his hands and Ed’s back, and he can’t bring himself to fucking care. It’s not terrible—the scars won’t be terrible.

Eddie’s alive. He’s alive.

And really, Steve could care less about the eyes on them, curious onlookers plus Robin, who is yelling something like—

“Fuck yeah! We’re alive, motherfuckers!”

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, hoarse, and Steve pulls out of the hug, tears streaming down his face. “I know I said I—“

“You wanted to kiss me before we split up, you dumb son of a bitch,” Steve manages, voice breaking, shaking his head slightly at the intense relief washing through every cell in his body, “So do it, Munson.”

The smile he’s gifted is worth every second of agony.

Eddie’s hands come around his face and pull him forward. Robin hoots and hollers. Steve just pulls his boyfriend closer, crying profusely and hoping to never wake from this moment. Nothing in his life will ever feel like this again—

And, to be fair, it shouldn’t.

You can hear it in the silence…

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#259

“Seth? Right? C’mon in. Your brother told you who I am? Good. Want a beer?... Here you go. Let’s go out to the back deck. The sun went down, and the cool evening air is starting to kick in. Have a seat…. Ok. Seth, do you know why you are here? Let me be blunt. Your brother David owes me a lot of money. A lot. He’s been doing jobs for me that I need someone I can trust to do. But that’s barely covering the interest. I told him he needs to start working down the principal. So, he offered me… you….

“That’s right he sold you to me. You are going to whore off his debt…. Shut the fuck up. The deal is set. Have some more beer; it will help you to deal with what I need to go over with you….

“Your brother probably told you that I am a powerful man. Hopefully he didn’t tell you what I did. I will share with you one part of my business that you will be a part of. I have several whore agencies across several states. They ain’t like the whorehouses in the movies. The girls never see money; they show up at a set time and do whatever the man wants. They do not say no. They get to live in city, and they show their clients the best the city has to offer. They have everything paid for and get a nice credit card too.

“A few years ago—hell it’s more like ten or so, —I was convinced to do the same but on the fag side. Now, I knew nothing about fag sex, and it disgusted me. Once I got over the visuals, the business was just like the girls. The difference I found out was that I had to have two sets of whores—fag boys like yourself, and men old enough to be your father.

“It was Frankie, one of my goons, who told me that there is a lot money to be made by men taking the dominant role. I didn’t believe it. So, he arranged for me to watch him from a distance him work over this faggot. He didn’t tell me how much he was earning. When I saw this fag hand over three hundred bucks, I knew I needed to get into this. I mean my guy did barely anything other than smack the fag around, call him names, and sit on the faggot’s face at the end. That fag ate that fat ass while pounding its pud. Frankie even went over to the fag’s wallet and took an additional hundred out of it. And wouldn’t you know, that fag boy was loving life.

“Needless to say, that was how I got into the fag whoring business. I had Frankie lead it; he even got somewhat in shape, and now he’s my most popular whore men. Wait a minute, you know him. He fucked you behind a dumpster in the alley behind that fag bar a couple weeks ago. When I saw you at David’s birthday partner at my tavern and he told me that you were his sperm burping brother, I sent Frankie to find out more about you. I know that you can take a good pounding, face slaps, rough housing. Frankie also told me that you cleaned off his cock after we was done and that you drank his piss. You even begged him for more as he walked away from you, naked covered in piss behind the dumpster. That’s all I needed to hear.

“After meeting with your brother, all I had to do was press the massive debt. I knew how self-serving he was. He sold you out so fucking fast. And now I own you. Now strip faggot….

“You do realize who I am? No one ever disobeys one of my direct commands. Now think about your next move real carefully. STRIP YOU FUCKING FAGGOT. Take your time standing up. That drug I put in your beer will make you kinda dizzy if you stand too fast. Yeah, I didn’t want you to run back to your car. Kid, when you came in that door, you were mine. That’s it. Accept your fate. Good boy.

“Yeah, after Frankie roughed up that fag, I was curious. He arranged for me to use one of his regulars who was blindfolded. It was so much fun to kick and punch that faggot only to have him crawl to me, begging for more. With each time, I got more wicked, and they wanted more. I had a few fags over the years locked up and had the best of all worlds. My wife provides me with companionship. My girlfriend offers sensual making love and snuggling. And my faggot takes all my rage filled abuse.

“Underwear needs to go too. Let’s see what you have. Not bad. Looks like you are excited about being naked in front of me. That’s a lot of pre-cum. Decent sized balls. I’d say you are about six inches long. The shaft is a bit thin, but the head is good size. Your foreskin is not too long. That’s good. If there’s going to be one sweaty stinky dick around here, it will be mine. If yours becomes a problem, we’ll get you circumcised.

“What? Faggot, you are nothing more to me than my pickup. If I want to modify you out, I sure as hell am going to. I modify all my property. Tattoos, piercing, permanent hair removal, castration, branding, and so on. But actually, I am a bit cautious. I made the mistake of castrating a fag and regretted it afterwards. He just didn’t seem right to me. The cutter I went to tried to put in fake balls, but it still didn’t seem right. I ended up replacing that fag with another.

“I am looking for my perfect fag. I’m planning on letting my girlfriend go, but sometimes I need that close touch. Not going to do that with my wife. Every day now I realize that I want to be with faggots over women. Faggots are so much easier to mold into what I want. And every now and then I might snuggle with one.

“I like what I see. I want to see your cumload. Jerk off for me. I’ll give you a few minutes to do so. When you do, shoot in your spare hand. I want to see the quantity. I’m going to get your collar; it’s probably done charging. I’m also going to take your car keys. You ain’t going anywhere. Continue jacking….

“….Did you cum? You did! Good fag. When was the last time you came? Yesterday morning? Well that’s a good load. Here, lock this collar around your neck. Ok, so here’s the deal. You can jack off as often as you like, whenever you like as long as I am not using you. If I catch you jacking off, don’t stop. If you are watching porn, continue. But know this, no matter if you haven’t cum in days or you just had a massive orgasm, should I require your use, I fully expect 100% horniness and enthusiasm.

“This remote is hooked up to your collar. With this button… you fall to the floor just like that. Hurt’s like a mother fucker hunh? That’s on low. Remember that. It is also set up to shock you should you cross a 20-foot perimeter of the house. I am notified by an app on my phone when you do something that stupid. Also, the garage and my office on the third floor are completely off limits. You will not fare well should you cross that threshold without me.

“Bring your cock over here. Is your dick head sensitive. It is! Fuck yes! As you get soft, it’s driving you crazy. Good. Good. I see a problem here. Your pubic hair is all over the place. You shouldn’t have hair down here. Look how long this hair is. There’s enough so that I can twirl a bunch around my finger. With a firm yank,… it comes out in one clump. Aww shut the fuck up. Most of the time your screams of pain will turn me on, but now it’s just annoying. Another clump on the other side, and it doesn’t even look like you lost any.

“Look at me faggot. Say ‘Thank you.’ Good fag. Open your mouth. Here eat your pubic hair. Go on chew it. Nasty? I know, now swallow. And here’s… another bunch. Swallow these…. And these… And these… You’ll be permanently shaved in the near future so you won’t have to do much pubic hair eating.

“While you finish your snack, let me take you around the place and show you your duties. This is the kitchen. David told me that you went to culinary school but then dropped out. Well, you will be doing all the cooking here. Cleaning too.

“Let’s go downstairs…. This is your room, although you really don’t have privacy. Over there is your cot. Next to it is the plug you will put into your collar every night. I am notified on my app should the power level drop below 75%. That’s equivalent for not charging for a full week. Unless I just slam you with shocks, I should never get one of those notifications.

“You have a wash basin there, and your toilet is there. There’s your douche hose over there in the shower. No, I haven’t gotten around to buying it a toilet seat; the cold porcelain is fine. And I haven’t hooked up the hot water down here.

“Let’s go up to the Master bedroom…. You never climb into my bed unless I invite you in. In fact no non-sexual furniture for you either without permission. Through that door is the master bath. You will keep this place spotless. That includes licking clean my toilet. The rimseat next to it is when I want to make you toilet paper or a full toilet.

“And here’s the playroom. It’s totally soundproofed. You are going to suffer a lot in here. Screaming is encouraged. In fact, what time is it? Seven. Well we might as well start now. Get on all fours—knees and elbows. Spread those knees wide. Every night you will present yourself in this position, as you will every morning.

“Don’t get too excited. I am going to fuck you good, long, and deep. But that won’t until the end. We got a long way to go. You see, the only people who knows my affinity for preferring the boys to the girls are Frankie, me, and now you. Your brother thinks I’m adding you to my harem of fags. This is something that cannot get out. And if it does, I will know it came from you, and I want you to know the perpetual hell that will come your way.

“Tonight is a test of what you can expect, but keep in mind, tonight’s suffering will be only five hours long, much shorter than what will be if my preference is ever widely known.

“And after the paddling your ass to a welted mess, whipping your back until it turns to bloody hamburger, kicking your balls until they are swollen to twice their size, bruising up your face, and fucking you with very little lube, I may feel the need to snuggle up with you afterwards.

“But first, there’s a lot to do before we do that. Oh look your balls are just ripe for a good old fashioned full-force kick. Every night and every morning you will get one to always remind you what you are.

“Faggot right now with this kick your hell begins.”

[thesunshinebunny]

Can I ask for the dorm leaders reacting to their S / O asking them to join them in the shower for the first time???

OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH, oooookkkk, I can see what you did there dear anon.

In my great humble imagination, I'd like to take a dip in the huge bathtub that Kalim surely has in Scarabia. Let me dream, I like to relax in big bathtubs with foam, bubbles, music and incense. Before we begin, I warn you that all characters are +18.

Let’s goooooooooooooo

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

Riddle

Oh dear, you don't know what you just did.

It was a decent proposal to be honest, you just wanted to spend a quality moment with our Queen, but I think the smoke got into his head.

"Riddle, I'm going to take a shower, would you like to join me?"

Puff red as a tomato and about to explode.

You stared at him in disbelief, until you realized your words. Maybe Riddle wasn't ready for that big step.

You entered the bathroom alone, but not before asking for forgiveness.

Now you left Riddle alone with his thoughts, that's much worse.

Your intention was to take a short shower, but with the event that had just occurred, you were eating your head as the water ran down your body.

The longer it took you to get out, the more your anxiety ate you up inside. You would have panicked if you hadn't heard the door open and close almost inaudibly.

Riddle stepped into the shower, standing behind you and circling your waist.

"Please don't turn around, it's still too embarrassing for me, but I can't help but feel calm right now"

Neither of you spoke or moved the rest of the time you stayed in the shower, even forgetting to wash properly. But that 'mistake' was the beginning of multiple long shared showers.

Leona

The lazy lion here wasn’t in his plans to get into the water, much less shower. If you had asked getting into the lounge’s pool, maybe he would have considered it.

He just lay on his bed, about to fall asleep, not caring about your figure in the middle of the room. He didn't care that you were getting irritated every second.

"I don't have the need to bathe, go alone"

He heard you leave and thought he was going to sleep peacefully before you get out of the shower… until an impact on his head dislodged him.

You had thrown dirt all over his hair, spreading over his chest and the bed.

“Now you have a reason to shower. You're dirty"

I recommend you to run to the shower, because the look Leona gave you… I highly doubt that you will make it out alive.

Arriving at the threshold, Leona grabbed you by the legs, placing you on his shoulder and getting under the faucet.

This fucker turned on the shower without letting you remove your clothes first, ending up drenched.

"Ah, my mistake, I think you're a little wet. Let me take off your clothes"

The malicious smirk on his face didn’t give you confidence, and didn’t disappear even when you were both naked under the water.

“You have courage to fill me and my bed with dirt, did you want to take a shower? Now you are going to clean me"

Ah… worth it?

Azul

Did he hear you well? Do you want to take a shower with him?

Oh dear sea witch, help him, he is about to have a neurism.

Azul wasn’t against your proposal itself, he was very concerned about his physique.

And what if you don't like what you see? would you are disappointed? And if it disgusts you to look at him naked or semi naked?

Thousands of questions ran through his head, making it impossible for him to give you an answer. If you looked closely, you might even see smoke coming out of his ears from the gears in his head moving; even tears were threatening to leak out of his eyes.

You placed your hands on both sides of his face, "Come with me"

You guided him into the bathroom, placing him under the shower head. You let go of your octopus and turned on the hot water before he could say anything.

Both were burned by the touch of the hot water, even Azul wanted to get out of there, but you stopped him by wrapping your arms around him.

The warmth of your arms on his torso made his heart skip a beat. He never thought he was going to be able to have this kind of intimacy with you, and I'm not talking about nudity.

It was literally like being in the rain in the middle of the courtyard, but in solitude inside Azul's room ... rather in his bathroom ... with clothes that were beginning to cling to the body.

"Do you feel better? Do you think you're ready to take off your clothes and really give us a hot shower?"

Azul never said a yes so fast in his life.

Kalim

A shower? A simple shower? What is that? Kalim only knows how to take big baths in tubs that could be the size of a house.

Either way he said yes, don’t be alarmed.

Wasting no time, he led you to the bathroom in his room, which you could swear was the same dimensions as the bedroom, apart from being very resplendent.

Kalim was very respectful at all times, he gave you your time to undress, he wasn’t invasive and he turned around when you asked him and thus enter the water.

Our sun here took the trouble to decorate the bathtub when you weren't looking, now the whole place was decorated with incense and scented candles from the Land of Hot Sands.

Even if you walked carefully, you might come across a few gold coins on the marble floor of the tub.

All very beautiful, but I think I would be very overwhelmed with such extravagance. And that is also your case, it’s better to tell Kalim directly.

Like before, don't worry, Kalim would understand your feelings a 1000% and if closing your eyes for the entire bath time makes you feel better, then Kalim would be willing to snuggle you on his chest and wash your head himself.

He ’s a gentleman, what can I say.

But, if you feel comfortable with all that, then I advise you to start a bubble war. Who said bathing with your partner has to be serious?

"Take care of your bubble ammunition, you wouldn't want to be left with nothing and for me to tickle you"

You made a mess in the whole bathroom, be careful when you leave, there is soap and water everywhere.

Vil

Oh no no no, dear, no dear.

One does not shower with Vil, one BATHES with Vil.

Like Kalim, Vil takes his bath quite seriously. He needs to follow his skin routine very meticulously and for that he needs oils, essences and… other things that my poor ass couldn't buy all the time, even if I wanted to.

His bathtub is not as gigantic as Kalim's, but it is much larger than average.

If for any reason you are embarrassed to bathe naked, don't panic. Vil has exclusively for you a bathrobe that you can use in the water, and one for him too obviously.

Prepare for a full-body massage session. The oils are not for decoration, they are to soften the skin and Vil would give the best massages of your life, you cannot argue with me

By the way, you also wash your hair with an equally expensive shampoo. There is no middle ground here: either you take a simple shower in your bedroom, or you go big with Vil.

That reminds me, the moment you take the first bath with this Queen of beauty, you have just signed a contract (not one of Azul's) in which it stipulates that from now on, every day you will bathe with it, end of discussion.

Vil may at first have been a bit ecstatic to the idea of ​​you giving him massages with his special oil and washing his hair; he has a very meticulous routine that he adheres to to the letter and your inexperienced fingers would not do enough magic.

Buuut, nothing like a good class in the middle of the bathtub to give good results.

In summary, taking a bath with Vil is like having a full day at the Spa, completely free ... well, almost free 😉

Idia

Idia.exe stopped working.

Jokes aside, Idia stopped reacting for a few seconds, he didn't even remember to breathe.

I can't tell if Idia is one of that kind of weeb that doesn't bathe, I want to believe that he does, please make me believe that he does, I implore you

Taking a shower with Idia can be a bit… embarrassing, mostly on his part. He isn’t used to so much human contact and that you ask him for such a proposal, is to get out of his comfort zone.

Nor could I tell if, when in contact with water, Idia's hair would evaporate, like the scene in Hercules blowing Hades’s head XD.

If so, it would be a lot of fun to watch, but you would have to reassure him because he would surely be much more embarrassed.

If that's not the case, maybe he would be around as long as the intimacy last with red hair, someone at some point mentioned Idia with red hair and now I can't help but imagine it

Many caresses from your part, hugging his torso from behind. Like Riddle, he would surely not be prepared to look at you for the first time or for you to see him.

Trie to calm the waters by asking him about his new inventions.

Also avoids telling Ortho all this bamboleo. He is too pure for this type of situation, let's not fill his head with indecent images of his brother.

Malleus

What a peculiar proposal, but it will be honored without a doubt.

He may have asked Lilia for instructions to abide by your proposal as well as possible… and Big Bear Mama Lilia may have asked him thousands of questions about it, perhaps embarrassing him a bit, but we will never know.

I have a slight suspicion that Malleus has a very rococo-style bathroom, in dark colors, but not necessarily black and green, do you understand?

Did you know those old tubs, from the Marie Antoinette years? Well, Malleus has one. He also has a shower, but to be honest, I see Malleus as a passionate lover, so the shower wouldn’t be in the game.

But, if you feel uncomfortable with the bathtub because it seems too much or you can’t step in (because, let's face it, hardly a person enters in that marble piece of furniture) then Malleus has no problem using the shower.

Whatever your decision is, the moment will be magical, and I mean it very seriously.

Our dragon daddy here would invoke any kind of magic to make the evening more enjoyable, like the little lights that fly around when Malleus is about to appear or disappear.

I recommend you don’t go around telling your intentions of take a shower with Malleus, we know that a certain lemon green hair is hanging around the corridors and he wouldn’t hesitate to listen to a conversation that has his young master as it’s center.

An uncomfortable moment if Sebek enter the bathroom screaming as always, demanding an explanation as to why a simple human is bathing with his young master.

[shorkbrian]

How do u think kiribaku with an kidnapped s/o that's always fighting them tooth and nail. Like, they don't care what punishments they have or anything, they refuse to give in to them and giving them an attitude no matter what they do??

Two options man! 

Warnings - NSFW, noncon, y’all know the drill by now. Lots of nasty stuff. 

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

At that point, Kirishima and Bakugou are just going to completely ignore when their darling acts out. Pretend like it’s not even happening. They’ll just live in a deluded little fantasy.

Well, they’ll try.

It’s hard to pretend like everything’s normal and that you love them when they have to force you to do so many things.

At mealtimes Kirishima holds you in his lap, wraps his arms around you and puts a leg over yours so you can’t kick or hit, and he’ll use his other hand to hold your jaw. Bakugou will grab a spoonful of food, wait for Kiri to put pressure on your jaw (It hurts so much and the only way to avoid it is to open) and then he’ll shove the food in your mouth. Then he’s pinching your nose while Kirishima holds your jaw shut, and your only choice is to chew and swallow, or pass out.  Usually you choose to chew. 

Bakugou takes you for baths, Kirishima too afraid of accidentally drowning you. You usually get gagged so you don’t bite, and your hands get cuffed so you don't hit or scratch or pull, and then Bakugou holds you against him and washes your hair, uses a cup to scoop water up to rinse it. If you try to wiggle or move too much, the blonde will have no qualms about dunking your face under the water. You always coming up spluttering, struggling to breathe through your nose because of the gag shoved in your mouth. But the second you regain your breath you’ll try to kick Bakugou again, and down you go. Sadistic fucker likes giving you baths.

You don’t like the skimpy outfits they bought you? You decided to destroy the clothes in a fit of petulant anger? The two men sigh, mourn the expensive garments but move on, refuse to buy you any other clothes. They don’t mind that you’re naked all the time now, reduced to wearing nothing but one of their oversized t-shirts if you’re good. Try as hard as you might, you aren’t good very often.

Their punishments probably started off light at the start. Maybe a spanking, maybe a few harsh words. As the days passed, the punishments got worse. You’d spit at Bakugou and he’d tie you up, blindfold you and gag you before shoving a vibrator into you. He sat you down in the shower so he wouldn’t have to do much cleanup, and so you’d be off the bed so him and Kiri could have sexy time later. Usually they forced you to join, so you were glad to be banished, even though the vibrator got painful after a few hours.

You yelled at Kirishima, cussed him out while screaming about how they were acting like villains. Said you would never love a villain. The redhead had been so hurt, he cried as he lovingly fucked you stupid over the couch, before you got taken to the bedroom where he and Bakugou edged you for hours, not letting you cum. In the end you refused to tell them that you loved them, so Kirishima spanked you before tucking you into bed between the two of them. It had been an excruciating night, the two men grabbing your hands and mocking you each time you tried to touch yourself to cum. Eventually Kirishima got aroused by how desperate you were and finally let you cum while he fucked you up against Bakugou.

Honestly man, I don’t know how long their darling could hold out. Their punishments just will get worse and worse and worse.

OR

Bakugou and Kirishima like punishing you. They love your fighting spirit; it’s one of the reasons they fell in love with you.

Bakugou is obviously a sadist, loves watching you cry during his punishments, loves fighting with you. Likes the attitude you throw in his face because that means he gets to hurt you.

Kirishima likes comforting you after, rarely participates in the more extreme punishments unless they’re based on fucking. And whoooo boi, are a lot of them based around fucking. Kirishima still likes comforting you after, when you’re blissed out and tired, too pliant to fight him.

Bakugou doesn’t ever plan on “breaking” you. He doesn’t want a compliant little darling that’ll do whatever he says. He wants someone who can deal with the worst side of himself, someone who can spit insults and curse words as they're being flogged, someone who can take whatever he gives.

Kirishima doesn’t want you to be compliant either. Being with Bakugou has turned him into a bit of a sadist, and he’d be lying if he says he doesn’t want you to fight them anymore. Especially because he gets to manhandle you like a doll. If you refuse to move after they ask you too, he gets to pick you up and squeeze you against his chest, and you can’t do anything about it.

If you try to run away from them in the house, he’ll easily pin you down before throwing you over his shoulder, swatting your backside with his giant palm as he carries you up to the bedroom for some “punishment” (Wink WOnk surprise its just rough sex)

Bakugou likes humiliating you, time and time again. Likes to call you a dirty whore as he chokes you out, pisses on you before making you say thank you. He enjoys commanding you to lick his shoes, or lick his hand, or his armpits just so he can watch the way your face wrinkles in disgust. If you refuse, well, you either lick or your tongue gets ripped out.

Both of the men truly do love you, in their owtwo scenan sick, twisted way. But it’s more about their love for what they can do to you, and their love for what you can take.

If you ever do break down, they’ll probably enjoy piecing you back together again, building you up just to start the process all over again.

Good luck.

[everlarkficexchange]

Clubbing 101

Written by @alliswell21

Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rating: Explicit. NSFW. 

Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻‍♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed. 

Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it. 

Thank you all! 

KPKPKPKPKP

It starts with a harmless ranting. 

“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.

The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet. 

I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest. 

 “I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”

My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”

“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug. 

The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles. 

“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!” 

“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place. 

I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”

“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”

I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music. 

The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.” 

I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!” 

“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”

“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze. 

He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club. 

He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.

“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.” 

“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?” 

“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,” 

Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”

I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye. 

I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I lost a bet against a colleague.”

“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?” 

The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence. 

I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”

“How so?” He beams. 

“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!” 

“Am I that transparent?” 

“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!” 

We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat. 

“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful. 

I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle. 

He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”

I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether. 

Peeta gives a full belly laugh.

I really do like his laugh! 

“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures. 

Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.

“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”

“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily. 

He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead. 

I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme. 

I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray. 

The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch. 

Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat. 

I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life! 

Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it  again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt. 

Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on. 

I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise. 

He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly. 

“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply. 

Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together. 

I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it! 

There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have. 

“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door. 

There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me. 

The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth. 

He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly. 

He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.

“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?” 

“Okay,” I gasp.

Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim! 

“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs. 

“Yes… I’ll allow it!”

His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!

Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.

Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!

Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own. 

Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up. 

But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants. 

He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.

“Fuck!” I squeak. 

My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.

When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter! 

“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door. 

Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.

He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.

It’s too much.

I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates. 

Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve. 

I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor. 

All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it. 

“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress. 

It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!

We both chuckle. 

He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again. 

“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine. 

He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine. 

He moans. 

“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans. 

He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.

“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob. 

“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.

I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him. 

Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet. 

I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.

“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”

“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!” 

His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.

He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head. 

“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep. 

“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me. 

I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more… 

When was the last time I had sex? 

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m

Not sure if I can,” 

I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive! 

“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.

“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling. 

I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off. 

“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust. 

I squeak; he grunts.. 

Peeta holds me by the waist,  “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.

I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?

His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts. 

I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe. 

“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”

One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.

I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body. 

“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still. 

Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.

We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.

Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath. 

I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”

“Good,” he sighs. 

Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.

I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean. 

“Yeah,” 

“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully. 

He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today? 

“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.

I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.” 

Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”

My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.

“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“

My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!

My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?” 

“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”

I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.

“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”

I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.

“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—” 

While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.

Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”

I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely. 

Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine. 

“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips. 

“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time. 

“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…” 

Peeta nods again, looking disappointed. 

I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?

Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door. 

Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”

“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.

“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”

I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is. 

>>—————> * <————<<

It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep. 

I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily. 

I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave. 

It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking. 

The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.

“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!” 

A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.

I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.  

Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself. 

“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!” 

My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint. 

“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?” 

Ugh! 

He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.

Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with? 

But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!

Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit! 

Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?! 

Oh shit! 

Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours… 

Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach. 

I realize, I’m jealous!

My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims! 

Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading. 

I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!” 

I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”

There are quiet little giggles all over the place. 

Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”

“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.” 

“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps. 

I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.

Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.

Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night… 

Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead. 

I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta? 

I scoffed at the thought.

To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?” 

Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor. 

Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings. 

Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening. 

I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.

“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me. 

His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met. 

I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember. 

He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—

I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!

Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly. 

I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl. 

My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally. 

He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket. 

How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master? 

I shake my head, cursing my horny brain. 

Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first. 

I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention. 

“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“

“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?” 

Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago. 

“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”

“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”

“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly. 

“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.

“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”

“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!” 

Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”

I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder. 

“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful. 

I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“

“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.

I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles. 

“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”

Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly. 

“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”

“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”

“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?” 

“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests. 

I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time. 

“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.

“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,” 

“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?” 

He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”

“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”

We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse. 

“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly. 

Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.” 

Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”

I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says. 

“How old are you?” 

“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable. 

“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.

“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.

It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”

Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”

I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him. 

“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”

“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?” 

He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“

I shake my head, vehemently. 

Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me. 

“Please… stay with me…” 

Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly. 

I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”

He stares at me. 

I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow. 

“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”

He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?” 

Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”

I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really. 

Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk. 

Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.

“Humor me?” I cajole. 

He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.” 

I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together. 

I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”

Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally. 

I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?” 

It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern. 

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”

My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”

His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”

“Next time?”

I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.

I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.

I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.

Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”

I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”

Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.

I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”

Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”

“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically. 

“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes. 

“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?” 

I wait for him to nod.

“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?” 

“Mmm no, never had. Why?”

Aw shit! 

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”

Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern. 

“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“

“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all. 

“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”

“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle. 

After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out. 

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Every Breath You Take - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki has been stalking you for weeks, and you have no idea why. One night, he decides to claim what is his.

Characters: Loki x female reader

Words: ~6300

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit language, stalking, dub-con and/or non-con smut (depending where you draw the line between those), breaking and entering, choking/breath play, fear kink, power dynamics, humiliation, praise kink, basically Loki being a dominant mother fucker

Author’s Note: Major song inspiration for this is “Every Breath You Take” by Devil + Winter. Yes, I know it’s a remake of an older song, but I looove that specific cover so much.

This might officially be my favorite oneshot I’ve written thus far, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Every Breath You Take

Glancing at the clock, you puffed out a breath at the late hour. It might be Friday, but you had refused to leave the office until all weekly projects were completed by their deadline, as well as a few extras that you wanted to finish ahead of schedule. You had snagged a government job, and there was no way in hell that you were going to slack off or cause anyone to second guess whether you were the most qualified choice. 

Sending off an email to your supervisor with the attached completed work, you gave a triumphant grin before logging out of the computer system, grabbing your purse, and hightailing it for the elevators. Thoughts of a long, hot bath followed by curling up on the couch with delivery pizza and a sappy movie were beckoning, and after a week full of working early mornings and even later evenings, you deserved it. 

Exiting the elevator and crossing the lobby, you waved and said goodnight to the evening security guard. He was unsurprised to see you leaving so late and wished you a good weekend. The sun had set hours ago, but the street was still semi-lit from the city lights, sections of darkness broken by circles of lamp light, car headlights, and the muted glow of lit windows. 

And yet, he still managed to hide within the shadows. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed, if it weren’t for the fact that he had been an unfailing constant lately. Each time you exited the office, even if it was just to run down the street to the nearest food truck, he was there. Standing right across the street from your work building, intense stare fixed in your direction, tonight was no exception. 

The first time it had happened, you had been sure you were hallucinating. Especially because no one else seemed to notice the tall figure, pedestrians passing by with no acknowledgement. It was as if he didn’t allow anyone to see him. Just you. 

Habit made you glance across the street again, and sure enough, the shadowed outline of his lean form was still waiting between the patches of light. It was as if he had molded them to his own benefit, wrapping the night around himself so that only the inhuman flicker of his eyes glinted at you out of the darkness. 

Loki, the God of Mischief, had been silently stalking you for weeks. And you had absolutely no idea why. 

Starting down the street, you felt his presence as a prickle on the back of your neck. He was there as you walked a block over to the bus stop, and it was only when you were safely on board and in a seat that the sensation disappeared. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, knowing he was gone. The reprieve was short-lived, since you also knew that he’d already be there when you got home. 

Sure enough, once the bus exited the city and stopped near your block, the sensation of being followed returned. You walked quickly up the front path of your suburban home, hands shaking slightly as they fit the key into the front door. He never came too close, never followed you across the threshold, but the idea that he could made your mouth run dry. Once you were inside with the door closed and deadbolted, you went around double checking all the windows and the back door. Yep, still locked. 

Peeking out between the blinds in the living room, your eyes scanned the moonlit yard, looking for movement. You didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there, lurking. For the millionth time you contemplated reporting him, but also for the millionth time you had no idea who exactly to tell. It wasn’t like you were highly-ranked enough to have Mr. Fury or the Avengers on speed dial. And the police would think you were having a mental break, since it seemed as though Loki could cloak himself from being noticed, even when in the middle of a crowd. 

You had just started working for S.H.I.E.L.D a couple of months ago, as a low-level data interpreter. To say you were at the bottom of the totem pole was accurate, but you were prepared to work hard to elevate yourself within the organization. Sure, you’d never be an actual agent or spy, but there were upper level positions within your department that would one day have your name on them. You weren’t about to jeopardize those possibilities by creating waves while still in your probationary period, especially since you doubted your by-the-book, no-nonsense supervisor would do anything other than laugh in your face if you tried to tell him that a friggin god had chosen to follow you around. Hell, even your own family would probably assume you were overworked and delusional.  

Which meant that you were stuck dealing with the issue of Loki yourself...and so far your grand master plan had been trying to ignore him in the fervent hopes that he would get bored and leave you alone. 

Though he was impossible to totally ignore, you had made some progress with not lying in bed awake all night, staring at the ceiling and fearing the moment he’d decide to come inside the house. You still did this for about half of the night, but hey, progress. When he had shown no interest in crossing that boundary, you wondered if you were supposed to feel more terrified at his lack of intent, or safe with the knowledge that he was lurking around the house like your own personal security system. 

And while you had at first been too scared to leave the office for lunch knowing he was out there, after a week of huddling in your cubicle you had been furious with yourself. It had been a piss-poor day anyways, and you had barely made it to an 8am meeting on time thanks to forgetting to set your alarm the night before (probably because you had been too busy stressing over the god lurking outside). Deciding that enough was enough, you had walked outside with head held high, ready to march down the street to the nearby deli. He had been there, of course he had, piercing gaze immediately zeroed in on you the moment you exited the building’s doors. 

Lack of sleep and frustration making you feel bold, you had actually stopped and glared black at him. It was the first time you had been assertive enough to acknowledge him without any visible fear, and you were damn proud of yourself. 

That pride had quickly turned to ash when the corners of his mouth curved slowly upwards, lips parting to showcase a sadistic smirk that caused your heart to drop into your ass, legs doing a 180 and practically sprinting you back into the building. Turns out you hadn’t been that hungry, after all. You had left the office for lunch a few times since then, but always kept your eyes pointed down at the sidewalk, never daring to nonverbally challenge him again.

Now, after checking for the umpteenth time that all the blinds were closed, you went through with your evening plans, the hot bath relaxing tense muscles and greasy pizza filling your soul as much as your stomach. And when you crawled into bed a few hours later and drifted off to sleep, you almost forgot about the powerful god who was stalking your every move. Almost…

~  ~  ~

Startling awake a few hours later, you sat up in bed and grabbed for the bedside lamp, flicking it on. Eyes squinting at the sudden brightness, you scanned the room with a pounding heart, relief washing over you at seeing that the corners were empty. It was just a dream, you soothed. It wasn’t real…

Said dream had been filled with flashing green eyes, lips twisted into a cruel grin, and a large, powerful form pinning you to the bed. 

Licking bone-dry lips, you got out of bed and headed down to the kitchen for a glass of water. You didn’t turn on any other lights, both because you knew the layout of the house well enough to navigate it in the dark, and in hopes that your movement wouldn’t alert a certain visitor who might still be in the vicinity. 

The microwave clock showed that it was a little after 3am, which meant you had only gotten a couple hours of sleep before the raven-haired god had once again disrupted your life. There were enough windows with moonlight streaming in through the blinds that you had no trouble navigating the kitchen. Not wanting to open the fridge and risk him seeing the light, you grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and went over to the sink, glancing out the small window above it but seeing only an empty yard. 

The glass was half full when you felt every hair on your body stand up in warning. All those blinds had been shut earlier. You had checked them multiple times before going to bed. Your eyes flew back up, breath catching in your throat at the sight. Only seconds ago the view of the yard had been empty, but now…

Loki was standing mere feet away, on the other side of the glass. Moonlight lit up his features, the pale unblemished skin giving off an eerie glow as his emerald eyes burned into you through what, suddenly, felt like a pathetic excuse of a barrier. Shock and fear made your suddenly shaky fingers loosen their grip on the fragile water glass, causing it to fall into the sink and shatter. The noise was like a gunshot to your frozen state; you jumped and screamed in alarm before realizing the sound wasn’t from the window. Eyes jerked down to the sink, where pieces of glass lay scattered and sparkling in the dim moonlight. When you looked back up again, Loki was gone. 

Suddenly, a wave of anger flowed through you, heating your blood and overtaking the fear long enough for you to make what, looking back, was a really fucking stupid decision.

You were so done with his shit, done with living in constant hypervigilance and fear because some god had decided to play with you like a bug in a jar. Without allowing yourself to fully process the stupidity of what you were about to do, you went over to the back door, opened it, and stormed out onto the porch. 

Breath puffing with adrenaline, you glanced to your right, where Loki had previously been standing. Instead, there was only empty air. This served to piss you off more, as it was obvious that he was just toying with you. Well, you were done with the games. 

“Listen up, asshole!” you shrieked at the empty yard. “I don’t know what your problem is, but-” you cut off abruptly as logic finally caught up to anger. Your brain was frantically waving a big, red ‘this is a really stupid idea’ sign and telling you to get back inside. 

The flames of rage quickly fizzled out, replaced by an icy wave of fear when the asshole in question suddenly appeared in the middle of the yard, seemingly out of thin air. He stood silent and still as the night, all-black Asgardian clothing molded to his tall and proud form so that he blended in with the shadows.

You felt, more than saw, his eyes trail slowly down over your body, expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. You were suddenly very aware that you were only wearing a lavender tank top and grey sleep shorts, bare toes curling against the cool wood of the porch. The sheer vulnerability of your situation kicked-started the flight response, and you took a slow step backwards, not wanting to lose sight of what your survival instinct classified as a wild and unpredictable predator. 

The plan failed instantly when Loki burst forward, black cape fluttering out around his form as he strode across the yard. You weren’t sure if he looked more like a fallen angel or avenging demon, but the effect was enough to jolt your body into motion as you turned and sprinted for the still-open back door. 

Crossing the threshold, you felt a small spark of relief, thinking how he never came inside, that you just needed to get the door closed and…

He hit the wood with such force that you were thrown into the kitchen, stumbling back against the opposite wall when he stepped inside. His gaze zeroed in on you as he lifted one booted foot and kicked the door shut.

The loud slam made you jump, vocal cords suddenly coming back online as you opened your mouth to scream. He moved so fast that you didn’t even have time to consider fleeing, his hand cutting off the scream before it even left your throat. He slammed you into the wall, his palm so large that it covered the entire bottom half of your face and effectively cut off your oxygen. His other arm caged you in, palm flat against the wall right beside your head, making you feel utterly trapped. Eyes widening with terror, you clawed at his hand, fighting to breathe. You might as well have been an insect trying to stop an incoming shoe with all the difference your struggles made. 

“You will be silent. Attempt to scream again, and I will choke the life out of you. Understood?” 

His low, dark voice made you shiver with fear, but you were so desperate for air that you would agree to almost anything at this point, and so nodded frantically up at him. His eyes narrowed for a few moments, as if assessing your reliability, before sliding his hand down so that it lightly encircled your throat and anchored you to the wall.

Gasping in blessed oxygen, you panted up at him with heaving breaths, eyes shifting back and forth as you tried, and failed, to come up with an escape plan. If you thought he had been intimidating from a distance these past few weeks, it was nothing compared to the vision of him up close. He practically buzzed with power as his lean, muscular frame towered over you, the ebony-clad chest and shoulders blocking any view of the kitchen and back door. The fingers at your throat flexed slightly in silent warning, as if he could read your thoughts and was reminding you that escape was futile. 

You looked up at him, still in shock and trying to process the fact that a literal god was in your kitchen. And not just any god, but one who had terrorized your city, made a crowd kneel at his feet, and declared his intent to rule the planet. His arrogance was legendary, his powers terrifying. And you were so, so fucked. 

Glancing up, you took in his face, semi-shadowed in the moonlit kitchen. Flawless porcelain skin showcased features sharp enough to cut glass, your eyes scanning over his sternly clenched jaw and lips pressed into a tight grimace. They gave off a coldness that sent a shiver down your spine, but then you looked up past his straight, regal nose and found the blazing heat of his gaze. He was watching you intently, those cruel lips curving up the slightest bit at your obvious perusal.

Horrified to have been caught staring, your eyes quickly lowered, taking in the expensive fabric that covered his tall, powerful body. You felt him bend down, every muscle tensed in fearful anticipation when his face stopped right beside your own. You could practically feel the effort he made to reign in his strength, the capability for violence coiled tightly right below the surface of his skin. Still too scared to lift your eyes, you heard as he slowly inhaled through his nose before exhaling through his mouth, so that warm breath ghosted over the side of your neck and caused goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. 

Holy crap, had he just sniffed you?!

He gave a dark chuckle at the noticeable shudder that ran through your body in response to his actions. The hand at your throat moved up to tightly grip your chin, tipping it upwards until your eyes fluttered up as well and were ensnared by his gaze. 

He was taking you in, noting your eyes dilated with fear and mouth slightly parted as your chest heaved to take in panicked breaths. He seemed to catalog all of your reactions with a piercing intelligence, as if storing away the knowledge for later. 

“Do you fear me, human?”

The low, rumbled words shouldn’t have been enticing, but you’d be lying to deny the stirring low in your gut that resulted from his voice whispering in your ear. It actually took a few seconds for the question itself to filter through your brain. Unable to nod with his fingers still gripping your chin, you instead gave a soft, breathy, “Yes,” which caused him to smirk.

“Good girl.”

Okay, now that definitely caused a reaction, your body heating up at the mixture of fear and praise he provided. Dear god, what is wrong with you?! Scream, fight, do something!

As if he could read the thoughts in your gaze, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Ah ah, little one. You’re not getting away until I allow it.” 

Attempting one last ounce of bravery, you asked in a pleading voice, “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes lit up, as if he were impressed that you dared to question his motives. The fingers at your chin loosened slightly, his eyes watching as he moved a thumb slowly back and forth across your lower lip.

“This planet is exceedingly uninspiring, and I have found humans to be particularly boring. So I had to obtain entertainment in one form or another, didn’t I?”

Well that sure wasn’t the answer you had been expecting. All the weeks of following you around, scaring you to within an inch of your life as you tried to figure out what reasons he had for singling you out, and it was all because he was bored?

You were grateful to feel a spark of anger return at his callous response and utter disregard for what he had put you through these past weeks. Looking back later, you’d think that he had verbally poked at you on purpose, had wanted you to showcase a bit more fight to add to his entertainment of the situation. 

Through gritted teeth, you said, “If we’re so boring, then why waste your time following me around?”

His fingers trailed back down over your throat, and for a moment you thought that your words had been a fatal mistake, that this was when he decided you weren’t worth the trouble and strangled you. Instead, his fingers flitted over the pulse in your neck, pausing there as if to measure its beating, before gliding further down and across your delicate collarbone. 

“I said humans were boring.” The tips of his long, cool fingers slid underneath the right strap of your tank top, pushing it towards your shoulder. “I didn’t say that you were boring.” 

Shocked into silence, you felt the fabric being dragged down over your arm, the neckline lowering with it so that the top swells of your breasts were visible. You felt like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s crosshairs, too scared to move outside the involuntary trembling that started in your knees and traveled up the length of your legs and torso. 

“Please,” you whispered, staring up at him helplessly, beseeching him to let you go. Wanting this to all just be a dream in which he would suddenly disappear and you would wake up in your warm bed. 

“Begging already?” he taunted. “But we’ve barely begun.”

With that, he grabbed the neckline of the tank top and yanked, the fabric no match for his inhuman strength as he literally tore it from your body. The cool air hitting your bare nipples was what thrust you into action, as you reached up to shove against his shoulders with all your might, hoping to make him stumble back long enough so that you could dart to the side and make a run for it. 

Instead, you might as well have pushed against a stone wall, even the adrenaline-laced strength not making him retreat so much as an inch. The only reaction your action caused was him to huff out a dark laugh of amusement before he flung the tatters of the tank top to the side and leered down at your exposed flesh. 

You watched, wide-eyed, as a large and surprisingly warm palm cupped your breast, testing the weight of it. The whimper that left your throat was purely out of fear, you told yourself, and had nothing to do with the sensation of him pinching your nipple between two of those slender and graceful, yet powerfully masculine, fingers. 

“What delightful noises you make, pet. I’m eager to learn how many others I can wring from your lips.”

Oh god, this couldn’t be happening. The whole situation was too surreal, too overwhelming. Your brain couldn’t compute all the mixed signals it was getting from the rest of your body. Thighs trembled with fear and the desire to run, but your traitorous nipples were hard as stone, and not just from the chilly air. 

Loki noticed as well, of course he did. He was a master of lies, and of reading them in others, so there was no way your body was going to fool him. A pleased look lit up his eyes, and the emerald blaze was too much, causing your own to squeeze tightly shut when he leaned in close. 

The words were whispered from mere inches away, and they brought with them a pang of arousal that shocked you to the core. “Don’t fight it, girl. You were made to be ruled, to be owned. And I’m going to make you mine.”

You gave a little sob in response, but didn’t argue, didn’t struggle. Not even when the hand at your breast continued its pleasurable torment while his other hand left the wall to trail down over your ribs and waist until it met the top of your sleep shorts. The tips of his fingers hooked inside the fabric, and with one graceful movement he shoved both shorts and panties down over your hips, so that they fell in a pile at your feet and left your body completely bare. 

“Step out of them,” he commanded, fingers dancing softly along your hip bone. 

Frozen with indecision, your breath came in audible gasps as the mixture of fear, anxiety, and burgeoning desire made your head spin. The headstrong and independent mentality that was so self-ingrained insisted that you fight him to the very end. But there was another part of you, a hidden and previously unknown part, that wanted to do as he said. Wanted to give in and submit. 

Before you could find out which side would win, the hand at your breasts leapt back up to your throat, the movement so quick that you barely had time to register it before your oxygen was cut off. Eyes flew back open in panic, but before you could even attempt to struggle, the long fingers of his other hand caught and held your wrists tightly together, effectively trapping you once again.

His face lowered directly in front of your own, his straight, white teeth bared as he snarled, “I said step. Out. Of. Them.”

At this point, you’d do just about anything he asked if it meant being able to breathe, and so obediently lifted first one foot and then the other out of the shorts and underwear. He used his own booted foot to shove the fabric so that it slid across the floor off to the side, but didn’t yet let up his grip on your throat. 

Your vision was growing spotty from lack of oxygen as you choked and squirmed in his grip. He looked delighted at this, his gaze dropping down to watch your body’s involuntary twists and jerks before lifting back to your face. 

“You’re a willful little human, I’ll give you that. But from now on, when I give an order, I expect you to obey. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded desperately, and when that didn’t seem to satisfy him, sputtered out a barely audible, “Yes”. 

“Sorry, pet, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again.” 

Certain you were about to pass out, you put all remaining energy into gurgling out another attempt of the word. It must’ve been enough, because he whispered ‘good girl’ at the same time his grip loosened, allowing you to cough and gag as your lungs frantically filled with air. 

His hand stayed in place this time, splayed across your throat in silent warning, as his other palm released your wrists, coasted down the front of your body and, without any hesitation, delved between your thighs. When you tried to close them, he used his own leg to wedge yours back open, pressing his erection into your hip and making it clear where this was heading. 

Those cruel yet seductive fingertips ran along your slit before dipping into the humiliatingly apparent wetness and spreading it up to your clit. He gave a hum of male satisfaction at your pleasured gasp, exploring your body in a way that made both shame and desire heat your skin. The tip of his finger teased at your wet opening, barely dipping inside. Your hips bucked, and you didn’t know whether it was an attempt to get away or move closer. 

His voice was more raspy than before, when he asked in a condescending tone, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, my pretty little girl?”

You hoped he didn’t notice the way your pussy clenched onto the tip of his finger when he called you ‘his’, but judging by his groan, he had. 

Slow, achingly slow, he pushed his finger inside you, the long digit reaching places that your own hands never could. Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, baring your throat to him, as desire officially overtook the will to escape. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he cooed, the thumb of his other hand tracing over the rapid pulse that beat in the side of your throat. “Show how you belong to me.”

His words should’ve scared you, and they did in a far-off and hazy kind of way, but you were more focused on how he was pushing a second finger inside you. He rubbed them with knowledgeable precision against the sensitive front wall, making you cry out when they found your g-spot. And when his thumb also started rubbing quick little circles on your clit, you decided that maybe belonging to him wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. 

He continued that way, relentless, his breaths coming in heavy puffs against your cheek as he finger fucked you roughly until the tension between your thighs coiled into a tight spring of need. Whimpering, you dimly realized that your hands were grasping desperately at his arms and your thighs had fallen open wide of their own accord. 

“There you go, pet. Take your pleasure, be a good little girl.” The hand at your throat tightened slightly, just enough to make you have to work a bit harder to draw breath. “And then, I’m going to fuck you...and I’m not going to be gentle about it.”

The orgasm slammed into you unexpectedly, and it was unlike any you had previously experienced. The combination of his praise and threat, along with the motions of both his hands, sent your body soaring. Your cries were hoarse and strained from his grip at your throat, and your legs shook as you came all over his hand, his eyes flaring down at you with delight as your body convulsed against him. 

He removed the hand from between your thighs, lifting his wet fingers to your lips and ordering you to open them. Still drunk off the orgasm, you did so without hesitation. 

“Suck them clean. Taste your own desperation,” he purred, teeth nipping sharply at your ear as he ground his hips against you.  

Once he was satisfied with your work, he removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop before reaching down to his crotch and starting to undo the fabric. You watched in silent awe as he removed just enough of the unearthly clothing to release his thick cock, the head a dark red and already glistening with precum. Despite your recent orgasm, you still felt a bit of apprehension, knowing it was going to be a tight fit. He gave it a few firm strokes with his fist before he grabbed your hips and twirled you around so that you were facing the wall, his feet pushing your legs open even wider, spreading you out for him. 

It felt so taboo, his still fully-dressed, muscular body pressing into your naked back, his bare erection bobbing between your spread thighs. He was so tall that when the hand at your throat pushed upward, forcing your head to tip back until your face was parallel with the ceiling, he was able to lean down over you and make eye contact. You tried to look away, but his fingers pressed into your windpipe in retaliation. 

“Eyes on me, girl. I want to see that little look of pain in your eyes when I press into you.”

Your eyes widened at that, causing him to chuckle. The tip of his cock notched at your opening, but he didn’t press forward, drawing out the tension of the moment. 

“Who do you belong to?” he taunted. 

Licking your lips with both anticipation and nervousness, you whispered, “You.” 

He made a deep, approving noise in his throat. “Yes. Say it. Say my name.” 

“Loki,” you answered with a cry, as he started to press his cock forward, your body twisting as it struggled to adjust to the wide head. 

“No no, don’t tense up,” he hissed. “Take it. Take it all.” 

With that, he pushed inside you with one long, slow thrust. You felt the slight burn as your body stretched to accommodate every thick inch. It must’ve shown in your face, because his lips curled into a smirk at the same time as he groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your back. 

“Mmm, you suffer so beautifully for me. Look at you, taking all of my cock like a good little girl.”

The bastard knew what his words did to you, panting out a chuckle when he felt you involuntarily clench around him in response. Your hands were braced against the wall, back arched as he grasped your throat and hip with his hands and impaled you on his cock. You felt so full, so utterly overtaken when he ground his hips into your ass, as if to see just how deep he could go. 

He withdrew slowly before thrusting back in, quick and harsh, causing you to cry out with the sharp pleasure-pain. He did it again, pulling his hips back agonizingly slow until the tip of his cock was resting at your entrance. He paused for a moment before pushing back inside, as if to recreate that initial claiming thrust. After doing this about half a dozen times, he stopped teasing and set up a steady and deep rhythm, each thrust sending sparks throughout your entire body. 

Your eyes had started to flutter shut, but his hand cutting off your air caused them to reopen and focus up at him, his chiseled features hovering over you in the dim light, gaze searing down into your own. This time, you didn’t panic, didn’t tug at his arm, just stared up at him with desire-glazed eyes and let him do as he wished. You could practically feel his approval of your surrender, his fingers loosening long enough for you to draw a few breaths before tightening again. 

“You’re so pretty like this, surrendering to me,” he growled through bared teeth, once again letting up on your throat so that you could gasp in air and let it out with a moan. “Every breath you take is mine. Every gasp from your lips, every flutter of your pulse...it’s because I allow it. And now, I’m going to fill up this cunt and claim it as mine.”

Your whimper was cut off as his hand tightened once more, hips picking up the pace as he thrust brutally into you, his balls smacking your clit and fingers pressing so deeply into your hip that you knew there would be bruises to match the ones at your throat. The edges of your vision were starting to become fuzzy when he let up for the last time, his hand lowering from your neck to run over your breasts, tweaking the nipples until you whined before continuing downward. 

When his fingertips zeroed in on your clit, you let out a pleading noise which, under other circumstances, would’ve made you ashamed at how needy it sounded. You weren’t sure what exactly you were begging for, but you did know that he was the only one who could give it to you. The harsh bite of his cock dragging against your sensitive inner walls combined with the fast and skilled movements of his fingers drove you up to the edge, forehead dropping to the wall as you moaned uncontrollably, his answering grunts sending shivers through you. 

The hand gripping your hip came up to wrap in your hair, pulling your head back so that you were once again looking up at him, and you couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most glorious creatures you had ever seen. His features looked as wrecked as you felt, cords in his neck standing out with stark relief in his pale, moonlit skin as his jaw clenched tightly, eyes focused unwaveringly on you. It was one of the most intensely intimate moments of your life, his piercing gaze breaking you wide open with nowhere to hide. 

You started shaking uncontrollably, body balanced right on the knife’s edge of pleasure and wanting so badly to fall over into the abyss. His lips twisted knowingly as your pussy started to flutter around his cock. 

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me.” The hand between your legs pressed in harder, moved faster. “Come for your god.”

As if the words were the final push your body needed, the orgasm flowed through you. It wasn’t as volatile a punch as the first one; instead, it drowned you in waves of blissfully intense pleasure that drew soft cries from your lips, the sound mingling with his own strangled groan. Leaning down, hand still fisted in your hair, he bit into your shoulder as he came. You felt his warm cum filling you as he did just as he promised, and claimed you as his. 

Mind floating from the high of your orgasm and body trembling with little aftershocks, you felt his hips slow then still, his mouth moving from your shoulder to lick a trail of sweat that was running down the side of your neck. Whimpering, you couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back into his, grinding onto the softening cock that was still buried deep. 

He hummed with approval, his hands running up over your sides, tracing your body with possession for a few long moments as both of your bodies calmed. Taking your earlobe gently between his teeth, he whispered, “You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose. Is that clear, kitten?” 

Part of you wanted to deny him, wanted to find the strength to fight back, now that the orgasmic stupor was starting to lift. Instead, your body responded of its own accord, head nodding with submission. 

His lips pressed softly to your temple, making you gasp at the gentle touch. You realized dazedly that it was the first kiss he’d given you all night. 

“Good girl.”

The words were said a moment before his body moved away, his cock slipping wetly from your body. The cool air hitting your back made you immediately miss his body heat. You turned around, unsure what to do or say next…

But he was gone.

The back door was slightly ajar from him disappearing into the night, leaving you standing there, naked and shivering, his cum starting to trickle down the inside of your thigh. Grabbing your shorts and panties, you put them on before finding the tatters of your tank top and holding it to the front of your chest. Walking over to the door, you closed it with a click that sounded unnaturally loud in the empty kitchen. 

You went around to the windows and re-closed the blinds, stopping at the last one to glance out into the yard. It was empty, completely undisturbed, but you knew he hadn’t gone far...and that he wouldn’t be gone for long. 

Leaving the broken glass in the sink to deal with in the morning, you grabbed another one, filled it with water, and headed for the staircase. As you tucked back into bed, body already sore in places that made your skin heat with the memory, you thought back over his final words. 

You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose. 

You wondered when he’d return to make good on his promise...and as you drifted off to sleep, tried to ignore the dark part of you that hoped it would be soon.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Afterword: This is meant to be only a one shot. I know, I know, I left it very open-ended. But I like to leave something to the imagination, so y’all can create your own fantasy idea of what might happen to “you” next ;)

[221bshrlocked]

okay but if you ever feel like writing fluffy smut of Pedro or any of his characters about reader being stressed and anxious about work and life, PLEASE do

ya gal is at her limit and Pedro looks like he gives good hugs and soothing touches

anon baby sweetheart I hope you’re feeling better and you're absolutely right, Pedro looks like he gives the best fucking hugs out there. And I hope this little drabble makes you feel better. I picked Jack because I haven’t given him enough attention lately and because I think he’s so darn smooth and soft. NSFW writing below the cut so tread with caution my little darlings.’

He noticed your sour mood before you even made it into the car. Tapping softly on the steering wheel, Jack watched as you huffed and muttered something under your breath before slamming the car door. He said nothing, leaning over and leaving a quick kiss on your cheek before pulling out of the parking spot he was in. Neither of you said anything as he navigated the night streets, and you tried your hardest to keep it together but sure enough, tears started rolling down your cheeks as soon as he took your hand in his and raised it to his lips. Jack could tell work has been difficult lately and as much as he wanted to remind you that all of that paperwork and those projects were not worth your sanity, he didn’t, instead keeping quiet and massaging your fingers until he reached his place.

You didn’t bother fighting with Jack when he didn’t stop by your place to pick up some change of clothes, blindly following him through the elevators and into his penthouse while trying not to sniffle like a little kid.

“Come’ere little darling,” Jack threw your bag onto his couch and pulled you into his arms, softly shushing you as cried out your frustrations against his shirt. He rubbed your back and kissed your forehead when you started shaking against him, apologizing for not being able to do more.

“I’m sorry baby...it’s goin’ to be alright. I promise it’s just a bad week. Old Jack is goin’ to take care of you okay? Will you let me do that little darling? You gonna let me make you feel better?”

“I- I’m s-sorry Ja-ack. It’s just-”

“You got nothing to apologize for sweetheart. It’s those fuckers at work...ain’t your fault baby. Come on, I know what’ll make you feel better.” Jack wiped the tears away and smiled at you, waiting until you returned his expression before leaning down and swallowing your sighs. You instantly melted against him, holding onto his wrists as he continued to suck on your tongue.

“That’s it baby, forget it all. Focus on me...” He whispered against your jaw as he pushed you towards his room. You trusted him, knowing very well he would never let you fall. Jack smiled when he saw how responsive you were to his touches, pretending it wasn’t turning him on how much power you allowed him to have on you. He walked you to his large bathroom, telling you to start stripping as he prepared the bath for you. You turned away from him and looked at yourself in the mirror, almost frowning when you saw how messy you looked.

“None of that darling...you look fucking gorgeous.” It was always amazing how easily he read you even if he wasn’t even looking at you and you almost laughed when he turned back and told you that you were taking too long. “Come on love,” Jack worked on your pants as you unbuttoned your shirt, and he shook his head when he took your heels off and watched as you almost kicked him in the face as you tried to get rid of them.

Jack looked up at you and maintained eye contact as he slowly rolled your panties down your thighs, not bothering to hold back as he shoved the fabric into his face and breathed in your scent.

“Always so goddamn sweet...”

You rolled your eyes at him and threw your bra into his face, laughing when he stood up immediately and wrapped his arms around you. When you tried to take his shirt off, Jack grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them behind your back.

“Nuh uh, tonight’s bout you honey. Let me touch you, make you feel good...worship you like the goddess you are. Wanna pleasure you sugar, show you how much I’ve missed kissin’ every inch of your skin.” Jack almost laughed when your knees buckled against him but he didn’t want you to misunderstand so he swallowed down his pride and moved you to the bath.

He held your hand as you stepped into the hot water, not bothering to hide his actions as he readjusted himself through his pants. A minute in your arms and he was already as hard as a fucking rock but he wasn’t going to be selfish tonight. No, he was going to focus on your pleasure.

“God Jack the water feels so good.” You moaned as you slowly laid down and rested your head against the edge of the tub. “Relax for me darlin’.” Jack cooed in your ears as he grabbed the bath sponge and dipped it into the hot water before trailing it down the side of your face and your forehead to get you to shut your eyes. Very gradually, Jack watched as your muscles relaxed and sank into the water. He couldn’t help but stare at your heaving chest and the way your nipples pebbled at his touch. He was trying his hardest to keep his touches as innocent as possible, but every time he flicked at your nipples or massaged your neck, you were sighing and moaning his name deeply, almost as if he was touching you like he would each night.

By the time he washed every inch of you and massaged the shampoo out of your hair, he was close to coming in his pants. Jack allowed his eyes to take you in, biting his lower lip when caught a glimpse of your thighs through the milky water. Making sure he wasn’t making too much noise, Jack rolled up his sleeves before dipping his hand into the water, smiling and shushing you as you opened your eyes when you felt his fingers cup your mound.

“J-Jack,” you couldn’t look away from him, holding onto the edge of the tub as he slowly rubbed at your clit.

“Such a sweet little girl aren’t you honey? Always workin’ so hard and givin it your best. Poor baby just wanted someone to take care of her tonight. Didn’t you love?” Jack twisted his other hand beneath your neck, grabbing onto your hair as he inched two fingers inside your cunt.

“Oh fuck, Jack...Jack you- oh god, you feel so good Jack. Love your fingers, so long...big- bigger than mine. Please- please Jack, I- I need your cock. Please. I’ll do anything.” You whined as he pushed his fingers deeper into your pussy, clenching around him when you felt his thumb rub circles on your clit. Jack leaned down and smashed his lips against yours, picking up his pace and ignoring the water sloshing out of the bathtub and soaking the tile floor.

“If you want my dick baby, you’re gonna have to cum for me. My little peach was just on edge...come on darlin’, I really wanna fuck you. Wanna watch you ride my cock till you can’t feel anythin’ else but the way I fill you up. But you need to cum first. You think you could do that for me sweetheart?” Jack knew you were close, could feel your walls already tightening around him, but he couldn’t help but continue to tease you. His knees have been hurting him for god knows how long but he couldn’t lose you, not when he had you right on the edge. You couldn’t look away from his dilated eyes, almost screaming his name when he shoved a third finger into your wet cunt. He was softly trailing his finger down the side of your cheek and as soon as he pushed his thumb into your mouth, you were coming around his fingers, legs shaking violently in the tub as he continued his assault on your pussy, not bothering to slow down even when his clothes started soak as well.

“J-Jack oh god Jack yes yes, Jack I- I love you oh fuck I love you- please...please.” You weren’t sure if you were asking him to stop or continue but Jack seemed to understand what you needed because in the blink of an eye, he was standing up and pulling you to your feet, not bothering to give you a towel to dry as he leaned down and carried you out of the bathroom. You kissed down his jaw and nipped at his neck, giggling when he threw you on his bed and began to strip off his clothes.

“What a treat you are my little peach. I hope you know...ain’t no way you’re leavin’ this bed anytime soon.”

[aestheticsfandomsandmore]

Great, I kinda wrote a continuation of tianshan's last strip, even knowing it will never happen. Again, I have to remind you I'm Italian, so I may have made a few mistakes - I'd be glad if you reported them.

Hope you enjoy.

I posted this on AO3, if you want to read it there.

____________________________

“Put me the fuck down, you chicken dick!”

“Relax~ It's going to be fun.”

“For you, maybe!”

“Yeah, definitely, but you will have fun as well if you stop panicking.”

He Tian puts him down and locks the bathroom door. Then he mischievously smiles at him before heading towards the bathtub in order to fill it with hot water and some bath salts.

Mo tries to open the door but the key disappeared. “Shit, wha- what are you planning to do?”

“Like a said, taking a nice bath with Little Mo. Do you prefer vanilla or chocolate scent?”

“I don't prefer shit. Jesus, He Tian, let me out of here now.”

He Tian looks at him, still smiling but less wider. “Don't be such a damper. I'll go with chocolate then.”

Mo sighs. “I really regret coming here. I don't know what I was thinking.”

“Perhaps” He Tian walks toward him, once the bath is ready, “you were worried I really meant my last message.”

Fucker. Mo is sure to be blushing because he feels hot all over his face and is even more sure of that when He Tian smirks.

“You wanted to see me and you didn't want us to part. But now you're here with me and you're complaining. Such a complicated lad.”

“Just because I wanted to see you, it doesn't mean I want to take a god damn bath with you!” he screams, feeling angry and exposed at the same time. Yeah, he didn't want to end their relationship, for some reason, but He Tian always has to break any kind of boundaries or concept of personal space, making him wonder why he even bothers trying to be less... less Mo Guan Shan-like.

“So you admit you wanted to see me! That's so cute, Little Mo!”

“I'm not going to take my clothes off. You'll have to undress me yourself.”

He Tian moves dangerously closer, only a few inches between them. “Is that a dare?” he whispers.

Mo gets even more embarrassed and takes a few steps away. “No, it isn't! I'm serious, He Tian, cut this crap, let me out-”

“Why?”

Mo swallows. If he didn't know him better, he'd almost say that He Tian is looking sad. “What's that supposed to mean? I. Don't. Want. To. Take. A. Bloody. Bath. With. You. Is it so hard to understand?”

“Yes” He Tian answers. “I don't understand you sometimes.”

Mo freezes. “Well, that's none of my business, if you can't understand something so simple, it just proves that you're a selfish bastard. Not that I didn't know already. Now give me the ke-”

“Then why have you come? Why did you want to see me, if you think so badly of myself?”

Mo tightens his fists. He doesn't really know what to say: he's been repeating that question to himself for almost a year.

“The answer is that you like me” He Tian hazards. He holds his sides gently and Mo doesn't even push him off, taken off guard. “I know you do. That's why I don't understand why you're always resisting me. I'm right here, right now, and I want you. I'm not gonna lie. So you shouldn't either.”

Mo puts his hands on his chest in order to push him away, but he doesn't really manage to do that. He's sweating, the room is hot, He Tian is hot and he can't handle him when he's so close. “I- I don't- I-” he can't think straight.

He Tian giggles and then says: “Stop thinking. This has nothing to do with your brain. This is just a matter of...” He moves one hand from his side and puts his fingers on Mo's heart. He doesn't complete his sentence but he doesn't really need to. It's a matter of feelings, emotions: painful, terrible, annoying things human beings cannot really control. His heart is racing so fast right now. He's so close to give up. He just needs one more reason...

“I won't do anything funny, I won't even touch you if you don't want me to, I promise. I just want us to hug in the bathtub for a while.”

Sounds reasonable, a small part of his mind tells him. The rest of it is shouting not to trust, not to let him get so close, not to surrender so easily, not to get naked in front of him, in any sense possible.

Mo doesn't listen to all of that. “Okay.”

He Tian smiles, a wide and warm smile that makes something inside Mo's body melt. He's not sure what that is.

“Can I undress you or you want to do that yourself?”

Mo is surprised, almost shocked that He Tian asked for permission and didn't just do it right away. “Uhm-” he's so confused by all that's happening that he's not sure what to answer. “I- I mean... okay.”

What the actual fuck? Has he actually agreed?

He Tian looks like he could explode from too much happiness in any second. Stupid, Mo thinks. But he can't help smiling a little.

He Tian softly grabs the collar of his shirt and takes it off from Mo's shoulders and arms. He is now looking at him like he's about to eat him. Mo can't really believe to be able to make someone feel like that; to make feel like that. He can't just ignore the lust in He Tian's eyes. He takes his shirt off very slowly, caressing the skin of his abdomen and chest almost reverently. He takes a minute to look at his naked bust and Mo feels like every centimeter of his body is getting hot. He can't help but shake a little.

He Tian notices. “Relax” he tells him, “we're just getting started.”

That doesn't really help him relax.

He Tian puts his hand under the elastic band of his pants. Mo swallows. He's not sure he's ready for this, but before he can say anything He Tian makes his pants fall down to his feet.

“M-M-Maybe I... I should... take this off.” Mo mumbles, feeling so extremely embarrassed by the thought of He Tian seeing his penis.

He Tian looks like he's fighting a battle with himself and Mo's sure he is: he would normally continue his doing without even caring about what Mo just said, but right now he probably knows he's already been allowed to do things he normally could have just dreamed of. It's almost like he doesn't want to push his luck. “Okay” he agrees, finally, taking a deep breath before undressing himself.

Shit, he's so fucking gorgeous. His muscular torso, his long legs, his perfect face and his... oh, yeah, he's got a pretty great ass. Mo turns around and takes his pants off, his face completely red. It is not the first time he has been staring at the other's body, but never has without even a piece of clothes on.

“Should we... get inside?” he asks but he doesn't really have the courage to look at him in the eye.

He Tian surprises Mo by hugging him closely. His hands are embracing his shoulders and his chest is all around Mo's back. “Sure” he replies, before giving him a small kiss on the neck.

Mo jumps out of his skin and He Tian laughs. He enters first and Mo follows him right after, quickly, pretty impatient to cover as much skin as possible. The water is warm and scented, he can sense his body already softnening, he feels at ease. He Tian sits behind him and hugs him, just like a minute before but now it's way more intimate. He doesn't mind, though. For tonight, maybe, he should just try to enjoy the moment.

“Feels good, huh?” He Tian asks, near his ear.

Chills all over his body. Damn.

“Uhm, yeah” he says.

They stay silent for a while, He Tian's forehead against Mo's nape, Mo's eyes closed trying to avoid the thought of their naked skin being so fucking close.

“Now I'm going to wash your back” He Tian announces at some point. Mo remembers him saying he would do so. He doesn't have the time to answer, 'cause the other boy has already grabbed a sponge and is now starting to gently rub it against his back. It actually feels... pretty good. He Tian goes from his neck to his shoulders and then rubs his spine, from his nape to his sacrum. That freaks him out: he's too close to his ass.

He Tian notices once again and, surprisingly, stops, heading towards the centre of his back. Mo breathes a sigh of relief: he's glad He Tian didn't break his word not to do anything funny. Once he's finished with his back, he holds him tighter with his left arm while rubbing his torso with his right hand, as slowly as before, almost like he's treasuring every second of it. He probably is. 

Mo tries to ignore the fact that he can feel He Tian's dick pressing onto his skin; he's hard. It's such a strange feeling, but he can't help blushing and moaning for a second thinking that he's able to get such a reaction out of him, without even trying. For one, tiny second, he even imagines what He Tian would be like if he just stopped being so stubborn, if he admitted to himself something he is well aware of but is not ready to accept; what He Tian would look like around him if he were able to kiss him and touch him freely. Right now, he basically seems to be in heaven and they aren’t even really doing anything. At one point of them being so incredibly close, he figures themselves in bed and he wonders if, during their first time, He Tian would be gentle or rough or maybe a passionate combination of both. He pictures them...

“Like it?” He Tian asks and Mo jolts, realizing what he was thinking and where he actually is, blushing hard, cursing himself in his mind. When he understands the other's question, he nods. He can sense He Tian's smile on his clavicle.

Maybe he shouldn't regret to have come to his house, after all.

[sachigram]

With Teeth Chapter 2

((click here to read on ao3!))

“Shizuo-senpai has been quiet lately.”

Shizuo glances at Vorona as they walk side by side, trailing behind Tom. She isn't looking at him, but Shizuo never gets much out of her expression anyway.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Talking about negative experiences is usually best in moving past them,” Vorona says, and she does look at him this time, her pale eyes studying him.

“It's nothing,” Shizuo says quickly. “Or it's just...a lot. A lot of nothing. Ugh.” He runs his hand through his hair, as bad with words as he ever was. “I don't think it's worth talking about, is all.”

How could he talk about it with anyone? Where would he even begin? Sure, Celty is a good friend of his, and her existence is technically beyond belief, but Shizuo never thought much of other supernatural beings until he became one. Speaking of, he really should talk to Celty soon. He should talk to anyone that isn't the fucking fleabag.

“I see. That is unfortunate.” Vorona looks ahead again. “I will keep the invitation open.”

“Thanks.”

It goes quiet again. Neither of them are very good at conversation. Tom likes to tell Shizuo that Vorona has a thing for him, and he certainly holds a candle for her, but how could there ever be anything more between him when he's...the way he is? He was a monster even before that werewolf took a bite out of him.

“Alright, I'm starving,” Tom announces, stopping in front of them. He turns around and grins, his hands going in his pockets. “How about some barbecue? There's a Korean spot up here.”

“That sounds good,” Shizuo says, grateful to Tom for taking steer of the conversation. Shizuo has tried before to imagine himself on a date with Vorona, but it's hard. He has no idea what they would talk about, or if they would talk at all.

After they order their food and settle into a cozy booth, Vorona excuses herself and heads to the bathroom. Tom watches her go and then turns back to Shizuo, a small frown on his face.

“Alright, man. What gives?” he asks.

“Huh?” Shizuo grunts, his mouth already full. He's been careful to make sure he isn't the least bit hungry. He doesn't need to feel less in control of himself.

“You and Vorona! Aren't you going to ask her out? If you don't hurry up, she's going to think you aren't into her!” Tom says exasperatedly.

“I can't,” Shizuo says simply, and Tom pulls at his own hair, a long-suffering sigh escaping him.

“I don't understand you! The two of you were getting so close, up until a few months ago. Then you just stopped talking to either one of us about anything! Vorona doesn't know you like I do, so she isn't used to you being so hot and cold, but mark my words, someone is going to snatch her away from you if you don't wise up!”

“I know that. She's too good for me anyway. One slip up is all it would take for me to hurt her beyond repair, or possibly even kill her. How am I supposed to know that and pursue her anyway?” Shizuo asks, and Tom's expression softens.

“You don't hurt people you care about. You're being too hard on yourself.”

“I'm not. I've made up my mind about it.”

Tom sighs again. “I'm worried about you. This is different than your usual levels of isolation. Why are you so hellbent on being miserable, huh? If you don't want to date Vorona, that's fine, but you could still talk to her like she's your friend. And I'm your friend, too.”

Shizuo takes another bite of his chicken, guilt gnawing at him. He didn't mean to make anyone worry. He mutters a soft apology between his chewing.

“Don't be sorry. Just know you can talk to me about anything. I've never judged you before, have I?” Tom grins and then starts to dig into his own food. “You shouldn't suffer on your own.”

Shizuo considers this as Vorona returns to sit with them. The flea's face flashes in his mind, and he grips his chopsticks hard enough to break. He'd rather be dealing with this alone than with him.

“You need me.” Izaya had said, and the vindictive little smile on his face was enough to make Shizuo nauseous. It's true, isn't it? It's true, and Shizuo hates it.

After lunch, they head back into the city. There's only a few more targets for the day, and Shizuo is thinking about doing laundry and speaking to Celty for the first time in a while when he catches sight of a familiar fur coat.

Izaya is across the street, perched up on a wall, drinking coffee as he chats animatedly with Kadota, who is listening with an indulgent expression. Immediately, Shizuo stiffens, as do Tom and Vorona, who have obviously spotted Izaya as well.

“Shizuo, come on. It's not worth it,” Tom says, putting a hand on Shizuo's shoulder. Shizuo keeps looking at Izaya, who is laughing at something Kadota said, looking entirely too at ease. Why the fuck does Shizuo have to keep seeing that rotten bloodsucker? Why should Izaya be allowed peace when Shizuo spends every waking moment in fear of what he is and what he could do?

“Fine. You're right.” Shizuo grunts as he allows Tom to lead him away. Izaya's putrid stench stays in his nose, haunting him every step he takes. Turning away from Izaya feels wrong, but killing him doesn't seem right either anymore.

Shizuo doesn't know when everything got so fucking complicated in his life.

***

“I'm sorry.”

Neither of his parents looked up at him. They were engaged in what seemed to be a heated conversation, both of them talking through clenched teeth and gesturing broadly with their hands. Shizuo was sent home from school again after wrecking the classroom. Some kid called him an idiot for getting a math question wrong, and Shizuo didn't remember much about what happened after that.

He was always sorry for it, but it never mattered.

Kasuka wandered in, and he moved to Shizuo's side. He didn't say anything, but he gripped Shizuo's sleeve loosely, and it was a comfort all the same.

“Oh, Shizuo...” His mother noticed him at last, and immediately moved to hug him. Shizuo could see her eyes were wet. He didn't know why it made his eyes wet, too.

“I'm sorry,” he said again.

“I know,” his mother said, and together, they wept.

***

Going to Shinra's, annoying as it can be, is always a comfort, as well.

He didn't mean to stay away for so long. If anyone would understand what Shizuo's going through, it would be Celty, and by extension, Shinra. It's just not an easy topic to discuss, and Shizuo hasn't discussed it with anyone other than Izaya, who never has anything nice to say. If anything, every conversation with the fucker just feels like rubbing salt in an open wound. An infected open wound. Shizuo would rather amputate than deal with it anymore, but he knows he doesn't have a choice in the matter.

He knocks at the door of Shinra's apartment, his hands going into his pockets while he waits for an answer. There's clattering behind the door, footsteps, and then the sound of various locks being unlocked. Celty got a lot more paranoid after that stalker attacked Shinra, so Shizuo waits patiently.

“Sorry, sorry!” Shinra says as he throws the door open. He pauses upon seeing Shizuo, and then a wide smile spreads across his face. “Shizuo-kun! What a nice surprise!”

“Yo,” Shizuo grunts, stepping around him and taking his shoes off in the entryway. The apartment is warm, the scent of something cooking wafting from the kitchen. It feels like a home, even more than Shizuo's own place does.

“Celty is in the bath! Oh, she'll be so excited to see you! She's missed you so much! Ah! I need to stir my stew—“ Shinra runs towards the kitchen, disappearing from sight before his voice calls out. “Will you stay for dinner? There's plenty!”

“Yeah, sure,” Shizuo says, plopping down onto the couch. He leans back against the cushions, closing his eyes as the feeling of belonging washes over him. He thinks of his parents, and he decides he should call them soon.

There's the sound of a door opening, and then soft footsteps. A pause. And then—

“Shizuo?! Where the hell have you been? How are you? Do you know how worried I was about you?! How are you feeling? How—“

“Celty.” Shizuo pushes the bright PDA away from his face as Celty bounces on the couch next to him, bombarding him with questions. “Can we ease into the interrogation part?”

“You can hardly blame her!” Shinra calls. “We've barely heard from you for months. The chatroom she frequents was full of terrible rumors.”

“You could've come to see me,” Shizuo mutters, and he feels guilty for it when her shoulders droop.

“I didn't want to bother you... I thought you had enough to deal with.”

“Yeah.” Shizuo leans back, sighing loudly. “Yeah, you weren't wrong.”

“So!” Shinra lilts, walking back into the room, soup ladle in hand. “Are we finally going to talk about the whole 'you being a werewolf' thing?”

“You knew,” Shizuo says, waiting to feel surprised. Celty is busy attacking Shinra, jabbing at him while Shinra wails apologies for being blunt. “Of course you fucking knew.”

“Well, yes, of course! Celty could sense it, and then you weren't around, so—!” Shinra whines again as he doubles over, Celty's fist in his stomach.

“We didn't want to invade your privacy! I thought if you wanted me to know, you'd tell me, so we weren't there for you as we should've been. I'm so sorry, Shizuo. Please forgive me.”

“Don't apologize. You did the right thing. I...didn't want to talk about it. I still don't, but I'm also tired of running from it.” Shizuo looks down at his hands, clenches them into fists before he continues. “I'm a monster just like everyone always said.”

“Technically yes, but it's not like you're wreaking havoc every full moon! As long as you aren't spreading the curse, I'd say you're handling it very responsibly,” Shinra says. “You haven't bitten anyone at all, and it's been half a year!”

Shizuo glares up at him, and Celty steps in between him and Shinra, her arms outstretched.

“Ignore him, you know he always says the wrong thing. I'm really glad you're here, Shizuo. I wish I could do more for you, but I don't know much about werewolves aside from the folklore.”

Shizuo pretty much assumed that, already. Without her head, Celty doesn't have memories from her past life. The only one who can really help him is...

“Surprised Izaya didn't tell you about it,” Shizuo snaps at Shinra, who shrugs.

“Oh, he doesn't like to talk about you. I already knew from my dear Celty, here, but Izaya-kun is surprisingly secretive about your transformations. He doesn't offer anything that I don't explicitly ask.”

“Is he really helping you?” Celty's body language reads incredulity, and Shizuo can't exactly blame her for that.

“He's giving me potions. I don't know if I'd call it 'helping' so much as him being a smug little fucker.” Shizuo huffs before he crosses his arms over his chest. “Always knew something freaky was up with him, but to think he's actually a fucking witch. No wonder he was always able to know exactly where I was, and exactly how to get on my nerves.”

“You would think you'd be at least a little grateful to him,” Shinra says, a cool edge to his voice. “It's thanks to him you aren't rampaging every month, after all.”

Shizuo and Celty both stare at Shinra, who suddenly turns around, saying something about his stew again. He flounces from the room, and Celty turns back to Shizuo.

“Is Izaya being absolutely terrible to you? I can't imagine how he wouldn't be.” Celty types, and Shizuo grunts in irritation.

“The flea's as shitty as ever, yeah. I'm kind of surprised he hasn't told everyone what I am. Maybe no one's paid him enough money for the information yet.”

“It's not really up to him. Humans aren't meant to know much about the other realm. Besides, he couldn't out you without outing himself, too.”

“It's not like it's a huge secret, what he is. He has all kinds of people visiting and asking for help with things.” Shizuo remembers being there during one full moon, Izaya busy clacking away at his desk when some white-haired vampire just appeared. Izaya seemed annoyed by it.

“Actually, it is a secret!” Shinra says from the kitchen. “Izaya-kun is one of the last of his kind. A lot of the other witches were wiped out.”

“Why?” Shizuo asks.

“They're hard to control, usually mad with power. At least, that's what I was able to find out,” Shinra replies.

“Sounds about right.” Shizuo grimaces, thinking of Izaya's eerie smile and his cat-like gaze. “Surprised he's allowed to just do whatever the fuck he wants, then.”

“I wouldn't say that,” Shinra says, and then he smiles. “Dinner's ready, by the way.”

Despite the huge lunch Shizuo had, he's able to scarf down three bowls of stew, as well as some bread. Shinra chatters on and on about increased appetite being the most common side effect of 'lycanthropy', and he doesn't shut up until Shizuo throws a spoon at him.

“I hear enough of that shit from the fleabag,” Shizuo hisses.

“Well, at least you only have to see him for a few minutes every month! It could be worse,” Shinra says as he pries the spoon from the wall.

“Try hours,” Shizuo says.

“Huh? Hours?” Shinra turns to him, adjusting his glasses. “Are you staying the night there?”

“Izaya didn't tell you that?” Shizuo asks.

“Of course not. That's just— Wow. I'm shocked he's allowing that. No wonder he gets so annoyed when I ask about your transformation.”

“You don't have to suffer in his company, anymore.” Celty types. “You can stay here next time. If anything happened, I could restrain you. Even if you did bite me, I'm immune.”

“I'll think about it,” Shizuo mutters. Truth be told, he doesn't want anyone to see him that way, even Izaya, but at least Izaya couldn't possibly think less of Shizuo than he already does. They hated each other on sight, after all.

***

Shizuo always tried to keep in mind that even if people were afraid of him, it didn't mean they didn't love him.

His mother still doted on him when he hurt himself and wound up in the hospital, would still kiss his bandages and comfort him even after ducking away in fear when he lost himself to his rage. Kasuka told him once that none of them were scared of him, that it was just something they were used to, and Shizuo decided it somehow hurt even worse that he was something to 'get used to'.

There was never really anyone in his life that wasn't at least a little afraid of him, even if they hid it well. Shinra was, well. Himself. He would stay by Shizuo's side, but he definitely was in it for his own morbid curiosity. It was obvious he was terrified of Shizuo by the way he'd cower in fear and apologize if Shizuo so much as blinked at him too long. Tom was a good friend, but even he would duck and cover, scared of getting hit in the crossfire when Shizuo really got going.

Shizuo never blamed any of them for it. How could they not be scared of him? He was uncontrollable when he got past a certain point. The static in his mind drowned out everything, even the screams of terror. He wouldn't know if he was hurting someone he cared about. He was never able to stop himself. How could he get angry at them for being afraid of him when even he was afraid of him?

No, it wasn't until he met Orihara Izaya that he truly faced someone who didn't know fear.

Shizuo was livid as he stared at Shinra's friend. He'd heard of Orihara Izaya before. Shinra positively gushed about the boy, as much as Shinra could gush about anyone that wasn't Celty. Shinra's words were always peppered with insults, but it was clear he cared about this other friend of his, and he was constantly trying to get Shizuo to meet Izaya, would call Shizuo's house and invite Shizuo and Kasuka both to hang out with them. From Shizuo's understanding, Izaya was as against it as Shizuo was. Neither of them seemed to want to meet the other, but there Izaya was, sitting next to Shinra, eyes full of mischief and wonder as he clapped his hands together from the display of violence, the thing Shizuo hated most about himself.

“You piss me off,” Shizuo had said, and something in Izaya's eyes changed, but Shizuo couldn't name it. He only knew he didn't see fear when Izaya looked at him, and in the end, that might've been part of what made Shizuo hate him so much.

“It's a real shame,” Shinra said once. He was busy patching up Shizuo's wounds after one of his more brutal matches with Izaya. “I really think you two would get along if you tried. You have so much in common!”

“What could I possibly have in common with that fucking parasite?!” Shizuo snapped, and Shinra immediately bowed his head in apology. “Did you know he sent those fuckers after me? He was there, watching me fight them!”

“Yes, well, I never said he was a good person!” Shinra straightened himself after Shizuo huffed and turned away from him. “You both always reminded me of each other, is all I meant.”

“I don't see how,” Shizuo said, angry at the comparison, and also at how much the ointment Shinra was using stung.

“You're both incredibly stubborn,” Shinra said. “And you're both someone I wouldn't want mad at me.”

“Great.”

“It seems you're also both determined to be alone.”

***

As he walks down the street, returning home after leaving Shinra's, Shizuo stretches his arms above his head, feeling better in spite of himself. It's true he's changed, but he isn't alone, is he? He still has his friends, even if they're afraid of him. It's the same as it's always been.

“My, my, don't you look content.”

Shizuo growls as he turns to look at Izaya, who is walking along the wall next to him, arms held out to balance himself.

“Why're you still in my city?” Shizuo barks, instantly annoyed. This is what he gets for not chasing Izaya out earlier.

“So you did see me! I thought you did. And you kept walking! Are you finally learning restraint?” Izaya grins down at Shizuo as they walk in step with each other. “I work here, Shizu-chan. You know that, already.”

“Tch. Nothing good comes from you being here.”

“But you let me go! Tell me, are you growing fond of me all of a sudden?” Izaya asks, and Shizuo stops in his tracks to look up at Izaya with as much disdain as he can muster.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Shizuo says, and Izaya leers at him.

“There's my monster,” he coos. “You're leaving Shinra's, right? Did you confide all your beastly secrets in that headless friend of yours?”

“You're the monster,” Shizuo says, starting to walk again. “Shinra said he was surprised you're helping me. Come to think of it, I'm surprised, too. What's in this for you?”

“Pardon?” Izaya asks, his grin sharpening.

“You hate me. I know you do. Why would you help me, then? Why aren't you telling everyone what I am?”

“Oh, it's enough that I know it,” Izaya says, waving his hand. “Besides, me keeping this secret for you seems to have allowed me passage to Ikebukuro without you throwing things at me. Isn't that payment enough?”

“No,” Shizuo says, knowing Izaya too well to buy into that.

“Then consider this,” Izaya replies, looking at Shizuo with such contempt it actually makes Shizuo take a step away. “Maybe it's not my choice.”

“Yeah, right. I know you had something to do with all this. Everything bad in my life has always been because of you, in some way. You sent that guy after me; I know you did.”

“More like you need someone to blame, and I'm an easy target,” Izaya lilts, going back to balancing along as he walks. “You and I finally have something in common, don't we? We're both part of both realms, all at once.”

“I never fucking asked for this,” Shizuo hisses angrily. “I wanted a peaceful life, something far away from you. I never wanted to be part of this otherworldly bullshit. I didn't want to be this thing.”

“Yeah,” Izaya says, and his voice sounds a little tight. “I know what you mean.”

Shizuo pauses, turning to face Izaya, who is looking up at the sky with a thoughtful expression on his face. Izaya hums before he looks back down at Shizuo, his usual smirk back in place.

“Anyway, you think I send everyone after you. You're an anomaly, Shizu-chan. That makes you a target all on your own. You really think you'd ever be able to live a peaceful life when everyone in this city has seen what you can do?” Izaya fucking giggles, and it makes Shizuo's teeth clench. “What a simple mind you have.”

“Stop talking to me. No, just get the hell away from me.”

“I'm teaching you something!” Izaya says, and he jumps down in front of Shizuo, arms waving as he talks. There's a manic look about him, and Shizuo somehow feels pity mixed in with his hatred for the person before him. “You aren't considering human nature at all, are you? You say you hate violence, but everyone has seen you in the middle of one of your rampages. You've proven yourself to be a key player in the city, so of course people are going to go after you. Everyone who wants power is going to target the most powerful. It's how humans are.”

“What's up with you?” Shizuo asks, narrowing his eyes at Izaya. “You're being crazier than normal.”

“You blame me for ruining your peace, but you ruined it for yourself before you even met me. Sure, I sent people after you, but they were after you even before high school, weren't they?” Izaya prattles on, ignoring Shizuo's question. “You're incapable of accepting your role in ruining your own life.”

“Where's any of this even coming from?” Shizuo asks, more confused than angry, but growing angrier by the second. He's never liked any of Izaya's stupid psychobabble, especially when it's directed at him.

“You've trapped yourself in this endless loop, you simplistic cretin.” Izaya's eyes are wide, his pupils blown and Shizuo finds he can't look away. “This city is like fly paper, isn't it? And you've gone and thrashed around so much that you'll almost never be free.”

Shizuo frowns down at Izaya, once again failing to understand a single word out of his mouth. Their ways of talking are just so different, Shizuo usually opting for a direct approach while Izaya never gets to his point. Still, Shizuo can tell something isn't quite right with Izaya tonight, and he finds himself actually looking for injuries on the flea. Maybe he's concussed or something, and there's dried, matted blood in that wild hair of his. But then, wouldn't Shizuo smell it?

Izaya, predictably, snorts, and then he turns on his heel, starting to walk away.

“Oi! Where are you going?” Shizuo asks, hurrying to follow after him.

“I don't know why I bother. Logic is wasted on you,” Izaya laments.

“Maybe I'd know what the hell you were talking about if you ever made sense!” Shizuo counters.

“Get away from me now, monster, I've had all I can tolerate of your presence,” Izaya says, still not looking at him, and Shizuo finds himself grabbing Izaya's wrist and pulling him back.

“What's wrong with you? Why're you acting even weirder than usual?”

Izaya scoffs up at him, and then he pauses, his brow furrowing like he's trying hard to listen to something. “You're wondering if I'm hurt,” he muses. He rolls his eyes at the sour look Shizuo gives him. “Yes, I'm reading your mind. No, I don't do it very often. I'm just trying to get away from you, and you're making it very difficult.”

“Bullshit you don't do it all the time,” Shizuo huffs, but he releases Izaya all the same.

“I don't. It's no fun always knowing exactly what to say to someone to push their buttons. I'd rather make an educated guess. Sometimes leaving things up to chance is the only true way to play.” Izaya turns and starts walking away again. “And anyway, I'm not hurt. Even if I was, I'd already be mostly healed, just from the course of this pointless conversation.”

“Apparently you can't heal yourself from being crazy!” Shizuo calls after him, but Izaya doesn't stop walking, and soon enough he's out of Shizuo's sight. Shizuo stands in the middle of the sidewalk, gnawing his teeth together. He can't help but wonder how much of this is actually Izaya's fault, but that was the flea's point, wasn't it? He growls lowly after Izaya, at another night of shattered peace.

“FUCK!” he shouts at the sky, drawing stares from everyone around him, but he can't bring himself to care. Izaya has ruined so many things in Shizuo's past, and he's ruined all hope of serenity in Shizuo's future.

Shizuo's stuck, just like Izaya said.

[thiswasinevitableid]

2 bathtub and 9 folklore, sternclay, sfw, please!

Here you go! Barclay's design is based on a blue catfish.

He wanted the bigfoot assignment. Days spent tramping through the chilly forests of the pacific northwest instead of sweating off a pound a day in Louisiana swamps. But no, he’s assigned to the Loup Garou case until further notice, because one mammalian cryptid expert is as good as another.

It’s not like he’s devoted most of his career to bigfoot or anything.

Contrary to popular belief, FBI agents do not spend all their time in suits. As much as Stern aims to emulate Special Agent Dale Cooper, slacks and a suit jacket are not suitable for tromping through the mud and staving off the humidity. Between his outdoor wear and the tranquilizer rifle over his shoulder, he looks like he could be in some shitty seventies Sasquatch hunting movie.

His best lead is the strange, black fur he found near the location of the most recent sighting, and the ranger in the nearby national park assured him it didn’t come from any common wildlife. So it could be a human cursed to transform into a wolf every night. Or it could just be someone’s dog.

Dusk has come and gone before he turns back towards his cabin, rented for it’s proximity to the supposedly-Loup-Garou-harboring swamp and the reviews citing good water pressure and a large tub. Nothing like a nice bath or cold shower to wash off the heat and grime of the day.

A crack in the trees to his right. There’s something moving, paralleling him. He stops, nerves taught as a drawn bow.

The growl starts low, draws his eyes to a dark-furred shape creeping from the brush. It’s definitely canine, definitely bigger than him, and definitely sees him as dinner. Stern holds his ground, raises the rifle, not willing to fire until he’s certain this is his quarry. All doubts evaporate when it stands on its hind legs and howls. Human eyes lock onto him as the monster stalks forward.

Stern fires, hitting the werewolf in the shoulder. It doesn’t so much as stumble.

“Shit” He loads another dart, fires, and gets the exact same result. There’s no chance of outrunning it, and while he has his handgun he doesn’t want to resort to that unless he absolutely has to.

The creature lunges and Stern dodges, slipping into the water as a result. It swipes a claw out, which he keeps from his face by blocking it with the body of the rifle. His brief hope that the creature can’t swim is quashed when it prowls into the water after him. Something huge swim past his legs and he winces; if he dies by alligator instead of werewolf he’ll never hear the end of it.

As the monster surges forward, something huge bursts from the water between them, knocking Stern off balance in the process. His head goes under and when he scrambles up, spluttering, the werewolf is limping as fast as it can into the undergrowth. And floating face-down in front of him is a man, four jagged rips in his side tinting the water around them a sickly red.

“Sir?” Stern rolls the man over and, in spite of all his training, exclaims, “holy shit.”

The man doesn’t have legs. His hips give way to a smooth, grey-blue tail that twitches weakly when Stern touches him. The wound is visible here too, marring tail and torso alike. It doesn’t take a genius to put together what happened. Or that the Loup Garou won’t make it far with the bite the merman delivered. He could catch it. But he doubts the mer in front of him will survive without medical attention.

He loops his arms under a limp body and makes a mental note to never, ever tell Agent Hayes about this.

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

Barclays’ whole side is burning.

“Ow, Aubrey, easy with the healing.” He groans, rolling away from the feeling and immediately bonking his head on something cold and solid. Cracking an eye open reveals a white tub and wooden wall. Cautiously, he glances at his stomach and side and finds it bandaged. When he manages another half-turn, he finds a dark-wood bathroom with a human slumped against the wall. It’s the one he saved, though he’s down to a thin white shirt and what he knows to be boxers. For all the blood there must have been, the room and tub are spotless.

He raises up, hoping for a better look at a handsome face, only to catch his side on the edge of the tub.

“OWfuck!”

The man jolts awake, is by Barclay’s side in an instant, “Thank the lord, I was worried you’d lost too much blood to pull through.” He runs a hand through his black hair, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, I was trying to monitor you for signs I’d have to give up and call the paramedics. I, um, assumed you didn’t want to just be dragged into a human hospital.”

“Yeah, no, not my fave.” His tail flutters awkwardly, “uh, why did you bring me here, then?”

“Because I wasn’t going to leave you to bleed out in a swamp. I learned field medicine for a reason; it’s nice to use it on someone other than myself. Or, well, not nice, but, um-”

“No, I get it. It’s just that, uh, I have lots of friends in the swamp. One of them probably woulda found me. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble or put me in a tub.”

“Oh.” The human sags a little, his confident smile faltering a moment.

“I mean, I really appreciate it. And it looks like you’re good at, uh, stitches and stuff.” He rubs his arms, “uh, sorry. I’m not used to waking up in unfamiliar guys bathtubs.”

“I’m not in the habit of keeping mermen in my tub so, um, I guess we’re even?” His smile is a little shyer, blue eyes reminding Barclay of a spring sky.

The mer holds out the hand on his uninjured side, “I’m Barclay.”

“Joseph” The man shakes it, “it’s nice to meet you. Is, um, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable? Is the water alright? I can go get some from the swamp if that would be better.”

“As long as I don’t dry out I’ll be fine. Uh, do you have any food?”

“Some groceries, but if you want something specific I can run into town.”

Barclay weighs his hunger and wooziness against the desire not to reveal too much, and his stomach emerges triumphant, “Does this place have a take-out menu for the South Bank Cafe?”

“I...think so? Let me look” The human stands, walking out into another room on long legs that Barclay wants to loop around his waist, continues speaking as paper rustles, “I didn't know merpeople used take-out.”

“Uh, when they live close to humans they do. As long as some of those humans are willing to pick it up.”

Joseph returns, familiar pink menu in one hand and phone in the other, “What would you like?”

“Three fried oyster po’boys please.”

The human orders four of the sandwiches and some coconut cream pie on Barclay’s suggestion leaves the mer to nap while he goes to retrieve it. Charmingly, he puts all the food onto plates and pours the bottled sweet tea into glasses before arranging it on the bathroom floor.

“Cheers.” Joseph raises his glass. Barclay hesitates, trying to remember which human ritual this is, then clinks his own against it.

They barely talk until the plates are clean and Joseph is luxuriating in a second slice of pie, at which point the human explains what the fuck he was doing looking for a rougarou anyway. Barclay has given up on his desire to study the humans face as he eats and is laying on his back, eyes shut, feeling full and content in spite of the nagging pain in his side. Joseph reluctantly gave him painkillers, explaining he was worried about how human medicine would interact with mer biology. So far, all it’s done is made him drowsy.

“Barclay? Why did you get between me and the Loup Garou?”

“Because I didn’t want you to get killed. Like, for starters, I don’t want people to get hurt, and rougarous are nasty fuckers. But also when someone dies in the swamps, a lot of people blame mers for it. So it’s better if we keep humans from getting eaten on our turf.” He feels around for his tea, finds it when Joseph sets cool glass in his hand. His whole body is heavy.

A soft laugh, “Drugs kicking in?”

“Uh huh.”

A scuff as Joseph stands, “I’ll leave you to get some rest. I’m just in the next room, if you need me.” Two steps, then a pause, “actually, let me drain the tub some and put fresh water in.”

Barclay’s pretty sure he says thank you before he falls asleep.

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

Joseph wakes up at the cursing coming through the walls. Rounding the corner into the bathroom, he finds Barclay clutching his upper tail with one hand, gritting his teeth.

“What’s wrong?”

“Cramp, really fucking bad one, tends to happen when I get injured and can’t swim. Fuck me if I know why.”

“Here” he kneels next to the tub, water splashing onto his white tank top, “let me try rubbing it out. Is this the spot?”

“YeahOWoh, ohhhfuck” Barclay whimpers, “that’s helping, please keep going.”

He moves his fingers down the smooth skin, muscles spasming under his hands before they surrender to relaxation. Gradually Barclay un-tenses, his whimpers giving way to sighs, and Joseph isn’t really tending to his charlie horse anymore; he’s just petting his tail.

“Thanks, Jo-”

A scratch outside freezes them both. Joseph holds up his hand, signalling for Barclay to stay quiet. It’s the window. Something is opening the window. Worse, a count of five later, the cabin groans as something heavy reaches the floor.

His gun is in the other room, because he’s not about to sleep with it on his person. To get to it, he’ll have to put himself right in the path of the intruder dragging themselves across the floor.

The door creaks open, revealing red eyes in the darkness of the cabin.

“Shit.” He starts to stand, keeping himself between the threat and Barclay.

“There you are. Goodness, we were all worried sick.”

Joseph stays still, but Barclay tries to sit up, “Indrid!”

Their visitor slithers into the room, his upper body human but his tail reminding Stern of a Cottonmouth, “We’ve been looking for you all day; Dani found blood at your watch site but not you. I even swam to the park to ask Duck if he’d seen you.”

“Uh huh, I’m sure that was your only reason.”

“Hush.” He turns his alarming gaze on Joseph, “I saw you ending up with this human in many timelines, but I put off following them for fear of being seen. But he’s taking this rather well.”

“I’m an FBI agent with the UP. Handling strange phenomena with grace is basically my job.”

“Intriguing.” Indrid cocks his head, then his face goes blank for a moment. When life returns to it, he coils his tail to settle next to Barclay, “it seems the most positive timelines occur if you continue your convalescence here. In that case, I’ll leave you be and let the others know you’re alright. I’ll stop by again in a few days. And yes, Joseph, since you’re about to ask, I will knock this time.”

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

Barclay spends most of the next three days eating and sleeping, the combination of pain and painkillers making him sluggish. Joseph is better company than he ever could have hoped for, changing his bandages and sharing meals while regaling him with stories of the world beyond the swamps.

The human rises early, so he’s usually gone to work by the time Barclay wakes up. He’s feeling better this morning, so his internal clock wakes him just as the sound of water in the sink fills the room.

Joseph is bent over, naked from the waist up and using a coffee mug to dump water onto his hair. Beside him is a tube labeled, “compact body wipes.”

“Uh, what are you doing?”

The human starts, but then replies, “getting ready for the day. I have to go into town to meet with the sheriff about this case.”

“Can’t you just use the tub? I can make room, it’s big enough for both of us.”

Joseph’s whole torso is going pink, “I, um, assumed you didn’t want me randomly turning up in your space naked.”

He shrugs, “I’m naked right now.”

“Right.” Joseph gingerly sets the mug down, “right. I guess you are. Um. I don’t mean to be rude, since this is mainly a difference in mer and human culture, but would you be willing to close your eyes while I shower?”

Barclay nods, scoots to the far end of the tub while Joseph pulls the plug to keep the bath from overflowing. Then he shuts his eyes, focuses on the splashes up his legs, the change in the tempo of the falling water that signals it hitting a human body. Joseph showers efficiently, turns the steam mint scented with one of the bottles he keeps in the corner of the tub. Then he’s telling Barclay to open his eyes, towel wrapped around his waist and smile on his face.

“I feel much better.”

Barclay doesn’t bother to hide his staring, “Me too.”

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

Joseph hasn’t liked bathtime this much since his uncle gave him that rubber Nessie bath toy when he was five. Barclay is a much more enjoyable companion, even with his eyes closed. Joseph's also taken to wearing swim trunks and just sitting with him in the tub under the pretense of cooling off from the heat.

It’s not like his morning or evening rinse off lacks competition; Barclay is well enough that, through the use of a wheelbarrow, he can take trips to the back porch of the cabin to swim. His strength has weakened as a result of bedrest, but he’s improving quickly, and Joseph will often end up in the water with him to help him with particular stretches.

The first time another mer pops out of the water, he jumps with a combination of joy and alarm. Courtesy of Indrid, all the merfolk in the area know Joseph is trustworthy, which means he has even more people to question for his research. This is especially good because it means he and Barclay can talk about things other than work when they’re together. Barclay’s friends also offer information about the Loup Garou. So much, in fact, that Joseph determines there is something much larger than a single monster at play and is able to convince Hayes to let him continue the investigation indefinitely until he finds his answers.

When he gets the okay from his boss, he and Barclay celebrate with a massive dinner on the deck. As the mer hauls himself up out of the water after his final dip he slips, splashing sideways into a muddy patch. By the time Joseph gets them both inside, their skin and clothes are a mess.

“Here, let me rinse us off before I fill the tub for you.” Joseph turns on the shower, awkwardly straddling Barclay’s tail as he reaches to detach the head. He knows the mer is staring at him, his usually gentle gaze gaining an edge the way it always does when Joseph is down to his underwear or swim trunks. It doesn’t bother him; it seems a fair trade off for all the times he’s admired Barclays back and tail as he swam.

He turns, intending to hand the showerhead to the mer, only to lose his footing to a splotch of mud. It’s a graceless landing on his knees and Barclays’s tail, narrowly missing the fresh scar.

“Shit, that was close.”

“No kidding.” Barclay picks up the showerhead, turning it to a softer setting and rinsing off his tail. A teasing edge enters his rumble, “careful, might think you’re looking for ways to keep me here forever.”

“I guarantee none of them involve hurting you” he shuts his eyes as he lets the mer clean his neck. Then snaps them open when Barclay chuckles.

“That mean you have thought of some.”

“Yes. Not, um, not that I’d ever act on them. As much as I love your company, I don’t want you stuck in my tub forever.”

“You just want me to visit every day?”

“Um-”

“Or take you swimming in the evenings?”

“I-”

“Or let me finally watch you shower with my eyes open?” He flicks his tail playfully.

“I’ll admit all those crossed...my...mind.” Time turns to ice as Barclay leads forward, nuzzling his nose before bringing their lips together.

“Crossed mine too. I was so happy when you said you were staying.” He strokes Joseph’s cheek, “there’s so many fucking things I wanna do with you now that I’m getting better.”

“How many of them involve this tub?” Joseph kisses a teasing line across his cheek.

An adoring growl, “Plenty, babe.”

[sassooda]

Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 24 - These Four Walls 🔞

w/c -6,406

           Naoya finds himself unable to sleep despite feeling the comfort of her next to him after their bath. As he shifts to sit himself up in the bed, her body subconsciously adjusts around him before laying her head lower along his abdomen. He’s ensnared by his own anxiety as he watches her sleep. Lies are not something he wants to start off with but how does he explain his plan to her? The pressure weighs on him as he claims to care about her. How does he tell her that he needs Getou alive in order to help him deal with Gojo?

           The strategy was always to bring the Zenin clan back as leaders and she’s been engraved into this for years now, way before they ever actually met. His only focus then was to fulfil what he was taught was his destiny. He received the ancient technique along with the traditionally inherited ones but they kept this a secret in fear of the Gojo clan retaliation. They wanted to at least strengthen Naoya, let him grow older, stronger, more resilient…things that would be necessary if he were to ever stand a chance against Satoru. It was not thought to be below Gojo to nonchalantly kill a possible threat back then, child or not. He was truly something else.

           The Zenin ancient technique is the manipulation of scalar warfare via scalar energy waves. This energy naturally exists amongst us but it travels completely differently than sound or visible light…much faster too. He can summon great amounts of energy and direct it to a coordinated location from any distance and with almost complete accuracy, he’s yet to fully master that part. With the energy traveling faster than the speed of light its an almost guaranteed win even if you don’t factor in how devastating the impact is. He’s not even informed Choso of this although he wishes he could now openly as his thoughts travel to alternatives.

           His left hand finds itself wrapping around her shoulder as she peacefully dreams. His fingers fumble with the loose cut off shirt that Choso let him borrow for her. He really should have thought about clothes. He looks down and lightly brushes his fingers along her shoulder blade and back while he sighs to her perfection. “You really messed my entire world up…” He whispers with a smile, knowing that he’s more than happy for it. He still thinks it’s better to be rid of Gojo for sure, he doesn’t really trust him with her or as a shaman in general. What he doesn’t want is for her to hate him because of it though and he knows that’s likely, even more so if he keeps these facts from her.

           His eyes take to their surroundings. ‘These four walls…’ He despises keeping her locked in here, a room without windows, living a life without freedom. The horrific indention in the floor from where Getou attacked her ends up being where his vision travels next and he feels as if he could scream in frustration. They’ve since cleaned the blood but it doesn’t matter, the memory stains his mind. He looks to the tub next, probably trying to ease his thoughts but he can’t help but notice the pink ring around the inside from where there’s still some bloody residue. They never cleaned their legs before getting in the first time together so inadvertently, the ring formed. ‘I need to wash that…’

           She stirs beside him and nuzzles her head into him further after bringing her left arm across his hips. His mood improves, causing him to beam as he reaches for the now dark grey covers to pull them over her more. The silver sheets were ruined after the first night as well from where they laid down right after she was healed. He wonders if there’s even the slightest chance that he can spare Gojo and him not be a problem. The original plan would probably be easier but he just can’t bring himself to hurt him knowing it would hurt her in return. Toji hasn’t even entered his train of thought before now and he sinks a bit knowing Toji wants her as well. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Naoya’s certainly not going to back down, especially if she wants him in her life but he’s also not aligned with the idea of fighting Toji, he admires and respects him far too deeply.

           He glances around the room again and comes to the odd realization that these four walls have also been a blessing in a way. Only here were they able to truly discover each other, his intentions finally understood by her. The words that left him and the actions he demonstrated always came out wrong before and this caused her to remain weary of him for quite some time. He thinks back to the first night when he let it slip that he loves her and how understanding her reaction was. ‘There’s no way she could have known…’ Understanding that he has a lot to learn about her still, he brushes the suspicion away. He takes his right hand and grabs her left one that’s thrown over him, bringing it to lie on his chest. He sighs as he debates further about how he should move forward.

           Truly, the one thing he wants to ensure over everything now is Getou’s demise. ‘That fucker has it coming.’ He’s never heard Choso’s opinion exactly but he has a hunch that he’s with him as far as Getou is concerned. ‘What a sneaky business this is.’ That makes him think of Sukuna now and he wonders if worse came to worse…would he be able to nullify him as well? Naoya now feels like he’s seemingly against the world aside from Choso. His gut harbors a bad feeling about what’s to come, he can’t ignore it.

           His grip on her hand became firm while he sorts through initiatives and he has to remind himself to relax again. Toji has been calling him nonstop and he’s purposefully disregarded this partially because he doesn’t want to tip off Getou but he’s also ashamed that Getou was able to rip out her wing…while he had her. If he does return Toji’s call, would he even be willing to talk? Would he be willing to help? Naoya finds it doubtful considering he reached out to him before and was shut down. ‘If it’s to get her out of here unharmed though…maybe he will be willing then.’ The more he ruminates over the obstacles he finds himself leaning against the original plan. He would rather her be safe over having Gojo taken out. He can’t prove it but he knows there’s something Getou’s hiding and he fears what that may turn out to be. Getou is closing in on him fast and Naoya’s understanding that there aren’t any limits or types of etiquette that Getou will follow so he has to remain sharp. Before Elska arrived, he planned on not hovering over like he has been in fear of how Getou would react…now he feels like he can’t leave her alone because of how Getou has acted.

           As his left-hand trails over her back under the loose shirt, his fingernails lift a corner of her seal. She’s already unable to protect herself with cursed energy in here so he loathes her being without her wings as well. ‘Fuck it.’ He pinches the lifted corner and peels the talisman away. ‘She needs to be left with some form of defense just in case.’ Right in that moment, as he’s crumbling up the paper into a wadded ball, he comes to terms with the fact that he officially wants her out of there. “You deserve better…” he sighs deeply as he looks to the ceiling.

           “But you’re not so bad…”

           He jumps a bit from her sudden response and waits to see if she’s actually awake. His eyes are trained on her as he sees her open her own to look up at him. She smiles and sits up as if she’s going to leave the bed but she just repositions herself to lay against his chest in a semi upright position as well.

           “Naoya?”

           “Yes, princess?”

           She giggles to the pet name as she knows she is probably the furthest thing from that. “What’s on your mind? You usually snore a bit…”

           He’s caught off guard by this and lets out an abrupt “Ha!” as he found it pretty funny. “Do I now?” He dances his fingertips along her back to tickle her and she jolts awkwardly into him while they laugh.

           “You do indeed…but it’s not loud, it’s actually kind of cute.” She smiles against him while she listens to his heartbeat and the way he fills and empties his lungs. ‘So wonderful…’ There’s a comfortable silence that washes over them but she asks again, “What’s bothering you though?” When he exhales sharply, she lifts herself up to face him. His eyes seem melancholy and heavy when he looks back to her and she can sense that he’s really worried about something. “Naoya, please…just tell me.”

           “Elska,” He begins as he tries to uplift his demeanor, “This isn’t a good place for you, I was selfish when I thought it would be.” He glances down at her lap but can feel her eyes on him so he meets them. His hand is still around her left one so he squeezes it slightly and brings it to his lips. “I want to be with you but I have to take care of a lot of issues first.” He can now feel his worried expression as she raises a concerned eyebrow at him.

           “I will help you with Getou.” The apprehension on her face fades to a determined one as she brings her right hand to run through his hair. He smiles to it but she can tell he was about to negate her words, he was clearly against the idea.

           “He is why I have to get you out of here.” He’s watching her as she shifts to straddling him and he gulps down air as she finds her balance. “You still have no idea what he’s capable of…”

           “I don’t want you around him either Naoya, he holds malice towards you.” She clicks her tongue, “I will slice him to ribbons if he even tries to harm you.” Her eyes began to glow at the end of her statement, reflecting the light off of Naoya’s fair complexion.

           He wasn’t expecting her to say any of that, he finds her to be much more delicate than she maybe is. “Consideration of this matter is over, I will not allow you to fight him.” He feels like he sounded brutish or insensitive so he begins to reword it, “What I meant was…”

           “I know you’re worried Naoya but you are not alone in this.” Her hands search his arms aimlessly before progressing, “I want to crush him for what he did to me in front of you. For the way he made you feel.” Her eyes are still glowing as her hatred forms inside. When she drank from him after Getou’s attack, she was able to feel every bit of sorrow he experienced…all of the guilt from the situation as well. “Why did you remove the seal if you weren’t wanting me to fight?”

           “I want you to be able to defend yourself Elska… my stomach turns at the thought of something like that happening again. This is why you have to go.”

           “Then you’re coming with me.” Her words felt strong as she stiffens her expression to stand against his reluctancy. “Regardless of how we do this, I’m not leaving without Itadori or you.”

           He feels his chest become heavy with emotion as her words warm and chill him all the same. “I’m sure Gojo and Toji will be fine with that.” He scoffs to himself as he places a hand on his head and apologizes. “I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just…ughhh…”

           She sees his vexation and doesn’t take offense, she knows better than to think he’s so blatantly rude, ‘He’s just upset…’ She sees him struggling to finish his meaning now being a little more flustered than before so she leans down and kisses him. The way it feels when he kisses her back is indescribably beautiful. As much as she doesn’t want to pull away, she does but only so she can bring his head to her chest. While resting her chin above him, she runs her fingers through his hair trying to help him find some reprieve. “Why is it so important that Getou lives Naoya? What purpose were you claiming he serves before?”

           This was the part he was apprehensive about and he hesitates to speak as he’s already decided to tell her the truth, he just doesn’t want her to pull away. After a long sigh he wraps his arms around her and admits, “Well…it was to help me deal with Gojo.” He closes his eyes against her as he waits for the inevitable movement of her trying to be free of his grasp. She doesn’t budge though nor does she say anything so he thinks to continue, “That would mean keeping you here though…and I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m going to try and talk with Toji to come up with a plan.” She moves now and pulls away but not as he expected.

           She’s looking down into his eyes and knows that hurt is displayed on her face. “You were planning on killing Sati this entire time?” She thinks back to when he was sealed and wonders why they wouldn’t have done it then…also extremely grateful that they didn’t.

           “The plan was to try…or at least seal him again.” His voice is dampened with regret but he’s glad he was able to be truthful.

           “Naoya… you can’t!” She’s unsure how to think through this situation. Her heart has been split into three…three for Christ’s sake. ‘Nanami was right about us being completely dysfunctional.’ She feels the severity of the situation and is baffled by how she had no idea…Naoya doesn’t have that kind of taste at all.

           “That’s not the design anymore,” He brings his right hand to cup her cheek and uses his thumb to wipe away her tear that was forming, “There’s no way I could go through with it now, I’m incapable of putting you through that Elska.” He sees her expression soften as she grabs his hand with her own. “Now with that being said, I can’t promise not to fight him…I may not have a choice.”

           At first her brow furrows to this but she understands shortly afterwards that he’s meaning Satoru may attack him. “I will protect you Naoya, as you’ve done for me here… they just need to know that and it will be fine!” She almost rolls her eyes to her own statement as she nods to him to show she wasn’t actually that delusional. “I mean, we can try to explain at least…” Her eyes widen for a second as she darts her eyes back to him. “I actually don’t think Sati hates you at all Naoya… perhaps quite the opposite.”

           He’s confused by this and is convinced that she’s making a joke so he smiles but the intensity in her eyes doesn’t diminish. “What do you mean by that?” He’s genuinely curious as he thinks about all of their interactions and how friendly they weren’t.

           She stares blankly into the bed as she wonders to herself, ‘Yea how exactly should I explain this one? Would it be better not to?’ She’s nervously looking at him now as he patiently waits for clarification. “Not to bring up bad deeds but do you remember the time when you did have him sealed and I came searching for him?” Naoya grins immediately but then composes his face as he tries to pretend that he still doesn’t enjoy that memory. She returns a playful look to him and he bashfully shrugs his shoulders and says, “What? It was kind of hot before the almost dying part…”  She blinks slowly to his response and looks away as she’s even more unsure now if she should clear this up or not. She wants to laugh but is somewhat concerned. ‘What are the fucking odds? Please God, no… I don’t think I could handle him too…’

           “What is it? Was that weird and not funny?” Naoya felt the disconnection in the conversation after he spoke and worries that he was far too comfortable with her.

           She looks back to him with caution, “He felt the same.” She shoves Naoya’s chest so he falls down against the pillows, “You two are such perverts!”

She laughs as he gathers she’s not bothered and belts out high-pitched chuckles as he’s forms, “Are you saying he really wasn’t ready to kill me?!” He’s in disbelief as she’s still giggling above him.

“No and I really don’t think he hates you Naoya...I can’t tell you exactly what he feels but it’s not hatred.” Both of her hands are on his chest now as their voices fill the room. “Don’t get any bright ideas though, he does NOT need encouragement in that realm.”

He sits up slightly and is wondering if he’s over thinking her statement but asks anyways, “Has he tried to make that happen?” He feels her tense up a bit. “Elska?”

“This is why I took a minute to speak, I feared it would lead to this…” She looks down at him as her eyes warn him of something he really doesn’t want knowledge of.

He sits up further as he adjusts his arms to hang off her waist, “I’m not going to like this I’m guessing…” She nods no and his mind begins to wander at who Gojo would have involved with them, ‘Surely she wouldn’t act this way if it were a random person…’ Then it hits him. His eyes grow wide with shock as he looks back up to her. “TOJI?”

She’s waiting for his disgust to become apparent and shifts her weight to her shins and knees to be prepared for him to want her to move off of him. “Yes…” Her eyes are fixed onto his abdomen as she savors the image fearing she may not be able to see him from this angle anymore, in this context. He doesn’t say anything but she hears him huff a couple of times. The anticipation of his rejection is killing her so she starts to climb off of him but he stops her.

“Where are you going?” He grabs her by the waist gently to anchor her back into his lap. She still doesn’t look at him but can tell she’s tearing up. “Don’t cry, it’s…not what I was expecting is all…I just needed to…internalize that.” He guides her chin back towards his direction. “It’s ok…I really just would never have seen that coming. Gojo seems way too greedy to me.” He tries to smile awkwardly as he hides his discontent of knowing him and Toji did that with her. There’s no doubt in his mind now though that it would’ve been Gojo’s idea as he thinks back to the day he was taking Elska from behind in front of him. “So THAT’S what that look was…” He sees her confusion and says, “Of course I did not want that image in my head but I’d rather be aware than dumb.” He wraps his arms a little bit tighter around her, “And Gojo gave me a look that day when I was…when we were…” He smiles widely, “I was expecting hateful eyes but they weren’t…and now that makes sense.” He laughs wholeheartedly as she finally smiles again. “I’m not so eager to share though,” He gives her a quick peck on the lips, “I just didn’t mind him having to watch.” He winks to her and growls into another kiss as he’s trying to encourage her to relax again.

She’s beyond relieved but still embarrassed about the topic of conversation. ‘I kind of asked for that one though.’ There’s no way for her to understand how his mind navigates these things as his reaction kind of surprises her. She can tell that he’s ruffled by it but he’s so genuinely calm over the matter as if he doesn’t see fit to place her with any blame. She definitely didn’t initiate it but she was still a participant.

They stare into each other for a brief moment before Naoya asks quietly, “So…did you…” He’s dragging his feet at this point, “…did you like it?”

           She wishes she could hide under the covers or hold her breath underwater in the tub, anything to help her escape this question. She looks up to the ceiling and takes a deep breath as she can’t help but feel so strange having this discussion with Naoya while straddling his lap. “If I’m being honest…” His eyes are overflowing with a kind of curiosity, “I think I could have if things had gone differently but overall, not really.” If it weren’t for Toji she might not have experienced much pleasure at all that night but doesn’t want to exactly hash out the details with Naoya.

           “Hmm…” He leans his lips into her collar bone and drags his tongue to her neck before planting a deep and sensual kiss. He hears her breath shudder and smiles while biting his lip before pulling away. He’s not upset with that answer at all aside from the indication that one of the two at least caused her displeasure. “I will say that I don’t find Gojo to be the healthiest or best of influences and I just really hope he didn’t hurt you. I have faith in Toji but not him.” Despite learning this new information, he actually is overcome with relief. This is that small chance he was hoping for, a way to not have to harm Gojo in the process of everything. “If this is the case though then maybe him and I won’t fight after all…” He looks back up to her and feels goosebumps as she runs her nails along his scalp.

           “Now that we have that figured out… it’s settled, we leave together.” She sees his face as he’s hesitant to promise such things. “If I catch wind that you try anything different, I will take matters into my own hands regarding Getou…do not try me.”

           He’s not heard that tone from her before and felt the authority of her statement. He buries his face into her chest as he lets out a muffled and stressed noise “God damn it Elska, why won’t you just let me protect you?”

           She’s trying to keep a straight face as he shakes his head slowly into her breasts, wanting him to know that she’s serious. “I am a warrior princess, ok? Granted I can’t really prove that since I can’t even summon energy here but I still have ways to harm.”

           He chuckles to her words, ‘Warrior princess’ not in doubt but just adjusting to how feisty she can be. “There’s talismans in the walls.” He looks up to her now, feeling his heart skip a beat with how endearing her face is despite his words. “They had to be arranged a certain way but if you look closely along the wall by the tub,” he points in the direction as she turns her body to see, “There’s a small ‘x’ over there. Once I send my fist through that part of wall and remove one of the chaining talismans, they will all become unusable.” He smiles to her with pride as he truly thought most of this through. “If something happens, just do exactly that. I’d already have done it if we had another way to hide your presence…Getou would know immediately otherwise.”

           “What if he notices the talisman from my wings missing?”

           “He shouldn’t fucking be in here to see.” His eyes narrow instantly to the thought. ‘That’s not a bad point though and what if he uses a Titer?’ The uneasiness creeps back through him. “I’m going to try and go see Toji tomorrow though…but that means I won’t be here for a while.” He winces to his words. “I’ll ask Choso if he can come accompany you while I’m away. He was even thinking to bring Itadori over at some point if he could.”

           “I would love to see him! He’s still doing well right?” It’s such weird situation, her and Itadori both being held prisoner by people that genuinely care about them. She almost can’t help but laugh outwardly at the vast strangeness of this all. “I’m glad he has a brother though and Choso seems very nice…although he’s also terrifying.”

           “Choso is very powerful, that’s probably why. He’s capable of so many things too, I’m not even sure that I’m privy to all of his abilities.” He’s proud to say that, he knows his new friend is a damn good one to have on his side. “He’s a good guy though, I promise.” Their smiles meet each other and he sighs as he stares up at her, wanting to touch every part of her. He instead rests his hands on her thighs and attempts to save his sanity.

           “I trust your judgement about him.” She feels his eyes roaming her discretely and smirks at how something as simple as that is enough to rile her up when it comes to him. He knows he’s been caught because he smiles slyly in response before pulling her down towards him, their tongues greeting each other. “Stop teasing me Zenin…”

           “It’s rough, isn’t it?!” His cackles are deep and mixing into moans as they allow themselves a few moments of bliss. It doesn’t take but a couple of seconds before their panting and whining into each other’s mouths. His desire to have her races through him as he feels a moment of weakness and lifts his hips into her. Her gasp made his head spin as all of the blood his body holds seems to flood into his groin. “Baby…” One hand laces into her hair as he tilts her head back to tongue and nip her neck as he strains his own to sit up enough to do so. Her moan from his ministrations brings her submissiveness to the forefront of his mind and he can no longer deny the situation as he grows beneath her. He’s sure she can feel it, he’s not wearing pants and she’s not wearing any underwear. When he nudges his hips again, he can feel how wet she is and he sends his hand between her legs to conduct more. He still holds her hair loosely but has now made it to where their faces are inches apart. He sends one finger into her slowly and watches her expression as he glides it in. He pulls her down further to kiss him as he then sends in a second one. She whimpers into his lips and he feels like he’s going to burst.

           His mind is screaming for them to stop, she could release her pheromones at any time. “Are you ok right now?” He breathlessly whispers in between their kissing. She doesn’t feel overheated nor are her eyes glowing but he wants to make sure. She says nothing but smiles and bites her bottom lip as she sends her own hand down between them to guide herself over him. He felt his eyes widen as he feels her wrap her fingers around his shaft. “Baby…wait…” but she doesn’t. Within seconds she’s slowly sinking into him, never stopping until he was completely seated inside of her. He moans loudly as he’s wanting her desperately but is also frustrated by the situation. She bends down completely and resumes kissing him while slowly rocking her hips, causing him to have to bend his knees so that he didn’t slip out…even though he knows he needs to stop this. “God damn it Elska…” He forces speech through gritted teeth as he wantonly glares at her unable to truly be angry but is still almost agitated. He wraps his hand back into her hair and tilts her chin up again. He kisses her jaw and places his left hand on her right thigh and grabs it roughly, not enough to hurt her but enough for her to know he’s kind of pissed off. She moans disapprovingly when she realizes she’s unable to ride him while he holds her thigh down and struggles to meet eyes with him as he’s still holding her head back.

“You’re going to make me do this and I will regret it when your pheromones release…” He thrusts into her once and she seductively whines. “I want you so fucking badly…” He thrusts into her a second time, only deeper and her cries fill the room as she’s unraveling above him. His hands release her hair and she sends her lips onto his without hesitation. He’s now grabbing both of her thighs as he feels his glare plastered onto his face. His hips push up into her again and she folds over completely on top of him. He hisses through his teeth and pumps her a few more times consecutively as she moans into his neck. “Why do you… do this to me?” He sounds angry and he honestly is but he’s still completely enthralled by them finally wrapping into each other like this again. It hadn’t been very long but he can’t stand to fight their feelings and desires. “You tell me when I need to stop Elska” He grunts as she moans into an agreeance, “Because I’m going to fuck you until you do.”

She lets her voice echo through the room as she just received ravishing verbal confirmation that he was going to give it to her…that which she needs from him. This dominating side of Naoya makes her feel euphoria already. He’s not exactly rough but he’s so passionate and genuine that she just wants to let him have his way with her. She has this belief that if she granted him that access, he would still do it with a level of delicacy. The way he feels to her is beyond words as she wishes she could relay her pleasure to him properly but as he ruts into her, she can only focus on the sensations. Making him mad wasn’t her intention but she finds it extremely difficult to fight off her urges and has to admit that angry lustful Naoya makes her feel even more like this was supposed to be. She sits herself up enough to hover over his face and the look he’s giving her can only be described as furrowed and alluring. “I’m sorry…Naoyaa” She whispers as he continues to send himself inside of her. Her breath is caught as she tries to control her volume but ends up gasping while she feels him repeatedly brush against the spot that has her losing her mind above him. She finds herself digging her nails into his shoulders being unaware until she reflexively curls her fingers and scratches his skin. She’s doing everything in her power to refrain from releasing them but feels it quickly approaching.

He’s learning her body more and more every day. He quickly became determined to make this as fast as possible, hoping they can reach the heights together but is prepared to have to stop at any given second. Her body has always been his guide, he feels like it’s as if she’s a language he can easily speak.  As her eyes flutter above him while she’s contracting around him, he curses the day that anyone ever stands between them again. He’s surprised that they’ve been able to make it for this long without triggering the release but it seems like the moment he found solace in that he notices a slight trace of the scent. He immediately lifts her off of him so that he can remove the biggest contributing factor, himself.

He expects her to pout but she’s a smiling mess as she leans down to kiss him deeply. A throaty groan leaves him as he feels her arms to see if she’s physically hot. She’s warm but it could be from their activities. He’s lying flat with his hands now over his eyes as he tries to regulate his heart. “Baby…you can’t do that anym-…” He feels warmth engulfing his tip and sliding down his shaft. He whines as he thinks she’s climbed back over him but realizes that her weight isn’t there. ‘Wait…is she..?’ His eyes dart open to see her lids as she’s swallows him down. He feels excitement as she creates suction that results to a small popping noise as she raises her head up again. She’s bent over on the side of him with her backside high in the air, he can’t help but marvel at appealing sight.

“What can’t I do Naoya?” Her voice is slightly broken as she lowly whispers into him, her devious eyes meeting his as she catches her breath.

“I don’t believe I said anything.” He smirks as he moves to sit up more, wanting to witness this new first for them as he realizes why she was smiling after he pulled out. He grins too seeing how eager she is to do this. She drops her head back down and it sends his head upwards. He shifts his weight to one arm so he can reach out and touch her. Her eyes lock onto his as she hollows her cheeks and he feels himself inching closer. He tries to grab her hair to pull from her face but he fumbles with strands until she assists him. He doesn’t want to add pressure to her, he just wants to see. He’s moaning relentlessly now as she bobs over him, the sounds created from her sucking adding to his experience as he still can’t help but feel she’s absolutely stunning. He feels the tension rising within, the warmth from his own end, “B…baby…I’m about to…” She quickens her pace and he can’t do anything but sink back into the pillows while his body involuntarily flinches as he’s unloading all of his frustrations into her mouth.  He whimpers as she slowly brings her lips back up and lets him flop onto his stomach. Through heaving he asks her if she finished at all and she shakes her head, “This wasn’t about me.” And smiles, “You feel really good regardless so don’t worry.” Her eyes are soft as they gloss over his body and she wipes her face clean.

As she collects air in the form of gasps, she looks back to Naoya who finally looks a little livelier and not so weighted down, “You needed that…” Her hand caresses his left thigh while she breathes heavily “…you were so stressed out and I know I’m the cause.” He’s motioning her to come closer so she crawls up towards him.

“You specifically do not stress me out.” He pulls her by the back of the head so he can kiss her deeply. He brings his fingers underneath her chin to lift her gaze up more towards him, “It’s actually everyone else.” They both breathlessly snicker as she curls back into him and lays her head on his heaving chest. They have to fight the covers underneath them before they can be pulled over top but once they do, they settle back into each other. “I do feel better though,” his heart threatens to leap from under his ribs as he realizes that was probably her intention all along. The smile painfully fixed to his face widens as he feels the actual love from a woman, from her. “Thank you...” He hums as he notices they’re in the same position as when she was sleeping but his heart feels bigger and the amount of anxiety he has about the days to come seems significantly smaller.

“I have no idea what awaits us outside of this room…” Reality is rearing it’s ugly head as she feels she must address this, “…but I can no longer ignore what you are to me Naoya.” The left hand she has placed on his chest balls up, “And I can’t ignore the fact that I’m with Sati either…and what we’ve been doing, how I can’t keep away from you….” She takes a deep breath as she calms the unsteady emotions that were rising within her. “And Toji…Toji is very dear to me. We’re bonded.” She wishes she would have remained silent, fearing that she just ruined the beautiful moment they were sharing. His hand rests over her fist now and she watches his hand fumble to open hers so their fingers can interlock.

“I was already aware of things being complicated princess, don’t work yourself up so much over that.” He brings her fingers to his lips to kiss them. “I’m certainly not thrilled with the predicament but I knew they both worked themselves into your life.” He brings his left hand to brush through her hair, “That’s why it was so important for you to know that you have a choice with me. I will not manipulate you.”

“I believe you when you say that.” She’s understanding exactly how many different ways he makes her feel amazing. “You really are a good man, Naoya…” It seems like no matter what the topic, they can strive through it all, like they’re indestructible together. “We’ve had an interesting past but there’s something about all of this, I need you in my future as well.” She lifts her head up to see him and he’s already looking down to her. She feels so insecure as his gaze seems so piercing looking over her while he’s lost in thought.

Just a week ago he was cloaked in distress worrying about if she would even really consider him, especially under these circumstances. Mere days ago, his heart fractured when he thought he was going to lose her for good after Getou’s vile attack. Minutes ago, they were direly experiencing each other and upon hearing her say all of that, in this exact moment he knew he was supposed to be with her.

“And I will be there.” He’s feeling so many different things that he doesn’t even know where begin. “Be in mine as well?” She smiles, nods and says yes to this and he can’t help but to reach out to her to bring her back into him. He’s now revamped and possibly even somewhat looking forward to his discussion tomorrow. Things definitely don’t seem as bleak as his relief from their honest exchanges allow him feel more at ease.

“Everything will work out.” He rubs her shoulder with a new armor of confidence, “And if not, we’ll fucking make it.”

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