#there was a separate debate that came up about the fact that people using “clean” to describe non-smut stories implies smut is dirty

[shinsengumi-archives]

An Assassination Attempt on Okita Souji

Abe Juro was a subordinate of Okita Souji in the First Squad.

After he and Itou Kashitaro separated from the Shinsengumi to form the Goryo-eji, he was no longer associated with Okita.

However, on December 18, Keio 3, he and his comrades, Utsumi Jiro (内海次郎) and Sawara Taro (佐原太郎), suddenly plotted to assassinate Okita.

What happened between Abe and Okita?

Before the incident

November 18, exactly one month before the incident. Itou Kashitaro, the leader of Abe's group, was attacked and killed by the Shinsengumi.

Abe escaped thanks to the fact that he and Utsumi had gone to Yamato at that time, but he fled to the Satsuma residence to escape the Shinsengumi's pursuit.

However, the Satsuma domain forbade them from going out for a month, along with other comrades who had also fled.

When Abe and his comrades finally received permission to go out in early December, the first thing they did was search for the Shinsengumi.

It's believed that during the time they were in hiding, they were determined to avenge Itou's death.

Then, on the evening of December 17. Kano Washio came across information that Okita was "hiding" at Kondo Isami's mistress's house in Rokujo.

The day of the incident

Abe Juro woke up at 4 a.m. the next morning and cut into the mistress's house with Utsumi and Sawara.

This is a so-called "night raid, morning attack" (夜討ち朝駈け) strategy.

Normally, this strategy seems to be used when a small number of men face a large number of enemies, but Okita was alone. Moreover, he was on his sickbed at that time.

Abe was skilled with a spear, and Utsumi Jiro was the head instructor at Itou Kashitaro's dojo. Sawara Taro was also described by Nishimura Kanefumi as "a master of swordsmanship", so it seems that he was quite skilled.

No matter how good Okita was, it might have been tough for him to fight against these three men with his illness.

In other words, Abe was wary of Okita that much.

However, Okita was not at the place where they planned to cut him down. Around 10 p.m. the night before, he had moved to Fushimi.

Mistaken assumptions

The reason why Okita was at the mistress's house in the first place is thought to have been a temporary refuge from the chaos of the Shinsengumi's move to Fushimi, as the Shinsengumi was moving out of their old headquarters and going to Fushimi.

Perhaps Abe and his colleagues could not grasp the fact that Okita would leave when the situation calmed down.

Nevertheless, they should have confirmed that Okita was home when they got the information and should have at least left a lookout.

It's said that Okita was lucky, but I think he was also helped by the lack of precision from Abe and his team.

And most of all, what they really needed to confirm was whether Okita was actually involved in the murder of Itou Kashitaro.

Abe's opinion of Okita

As it turned out, Okita was not involved in Itou Kashitaro's murder.

However, Abe seemed to have assumed that Okita must have been involved.

Abe's comments about Okita at the historical discussion meeting can be summarized as follows.

Okita was a cruel man

He acted like he didn't know there was an Imperial Court in this country

He was simply a good swordsman and used his swordsmanship well.

He only knew how to act for Kondo's sake

He killed people unnecessarily

This is a terribly negative evaluation. What in the world happened in the First Squad?

As for the 2nd point, Nagakura Shinpachi wrote that Okita was one of the members who discussed and worried about national affairs during his time in the Shieikan Dojo, so it doesn't mean that he didn't discuss national affairs.

However, Okita might have shrugged away from debates about national affairs in front of Abe and his colleagues and didn't take it seriously.

Okita's response seems very mature, as he knew the weight of his statements as an executive. But Abe must have taken his actions at face value.

Who was Abe Juro as a person?

Abe Juro was a man who was "smart, liked cleanness, a little short-sighted (=not thinking clearly, short-tempered), but very good with his hands and mouth (=speaks and acts well)", and had "a strong temper since childhood" (=nervous and irritable), and it seems he had a strong conviction.

From the contents of the historical talks, we get the impression that he was a hot-blooded man who was convinced of his own righteousness.

However, his belief in his own ideas may have led to the attempted assassination of Okita.

Okita was nearly killed by a false accusation.

I think it's important to confirm everything, not to act on assumptions. This is something I would like to always remind myself.

References

史談会速記録　第90輯　国会図書館蔵

大内町が生んだ幕末の風雲児　阿部十郎小伝　アベツトム (北方風土 : 北国の歴史民俗考古研究誌 (13)　北方風土社編)

新選組・高台寺党　市居浩一

浪士文久報告記事　永倉新八

#okita #abe juro #recommended

[secoluch]

Human Rights Poster

The poster I created to advocate an article in the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights was about Article 25, and everyone’s right to a standard of living. Specifically I made the poster about refugees and displaced people and how the United nations set up refugee camps to help locate and house these people.

I had a couple of options I was debating between when initially setting out to create this design. At first I was going to have civilians escaping a town/city, then trying to escape their country and or city, and then finally I settled on having them arriving at one of the camps set up to house them. 

My design is fairly simple overall, with a group of 7 people walking on a path and upon rows upon rows of tents that will help house them and place them for some time. Additionally they are walking towards the sun, representing hope and new beginnings. The image is inherently balanced as it is almost symmetrical down the center.

Part of the goal of this poster is to have it be able to be read by anyone, even those who are not native english speakers. I think the artwork on the piece is fairly clear about the fact that a group of people are arriving at an area with tents, with their only objects being carried with them. They are walking towards the sun, which is symbolic of hope and new beginnings. 

The color choice was very important to me as this is a fairly clean and 

Simple design, so I did not want to overload the design with too many colors and wanted a limited color palette. I looked at various national park posters which I was inspired by for the design, and I eventually came upon an old fan made star wars poster with this color palette that I really liked so I used the palette in my own poster. 

The progress critique was evaluated my overall design, and did not suggest a change with the artwork, however it was stated that my text was difficult to read due to the United Nations symbol cutting off the words in the center. I played around with the text and several different layouts before landing on the final product. The final result is a bit less dramatic than my initial design, but it is much more readable. I solved the problem by instead of separating my initial line of text, I conjoined it over the symbol and then had the following text read as if it was on a page. Then in the following critique I added line separation and had the text read as very simple two lines of text.

“Universal Declaration of Human Rights.” United Nations, United Nations, https://www.un.org/en/about-us/universal-declaration-of-human-rights. 

[kkusuka]

omg!!! i was like🥵🥵w the kuroo x bokuto threesome

could u do a suna x kenma x reader one?😳

of course~

The Ladies Room 

Professional Gamer AU

Suna Rinatrou x fem!reader x Kenma Kozume 

 genre: smut 

Cw: degrading, slight choking, slight orgasm denial, photography

a/n: i had no idea what to write for this, than all of a sudden it was 1,000 words and i was like :0. this is such a cool pair too, not one i would have thought of and i love that. 

----

Of all people to join your Fallout stream, you had not expected Kodzuken and Sunarin’s usernames arguing in the chat. About your attitude towards the vault experiments nonetheless.

You had no idea they even watched your streams.

Your 700 thousand followers seemed minuscule compared to Kodzuken’s 31 million and Sunarin’s 29.7 million. Them watching just made you feel important, nevermind the fact they were blowing up your chat.

Finishing your goal for the night, mind consumed by elaborate fangirling, you ended your stream. Taking a second to breathe you check your phone, almost having a heart attack when you see a request to directly message Kodzuken.

Kodzuken: join the discord

Kodzuken: we wanna talk with you about some games

In your shock you clicked the link he sent, placing your headphones back on your ears, entering the call.

“Hello?”

---

“He said he was going to be here 25 minutes ago,” Kenma gave you a hum of recognition at your statement, it was true, Suna was always late, “we should tell him to come 15 minutes before.”

Just the fact you knew that Suna was always late was amazing.

Thinking about how your twice-a-week calls became everyday video chats turned to you meeting at different restaurants, sometimes arcades, almost three times a week was insane.

Kenma looked almost identical to how he looked in streams, pristine and calculating. Abit a bit more lively, he was far louder than where you first met. But now he seems to have opened up, loudly telling Suna off when he finally shows up.

Suna, on the other hand, looked almost ethereal in person. The cameras did him no justice, he was tanner and his eyes were far more captivating in person. He was much more exuberant with you, actually, they both were.

They were everything they were on the screen and more, Suna’s teasing smiles and Kenma’s observant stares were far more personal when you were sitting right in front of them.

“No, I’m serious (y/n), he did it all wrong. He had to go to the back of the bar and speak to the barmaid before going back into the town.” You also had no idea that Suna really liked to debate about the games he was passionate about.

“No I don't, there’s no specific way to do it, that’s a time-wasting side quest” Kenma bit back at the man sitting beside him. You hadn’t played the game but they always bugged you for the input,

“Sometimes side quests are really helpful, Ken! They might help you level up, the better the stats the better chance of beating the game!”

As you spoke both pairs of eyes shot up to yours, Rin’s turning as he let out a triumphant smirk and Kenma’s downturned scowl, frowning back at his switch and seemingly turning back to do as Suna suggested.  

Slurping down the rest of your drink you had the overwhelming urge to use the bathroom came over you. Voicing your need, Suna mocked and watched you leave.

Trying to hurry out of the bathroom, the sooner you get out the less complaining Suna will make about his “separation anxiety.”

Coming out you could see a small line that had formed, one woman towards the end being, from what you could see, pressed against that wall with a man towing over her. She was clearly uncomfortable, and something in you just made you need to save her.

“Sir? She is clearly uncomfortable, you should leave, this is a line for the ladies' room.” now standing before you, he looked you up and down before completely turning towards you. “Well little lady, I’ll leave the line if you come back with me.”

Face flushing at his obvious uncaringness, you were never given the chance to respond before an arm wrapped around your waist and a voice called from behind you.

“No, she’s busy.” Kenma’s voice rang as he led you out of the small hallway to where Suna stood at the doorway. Eye’s following you all the way.

Both leading you to Kenma's car, Rin pulling you to sit with him and the blond drove.

-------

“You think we were just going to let another man flirt with you like that?”

Turning your head to where kenma’s sat watching as Suna bounced you along his cock. Your mind was in overdrive, the same men who watched you bouncing along his cock are the ones who had not let you cum for hours before.

Attempting to reach a hand to your throbbing clit, Rin smacked your hand away harshly thrusting up into your cervix. Using that same hand he wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling to his face.

“Bad fucking cunts don't get to cum” he snarled out sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

“Please, R-Rin, I need to, places, want to cum, so bad.” he seemed to like your begging, as his fingers meet your clit, rubbing small circles, making your hips buck into his.

As Rin pressed your body to his, you could hear Kenma rise from his char and slowly make his way to you. Latching fingers around your chin he pulled your tear-stained face to look at him.

“You're going to be good for me right Kitten? You've done so well for Suna, so you have to be good for me now.”

Tugging his shorts down he released his cock from its confinements and pressed your mouth open, wrapping your lips around his tip. Suna continued his assault on your clit, now flicking a pebbled nipple, chuckling at your little moans.

“You make such sweet little sounds, face stuffed with cock. You love this, don't you? You should just be our little cum-dump from now on.”

By now Kenma had lost his patience on your slow pace, still trying to handle Suna’s rough pace.

Placing a hand on the back of your head, shoving his dick to the back of your throat, setting a brutal pace, balls slapping your chin. Grabbing your hair, pulling your head to face you up, a better angle to face-fuck you.

“Suna- picture” Moving quickly he bent his waist to grab Kenma’s phone, which was laying on the nightstand to your right. “Smile, Kitten”

It was a joke on you, tears streaming down our face, approaching your orgasm, mouth filled with cock, trying to smile as Kenma records you, guaranteed to go into a private folder on his computer.

Thrusting up, Suna hit a spot in you that made you fall apart on his cock, pulling your mouth off Kenma to let out a gasping moan of release. Hand gripping the plush of your hips fucking up into you, aiding his own release before pushing you off.

Pulling your back to his chest he grasped your thigh, pussy on display for the recording. Pressing your stomach to push the remainder of his cm out of your clenching hole, ending Kenma over the edge, painting your thighs white.

Setting your legs down, Suna snuggled into the crook of your neck as Kenma flopped down onto the bed wrapping his arms around your legs.

“No, we have to clean up, ‘m all sticky”

“Round two?”

#kenma kozume #suna rintarou #suna x reader #kenma x reader #kenma smut #suna smut #kenma kozume x reader #suna rintarou x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smut

[arlert-angel]

love fast, die young ☪

♡ jean x fem!reader

❥ you know that at any moment your life could be cut short as a scout, and the last thing you want is to die a virgin, so why not ask your best friend that you’re in love with for some help?

❥ wc: 5.8k

❥ cw: near death experience (reader), virgin!reader and virigin!jean, cannonverse but no plot, loss of virginity, slight size kink, cream pie, aftercare, fluff

❥ note: i was invested in the story of this one lol, it's a lot more romantic than i initially intended. they’re aged up, but the cannonverse details don’t make sense for the plot, so let’s pretend it does yay.

Arriving back from expeditions was always an exhausting feat within itself, sometimes more so than the actual expedition. 

Commanding officers had to count their losses, healers had to tend to the wounded, and everyone who was good enough to stand had to report their kills and assists. Of course that was the immediate tasks that needed to take place, but then came the grief. Friends looked for one another, many people cried, and names could be heard shouted all around as everyone arrived at headquarters. 

You weren't that different, but you were silent as you scanned the crowd looking for your tall best friend. You knew he was with the best of the best in Levi's squad, so you weren't too worried. However, you also knew the previous best had been wiped out before the new group came. 

Anything could happen which made you all the more anxious. 

You and Jean were not on the same squad. You first were offered a position on the Levi squad with the rest of your friends, but then Hange handed picked you to help them with their experiments, claiming they needed your mind to work with them. Hange is very likeable and now one of your closest friends, and at the time it seemed impossible to say no to them.

Hange's and Levi's squad tended to work together a lot and definitely trained together, so you didn't miss your friends too much. It was only when expeditions approached and new formations were made, when you had to be separated from the rest of your 104th pals. 

You never complained about the separation. It wouldn't last forever, maybe a couple days at most, and then you return to laughing and working with the rest of your friends. You had no complaints until this particular expedition.

You had a close call.

In fact, so close, you might as well have kissed Death on the lips while you were so close to the afterlife. 

The mission was going according to plan. It was a simple scouting mission in the mountains that were, for the most part, titan free. Your squad was on the left flank of the formation, near the edge of the mountains. The cliff sides surrounding you guys held a beautiful, yet slightly scary view. The drop had to be at least 300 feet.

You should've known something bad was going to happen as soon as Hange called out, "Hey, Y/N, check it out!" But you weren't thinking that hard, for the day had been so peaceful. 

The path you all had taken was so close to the cliffs that the squad was riding single file for safety. There was enough room to pass one another, but you had to do so very carefully. 

You rode ahead, passing Moblit. You sent him a questioning look as went by, but he only shrugged, not knowing what Hange was raving over. When you slid off your horse and next to Hange you saw what they did.

A very large cave.

"Should we go inside?" Hange looked at you, clearly excited, but it was an awful idea.

"No!" You tried to sound stern, knowing how they needed a firm rejection or they'd always get what they wanted, "Do you see the size of the thing? This looks like a comfy home for a 10 meter titan, maybe even 15 meter class if they hunched over."

"Do you think they'd crawl around in there?!" Their eyes widened and the familiar look that you've seen so many times on their face appeared. It was their usual expression they had when you conducted experiments with them. You swore to yourself how you fed their curiosity on accident.

"What's going on?" Moblit now arrived, wondering what the hold up was about.

"They want to go inside that death trap," You pointed at the ominous cavern in front of you all. 

"You cannot be serious!" Moblit exclaimed in surprise, the volume echoing down the stone and dirt walls. Moblit continued his rant, stating the obvious, but you tuned their debate out. You just stared into what looked like an abyss. 

There was no movement, no noise, not even the breeze seemed to reach here.

But for some reason you had a gut feeling. A gut feeling that saved all of your lives.

"Move!" You shoved Hange into Moblit which effectively knocked them both to the side of the cave and used your ODM gear to swing yourself to the opposite side. 

The large hand reached out as you tried to get out of the way, but because you helped the others you weren't quick enough.

Luckily, the titan's grasp only managed to get tangled in your ODM wire and couldn’t quite reach your actual body. 

Unluckily, the titan was managing to drag you like a ragdoll and if you didn't do anything quickly you would be engulfed in the darkness where it was hidden, and then probably engulfed in it’s stomach. 

You had to think quick on your feet and so you drew your blades and slashed the wire on your gear all together. You could've attempted to slash at it's hands, but that was no guarantee. The wire was sliced with a clean snip.

Now you were free, you stumbled back at the loss of momentum. You took one two many steps back, and that last step didn't hit the gravely earth that the others had. 

Your foot didn't hit anything at all. 

You were about to fall off a cliff. 

Ironic to escape death one way only to quite literally fall into its clutches another way. 

But, you didn't fall. 

Your eyes were squeezed shut in absolute terror, and when you opened them at the lack of free fall, you saw Hange.

They had managed to save you by the front of your shirt, yanking you back on solid ground. Moblit had been keeping the titan at bay, and continued to do so as you and everyone else turned their horses carefully around. 

Thanks were shared by yourself, Hange, and Moblit at the different lucky saves. They praised your quick thinking and response. None of you actually saw the titan coming. You just knew. You seemed to recognize the familiar feeling of dread from the presence of a titan that wanted to eat you. Even if you couldn’t see it. 

Hange continuously apologized on the way back, but it wasn’t really their fault. It’s not like you actually entered the cave like they wanted. And it was probably a good thing you guys stopped when you did. If the group rode past the cave something worse might have happened.  

After that close call you wanted nothing more to find your best friend and have his familiar comfort.

"Y/N? Whatcha still doing out here?" You spun around quickly and saw Connie. 

“Oh, hey! I’m just looking for Jean, have you seen him?” You didn’t want to panic, but it was weird to see Connie without Jean. 

“Yeah! Mikasa killed this titan that had snuck up right above us and it’s blood got all over Jean it was so funny he screamed like a girl. But yeah, he went to the showers immediately,” Connie explained laughing at the memory. You laughed along and wished you could see it yourself.

“That’s funny, I should probably shower too, this mission felt particularly long,” You grumbled more to yourself than Connie, but he picked up on your off tone.

“Did something happen?” He asked genuinely concerned. You might’ve been closest to Jean, but Connie and Sasha were also very close to you. The four you always had the most fun together, and got in the most trouble. 

“Kind of, a titan snuck up on us too, but we were near the cliffs so there wasn’t all lot of room to work with. I almost fell, but on the bright side I overcame my fear of heights,” You laughed, but it was more anxious than joyful.

“Oh shit, that’s awful!” Connie’s eyes widened in horror, “I'll tell Jean to come find you when I see him.”

“What why?”

“You were looking for him right? He’d definitely want to know that you’re okay after that. He worries a lot, you know? It’s always: I hope Y/N okay, where’s Hange’s squad again, I wish Y/N was here, Y/N would love this view. Someone has to tell him to shut up at least once every expedition.” Connie actually did an okay Jean impression as he ranted to you, but you didn’t comment on it. 

You were too surprised. You didn’t know Jean worried about you. He never once came to you with any fears about expeditions. He always asked you what happened, but that’s just a normal conversation. It wasn’t too strange for someone’s best friend to think about them when apart. What was strange was the happy feeling you got knowing that Jean couldn’t shut up about you. A weird fluttery feeling danced in your stomach and you felt almost giddy.  

Connie noticed your lack of response and noticeably paled. 

“Fuck, wait, I didn’t tell you that! Jean’s gonna kill me, Y/N please don’t tell him I told you!” He grabbed onto you, begging. He shook you enough that it got you out of your confusing thoughts.

“Um, okay? I don't see what the big deal is. I think about Jean on expeditions too, that’s not weird right?” You smiled reassuringly and Connie’s whole body sagged in relief.

“Not at all! Have a nice shower!” Connie ran away, actually ran, trying to separate himself from that conversation. He thanked the Walls that you couldn’t read between the lines. 

After that odd conversation you got a change of clothes and towel, and then headed towards the showers. You passed Sasha and Mikasa on the way in and they both gave you pleasant greetings, all parties glad to see each other alive and well.

You tried not to overthink, but the hot shower gave you all the time to do so.

Your thoughts jumped from almost dying, to Jean, to these overwhelming feelings you seemed to harbor.

You knew you loved Jean. You both even told each other sometimes. Your mind never wandered further than viewing Jean as your best friend only because you didn’t think that’s what he’d want. 

When you first met Jean you had a small crush on him, admiring him from afar until Marco introduced the two of you. Once you grew closer and noticed his infatuation with Mikasa your feelings sizzled out in a bitter simmer. Your bitterness didn’t last long though, you were happy you had someone to rely on no matter what. After Marco passed, Jean was your crutch and vise versa. Romance would only make things confusing and besides you didn’t have any experience in the matter. 

But now as you think more and more about him you wondered if those feelings ever went away. You thought about his laugh and stupid tone he gets when he tries to act cocky. You thought about his eyes and how pretty they look in the sunlight. You thought about his ability to read your mind without you having to tell him something’s wrong. He was your person. 

You came to the conclusion that there definitely was something more than platonic there, but there was no certainty he felt the same. He would’ve said something by now. When he liked Mikasa he was so obvious, openly talking about her to everyone. You would’ve known something by now if it were the case, right? You knew he didn’t like Mikasa now, he told you explicitly for some reason, stating you needed to know. He also didn’t talk about liking anybody new. 

Sighing in frustration, you turned off the shower, now squeaky clean. What was supposed to be a relaxing shower just stressed you out because of your stupid brain’s overthinking. 

And it didn’t stop. As you dropped your messy uniform in the laundry, it reminded you of the day.   

Today proved that any moment could be your last. Being in the scouts has always been dangerous, and you knew you were a disposable soldier. You didn’t mind it much, but now you realized how little you had experienced. You had never been drunk, your only kiss was with Marco in a game of truth or dare, and you were a virgin. 

You didn’t want to die a virgin.

You thought of Jean. You wanted to be with him at least once before you died. You didn’t want to die without knowing how it felt to have everything with Jean. Your love for him definitely wasn’t platonic. You didn’t want to die without him knowing.

Your mind made up, you walked the halls with a little more determination than usual. You wandered around for only a couple minutes before running into Eren.

“Horseface is looking for you,” He pointed around the corner. You gave a quick thanks before quickly going in that direction only to collide with the person you were searching for.

“Y/N!” Jean surprised you by pulling you in a tight hug. As he pulled away he took note of the blush that was now on your cheeks, but didn’t comment. He also didn’t let you go completely, leaving his hands on your shoulders. Unable to help himself.

“Hey, I was looking for you,” You smiled genuinely, only slightly nervous now. Even with the giddiness he gave you, he still managed to calm you down.

“Me too, Connie said something happened with your squad, so I asked Hange about it and they told me everything,” His eyebrows were pulled into a worried furrow, “I wish you were in our squad.”

“Me too, but I like being with Hange too,” You stated honestly, “But it’s alright, everything worked out in the end.” 

“Yeah, but you almost fell off a cliff! Y/N if I lost you I’d…” He cleared his throat before shaking himself out of his thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re okay. You said you were looking for me, what for?”

“Oh! Um…” You looked around and saw Eren eavesdropping blatantly with a knowing look, causing you to quickly turn back around, “Can I talk to you in my room about something?” You shift your weight from side to side, visibly jittery. 

“Sure?” Jean was confused and noted you looked more flustered than before, but he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong like he usually could. 

You walked side by side, passing Eren along the way who gave you both a smug wave. When Jean wasn’t looking you turned around and gave him the finger. The walk was silent and your hands brushed each other softly.

Once you were behind closed doors you felt yourself relax a little more. It was just Jean, you hyped yourself up. Even if he did reject you the worst thing that could happen is him make a stupid joke out of everything, but you doubt he would. You knew he at least respected you.

“So, what’s so serious that you needed to be away from nosy Yeager?” So he did see that ass listening, you thought. 

“Well… You know about my close call today… It got me thinking,” You started safely.

“You can think? Like, there’s a brain in there?” Jean acted surprised and grabbed your head teasingly.

“Shut up,” You laughed and slapped his hands away before adding, “It’s serious.”

“Okay,” He took a seat on your bed comfortably, an action that was not unusual, you hung out in each other’s room all the time. He gave you his full attention, no longer joking around.

“I thought about how at any moment we can die, that sounds morbid, but it’s true. And then I thought about all the stuff I haven’t done and all the things I haven’t said,” You explained further, still not getting to the point. 

“So, you want to make a bucket list?” Jean tilted his head, trying to follow, “That’d be fun.”

“No,” You rolled your eyes lovingly, “I, more specifically, thought about all the stuff we haven’t done together.” 

“Oh, you want to make a bucket list together!” Jean perked up.

“Jean stop trying to guess and let me explain,” You laughed and he complied, pretending to zip his lips shut.

“Jean,” You approached the man, invading his personal space, “I don’t want to die a virgin, do you?”

“No…” Jean blushed at the sudden topic change, wondering why on earth you were bringing that up right now.

“And…  I love you, and I know you'd treat me right,” You cupped his cheeks in your hands. You were standing in between his legs now, him leaning back on his hands looking up at you. He was tall, so he didn’t have to tilt his neck that much. 

“I love you too, what are you going on about?” His face was drawn in clear confusion, a cute expression, if he wasn’t being so frustrating. 

“No, Jean,” You leaned impossibly close, your face right in front of his, “I’m in love with you.” 

Then you boldly straddled him before you planted your lips on him.

You were shy, unsure if he would reciprocate the kiss, and it seemed like he wasn’t.  You panicked instantly. Your heart was pounding and you pulled away. You were terrified you screwed everything up. You looked at him and he seemed to be frozen.

“Jean?” You worriedly looked at your catatonic friend whose eyes were wide in shock, “I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry! Please don’t hate me!” You began to try to climb off him, but his hands shot to your hips, holding you in place.

“Y/N, you’re in love with me?” He still seemed to be stunned, or maybe he didn’t believe you, but he held your gaze with serious eyes. 

“Yes,” You made sure to keep eye contact despite the heat that rose to your cheeks, to make sure he knew you were dead serious. 

“Good,” One of his hands left your hips to your cheek. He guided your mouth back to his.

He was kissing you. He was actually kissing you. It was slow and sweet at first. He stroked your cheek lovingly and your lips slowly moved in sync. It was when you repositioned yourself on his lap, accidently grinding into him, when the kisses started to become more feverish. He groaned into your mouth and the hand left your face and found it’s new home on your ass. He squeezed it harshly, making you gasp. He took the opportunity to introduce his tongue to yours. He surprised you when he sucked on your tongue, making a small whimper escape you. 

Jean pulled away, taking in your flustered state with blown pupils of his own. Both of your lips were swollen and you both needed to catch your breath. 

“I love you too, you know?” Jean pushed some of your hair out of your face with a soft smile, “I figured you didn’t feel the same and wanted to just be friends, so I didn’t say anything.”

“I thought the same, or that you might still like Mikasa,” You admitted shyly, looking down where your bodies met.

“Hey,” He tilted your chin so you held eye contact again, “That was a stupid crush when I was kid, and I told you that ended a long time ago, didn't I? I’m in love with you.”

“We were so stupid keeping it to ourselves,” You laughed and Jean openly admired you in what looked like awe. His gaze made you feel bashful, almost wanting to hide your face with your hands.

“We were, I could have been kissing you so much sooner,” Jean mumbled, already leaning back to you. This time when your lips met your tongues danced together immediately. You knew Jean also didn't have much experience, but with the way he kissed it seemed like he did. 

"Did you mean what you said?" Jean pulled away only for a moment to ask before returning right back to your lips. 

You pulled away, trying to decipher what he was referring to. "Wha–" Your breath hitched when you felt Jean kiss your pulse on your neck. He began sucking on a particular spot that made you moan, surprising both of you. 

"You're so beautiful," He commented then explained, "Did you mean what you said about that virgin stuff?" He seemed shy all of sudden, his hands were sliding from your hips to your thighs, almost like he was trying to soothe himself.

"I meant every word," You said honestly, "I want to experience all of you."

"God," Jean seemed to like that statement, "I don't know what I'm doing, so just know I'm learning as I go. Just tell me what you like and don't like."

"Of course," You gave him a reassuring smile, "I'm not worried, I trust you."

"Good," He said again before spinning you around and lightly throwing you on your bed. He hovered over you, not putting much, if any weight on you. He resumed the make out session, but this time letting his hands wander.

He first tugged at your shirt, which you helped him quickly pull over your head. You hadn't worn a bra, assuming your plans for this evening were eating then just passing out. 

Jean seemed to drink your body in, just staring in lust and awe. 

"You can touch me," You tried to sound reassuring, but it sounded more like a beg. 

Jean took your breasts in his large hands and just felt you. You almost laughed at how mesmerized he looked, but that was when he latched his mouth on your nipple. That action seemed to send a current of electricity straight to the heat in between your legs. You arched your back and let out a surprised moan which made Jean quickly pull away. 

"Did I hurt you?" He looked scared.

"No, it feels good," You murmured as you unconsciously rolled your hips wanting friction.

"Oh, that's good," He shot you a grin before throwing his own shirt to the side. He went back to kissing your chest, this time his hand tweaked the nipple he wasn't sucking on, causing even more pleasure. You bit your lip only letting out whimpers, a little embarrassed of moaning so loudly again. 

"J-Jean," You stuttered out, gripping his broad shoulders.

"Hmm?" He hummed, he had been having fun leaving purple marks across your tits.

"I-I need…" You didn't finish.

"What do you need, princess?" He asked genuinely, but his deep tone sent shivers down your spine.

"More, I don't know," You admitted.

"Okay, don't worry," He gave you a peck, "I'll take care of you."

He began taking off your pants, helping you get them off your ankles. He stood to take off his own pants as you admired him. His body was so toned from the life of being a soldier. As you took him all in your eyes landed on the bulge that was very prominent in his briefs and for the first time you felt nerves about having sex with him. 

"Jean, how the hell is that supposed to fit in me?" You didn't even see it out of it's cage, you couldn't imagine that monster in action. 

"It has to fit right? People have sex all the time," Jean looked down at his own dick before looking at your panties with a frown, "I'll make sure to stretch you out with my fingers to help."

"What do you mean?" You blushed as Jean returned his body on top of you, giving you warmth again. This time putting a little more weight than last time. You could feel his restrained cock against you this time. 

"You know, fingering, you've done it to yourself before right?" Jean asked curiously. 

"I've tried, but I couldn't reach any particular spots that made me feel good, so I mostly just got off with my clit," You explained, a little embarrassed. 

"Well, I have long fingers," Jean began to slip off your last item of clothing. You gulped nervously, you now were exposed completely to him.

"So pretty, and you're wet," He groaned and looked back up to you, "Open your mouth."

You almost asked why, but you didn't want to kill the mood, so you complied. Jean slid two fingers into your mouth and you got the message. You wrapped your lips around his fingers and hollowed your cheeks, sucking on them. 

"Fuck," He sighed out and you felt him twitch against you. 

He pulled his fingers out and moved them back between your legs. He first slowly thrusted one finger inside you, to get you used to the unfamiliar feeling. The stretch wasn't too painful, and he was definitely right. His fingers were longer. 

He moved the one finger in and out of you slowly at first, picking up the pace as he continued. When he felt you relax completely he added a second finger. This time the stretch was a little more, making you tense.

"You're so tight," Jean was watching your pussy in wonder and slid his body down, so his face was near it. 

"What are you– Oh my God," Jean's lips sucked on your clit softly, then continuously kitten licked it, all while maintaining his finger thrusts.

"You taste good," Jean said it so casually, you'd think he was talking about the weather. He removed his fingers for a moment to get a better taste. He kissed you directly on your cunt before penetrating you with his tongue. He moaned against you, sending vibrations into you. You tried to unconsciously escape the pleasure, your thighs attempting to close, but Jean's large hands held you down. 

He returned his fingers inside you and this time adding a third. It stung more than before, but Jean's mouth on your clit made you forget all about the uncomfortableness. He began curling his fingers inside you reaching a spot that instantly had a knot forming in your stomach. Your hands shot around you, one gripping the sheets and the other in Jean's hair. 

He latched onto clit again and you gave up on trying to quiet your moans, embarrassment be damned, it felt too good.

"Jean," You moaned his name, which only made him moan back in return, "I-I'm going to…" You whined a little, not quite there yet, but right on the edge.

"You're going to cum?" Jean asked, not even completely pulled away from your clit to do so, "Go ahead and cum on my fingers, baby." He quickened his strokes and returned to your clit. It was just enough to send you over.

You grinded into his hand and cried out. Jean moaned too as if he was being pleasured just at the sight of you or maybe it was because of the sensation of your tight pussy clamping around his fingers. He couldn't help himself and licked up some of your release, making you jump. 

He moved back up to you with a content smile, "Did that feel good?" 

"Yeah," You smiled back through half lidded eyes, still buzzing from the pleasure.

He gave you a deep kiss and you could taste yourself on him. Tasting your own saccharine flavor was strangely erotic. 

Jean pulled away, "Is it alright if I take my cock out?" He asked beforehand just in case you changed your mind. 

"Yeah, of course, I want to see the monster that's going to destroy me," You joked and earned yourself a cocky smirk.

Jean took off the only clothing that was separating the two of you. You glanced down and saw his size more visibly now. You were right to be intimidated before, he was huge. Jean seemed to take note of your apprehensive expression so he returned to giving you some kisses in order to soothe you. 

“We’ll take it slow and if it’s too much just tell me,” Jean assured you which helped calm you down. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” Your eyes met as he began to rub the head up and down between your folds, collecting its wetness. He rubbed it over your clit and back down, making you feel particularly tingly. When he started pushing the head inside you had to remind yourself to not tense up, but it was hard. He was stretching a lot more than his fingers did. His cock added an unfamiliar pressure inside you that his fingers didn’t.

“God, that’s just the head and you're already squeezing me,” Jean threw his head back trying to regain composure. It was also his first time and he did not want to embarrass himself by finishing quickly. Also the gentlemen inside him wanted to feel you cum around him first.

He slowly continued to push further in as you grabbed his arms to brace yourself. When he finally bottomed out you swore you could see the bulge on your tummy. He kept still and waited for you to give him the go ahead even though he had the incredible urge to just thrust forward.

“You alright?” Jean's voice was more strained than usual.

“Yeah, why the fuck you gotta be so big, Jean,” Which only made Jean smile and give an apology kiss. You took a few more moments getting used to the stretch when the pleasure overtook the pain. You felt the veins on his cock inside you. You felt so full, but so good. You grinded into him trying to feel more and Jean noticed.

“I’m going to start moving now,” Jean warned and began pulling back before snapping his hips forward. You both cried out how he filled you up, your walls fluttering around him.

The pace was unrushed and steady to begin with. He withdrew his cock only to plunge it back into you, hitting you deep, in a repetitive matter. You felt the pleasure everywhere, all the way in your toes. 

You started meeting his thrusts, moving your hips in order to do so. Jean hitched your leg higher which only made you feel him deeper, hitting a sweet spot that caused you to gasp.

“You can go faster,” You said breathlessly, “Please, Jean, it feels so good.”

“Fuck,” Jean moaned back, his slow deep thrusts turned into a quick pounding. He continuously hit that new spot every time. Your whimpers turned into uncontrollable moans. Not wanting to make too much noise you buried yourself into the crook of his neck, sucking and biting his skin. 

You briefly looked down where your bodies met and saw him pumping out of you, your slick covering his cock and your thighs. The sight made your eyes roll back into your head.

“Please,” You moaned into Jean who brought his hand to your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“Please, what? What do you want, princess?” He grunted a bit after, not once did he lose his pace.

“I want… Ah… Please, I don’t know,” You felt like you could cry, you were right on the edge. You didn’t know what you needed, but you felt too good to try to figure it out. You figured he was close too by the way he was twitching inside your pussy and his thrusts became a little more desperate. 

“Open,” Jean brought his fingers back to your mouth, groaning at the sensation. He kept them there for a few more moments than necessary, just enjoying the way you looked with your pretty lips wrapped around him. 

Then he brought them between your legs and began rubbing your clit at the same pace he was thrusting into you.

“J-Jean, I’m gonna cum,” You grabbed his wrist, almost overwhelmed by the feeling. 

You cried out his name as your pussy milked him, triggering his own release. He groaned your name as he came. You felt the warmth of him spill deep inside you and it made your pussy tremble all the more. He gave a few final thrusts before slumping on top of you.

“Look at me while you cum, princess, come on, cum on my cock,” He encouraged you. You held eye contact for as long as you could, but when that coil in your tummy snapped you had to squeeze your eyes shut in absolute bliss.

“We definitely should’ve done that sooner,” He mumbled into your hair, making you giggle.

“Definitely,” You echoed back.

He slid out of you after that, making both of your bodies shudder at the loss of connection. You pussy still trying to pulse around something.

“I just showered,” You commented with a frown, looking at the mess between your legs. 

“I’ll go get a towel?” Jean offered, and you gave him a nod. He redressed quickly, kissed you deeply, then stated he would be back soon.

You threw your shirt back on while you waited. You felt so sleepy after that. Even though you wanted to feel clean, you wished you cuddled with Jean some more, already missing him.

After a couple more minutes the silence was broken.

 “I knew it!” You heard Eren’s familiar voice shout from outside your door and you sat up confused.

“Shut the fuck up before I hit you!” You heard Jean’s voice shout back and then a few more quieter exchanges that you couldn’t make out from the two men. Then your door opened fast, Jean slipping quickly inside, locking it behind him. In one hand he had a warm towel and in the other he had a new set of sheets. 

“What happened?” You pointed at the door and Jean scowled.

“Apparently those assholes bet on when we’d finally hook up,” Jean explained before cleaning you up. You blushed as he took care of you. Despite what just took place you still felt embarrassed. Jean noticed and just pecked your cheeks.

“That’s kind of funny, we should’ve placed our own bets,” You hummed and stood shakily, grabbing a new pair of underwear as Jean changed your sheets for you. 

“I can’t believe Eren won,” Jean frowned, but when your arms wrapped around him from behind he couldn’t help but smile.

“Will you stay with me? I kind of want to nap,” You mumbled into his back.

“Of course,” You both returned to your bed this time with more innocent intentions.

Jean laid on his back and you threw your arm around his chest and your leg over his, snuggling up into his side.

“I don’t want to die,” You murmured sleepily.

“You won’t,” Jean stated firmly.

“How do you know?” You looked up at him.

“Because we both have something to live for,” He met your gaze softly, before kissing your head again.

You told each other you loved another once again before you both fell asleep. It was a sleep where neither of you had the common nightmare about your untimely deaths. 

Instead it was a sleep where you both dreamt of the future you now could have with one another.

#this was so much more fluff than i wanted lol #aot smut #aot #aot jean #jean x reader #jean kirschstein #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein smut #attack on titan #mikasa ackerman #hange zoe #aot eren #eren aot #connie springer #arlert angel

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 13 - ao3 -

The wedding of a sect leader with the stature of Wen Ruohan was, as Lao Nie had predicted, an experience unlike any Lan Qiren had ever had before.

It was also, as Wen Ruohan had predicted, loud and full of crowds, things that Lan Qiren didn’t especially like. Luckily, despite being the groom’s ‘brother’, Wen Ruohan wasn’t requiring Lan Qiren to actually participate in any way, and he was just able to watch from a distance.

He tried not to think of Wen Ruohan’s casual admission that he had, in fact, devised the marriage just to deal with the issues with Lan Qiren’s reputation – and Lao Nie’s concern thereof, no doubt – and reassured himself that the bride was undoubtedly well prepared for her new life and would soon find her footing as the mistress of the Wen sect, where she would more than likely be happy in time.

That was how such things went, wasn’t it? Even with his sect’s notorious tendency towards love-madness, the people like his father, who married for love, were the exception and not the rule…

(He also tried not to think about the fact that Wen Ruohan accepted all the toasts for his wedding using a drinking bowl in Gusu style, painted with a border of vermilion birds, or the fact that, despite Lan Qiren having gifted a set, it was the only one of its kind on the table, leaving Wen Ruohan's new bride to drink from a much fancier gold-gilded bowl – but that was more because he didn’t understand what it meant, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.)

“Did you even get a chance to see him?” his brother asked when they returned, looking coldly disapproving.

“I did,” Lan Qiren said, thinking to himself less of the dinner that they’d shared with Lao Nie and more of the brief moment when the Lan sect delegation been about to leave, a servant appearing and whisking him off briefly back to the family quarters where Wen Ruohan, looking as composed as ever, pressed a too-familiar hand to his head and told him that he was sure he’d be seeing him again soon. “He didn’t say much.”

Nothing his brother would care about, anyway.

His brother nodded, looking unsurprised, and dismissed him, remarking unnecessarily, “You missed the first few days of classes,” as if Lan Qiren wasn’t aware of when each season of classes started for the disciples better than him. After all, Lan Qiren hoped to become a teacher one day, when he tired of traveling, and to do for future generations of the Lan sect what his teachers had done for him, and he took it as seriously as he did anything else.

The seasonal classes were his favorite, largely because such classes were open not only to the Lan sect disciples but to certain guest disciples – typically the children of rogue cultivators that the Lan sect wanted to encourage to join the sect, which meant that they had to pass through the same rigorous standards applicable to the usual sect disciples. Lan Qiren had always thought it was a shame that their classes were so limited in scope, although he acknowledged there wasn’t much to be done about it; after all, how many sects would be willing to send their children to be taught by outsiders?

A puzzle for another day.

For now, Lan Qiren made his way to the classroom, taking advantage of the lunch break to settle his things in his familiar seat at the side of the room. He hoped that coming in during the middle of the day would reduce the number of whispers that seemed to invariably greet him these days – luckily much more inclined to see him as a source of information rather than a victim or, worse, a perpetrator – but he didn’t have much faith in it.

“Hey, you’re in my seat.”

Lan Qiren looked up: it was a female disciple. Her face was unfamiliar to him, which suggested she was a rogue cultivator – while men and women lived separately in the Cloud Recesses, they came together for meals and other such events, and despite his introversion, Lan Qiren knew most if not all of his peer group by now.

“Sanren,” he said politely, rising and saluting. “Forgive me, but this has always been my seat.”

She frowned at him. “You didn’t claim it at the start of classes.”

“I missed the start of classes due to an unavoidable conflict.”

“I’ve been using it all week,” she said, and looked at him expectantly, as if anticipating an answer.

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say here. “I’ve been using it all my life. What’s your point?”

“So you’re not going to give it up for me?”

Lan Qiren stared at her. “Obviously not.”

She grinned toothily at him. “All the boys give up their seats for me. I understand that it’s a matter of etiquette.”

“Whoever told you that was lying,” he said flatly.

“Oh, I like you,” she said, and crossed her arms – an aggressive posture, although her tone, like Wen Ruohan’s, seemed more amused than anything else. How strange to see a sudden resemblance, when they very clearly had nothing else in common. “How would you know? Maybe it’s in the rules.”

Well, that was a mistake.

“Really,” Lan Qiren said, and smiled. “Why don’t we examine that supposition?”

She blinked at him, suddenly wary, but it was too late: if there was one thing Lan Qiren knew, it was his sect’s rules. Learning how to beat people over the head with them on purpose was a more recent development, and he was still working on fine-tuning that – most people started begging for mercy while he still felt irritated, but when they continued listening with apparent interest, as the rogue cultivator girl did, he swiftly forgot that he was trying to make a point and shifted over to actual enthusiasm for the subject.

“Cangse Sanren!”

Lan Qiren’s listener started and very nearly fell over – she’d put her chin on her hands at some point during the discussion of the origin of the rules regarding interactions between men and women, and hadn’t accounted for that when twisting to see who was calling her.

It was a mixed group of sect disciples, with some of Lan Qiren’s cousins and disciples of other surnames that he recognized, plus a few more that were likely rogue cultivators’ children as well.

“Oh,” she said. “You. What is it?”

“I see you got caught up in one of Lan-er-gongzi’s boring rule lectures,” one of the disciples said – one of Lan Ganhui’s friends, with Lan Ganhui himself nearby, grimacing at him in an attempt to make him stop. Lan Ganhui had gotten a lot more likely to leave Lan Qiren alone ever since Lan Yueheng had decided to befriend him, even intervening to make his friends leave off, but this time the other disciple ignored him, his eyes too focused on those ahead of him to pay him any mind; he was smiling intently at the rogue cultivator girl in a way that was clearly attempting to seem charming. “Don’t feel like you have to listen to him just because he’s main branch, you know! No one else does.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” one of the others muttered, glancing warily at Lan Qiren. It wasn’t apparent whether he was concerned about Lan Qiren’s rank, personality, or family connection.

For his part, Lan Qiren just felt tired. He would like to think that they were all part of the same sect, learning the same things, but he knew that wasn’t how the world worked. There were good people and bad in every sect, and the undercurrents that came with any community were inescapable.

“You’re joking, right?” the girl – who had the title of Cangse Sanren, apparently – said unexpectedly. “His explanation is three times more interesting than the stupid learning by rote we’ve been doing so far.”

“Learning by repetition has a long history of being the most effective way of learning something,” Lan Qiren objected. “Even the most unrepentant scoundrel would learn the rules by heart if he had to copy them down for a month, and then when that was done and the foundation built, you could get started on explaining the why of them.”

“But repetition’s not as interesting,” Cangse Sanren said. “I really liked that story about Lan Yi.”

Lan Qiren looked at her suspiciously. He’d never outgrown his tendency to speak in a dull monotone – one of his peers had once compared it to the thudding of grinding stones in a mill – and it was the rare person who actually appreciated the rules the way he did. His teachers, of course, and some of the other more studious disciples did, but even with them he’d be hard pressed to say they actually liked his rambling.

She held up her hands. “Really! I feel like I understand why she put the rule in place now, whereas before it felt like I was just learning the rule for the sake of learning the rule.”

“That’s because you need to learn the rules before you learn the background,” he said. “The rules are a house built without nails, each piece in its place doing its part to maintain the whole - one rule backs another, while being supported in turn. Only once you know what the rules are can you move to understanding the reasons behind them.”

And from understanding to accepting, allowing our ancestors’ wisdom to act as a guiding light that clears the fog from your path, he wanted to say, because he loved the rules, truly and sincerely.

People made fun of him sometimes, thinking him boring or stuffy or overly strict, with no flexibility and too little empathy, saying he was obsessed with the rules for no beneficial purpose, but to him the rules were a gift from the past to the future. The Wall of Discipline represented the accumulated life experience of dozens if not hundreds of Lan sect disciples before him, turned through debate and contemplation into advice they thought would be able to help guide those that came after them to living a good, clean, happy life. As their descendant, how could he fail to honor that which those people, who had loved him without knowing him, had strained themselves to give him?

In just the same way, it was his duty to love the future generations that had yet to be born, to act as the bridge to that unknown future, entrusted by his ancestors to carry to them the rules that would be both his inheritance and his legacy. Those nameless faces dressed in Lan white, unborn children with his brother’s face or even his own, of his cousins and fellow disciples alike, all those souls that had yet to enter this world but who he loved so much already – if he could spare them a single iota of pain through his own experience, how could he not do so, and gladly? How could he not do everything he could to give them everything he had received from the rules, that sense of pride of their history, the strength and wisdom that could be passed down no other way? How could that be a burden?

Lan Qiren had never really had the chance to explain any of that to anyone, his tongue too stiff and clumsy to convey what sometimes he felt could only be expressed in song or poetry, and he did not have such a chance now: as usual, the other disciples were already laughing, dismissing him as a teacher’s pet, overly rule-bound, obsessed with homework and test-taking, a boring old fart whose soul was prematurely aged.

“What’s wrong with being old?” Cangse Sanren asked, her voice flatter than it was before, and the boys in front of her suddenly scrambled to start apologizing so fast that Lan Qiren was left wondering what exactly he’d missed.

“Class is starting soon,” he said instead of asking, though he promised himself he’d ask around later. Surely someone would know. “Everyone should take your seat – no, Cangse Sanren, as I’ve said, that one is mine.”

She grinned unrepentantly at him and stepped back over where he’d kicked his foot out to block her. “You win, this time,” she said, and took the seat next to him with absolutely no remorse for whoever might have been sitting there before. “Watch yourself, stick-in-the-mud.”

Lan Qiren glared, though somehow Cangse Sanren’s teasing didn’t feel as annoying as the other disciples’ usually did. Even if she did make several more attempts on his seat over the course of the day, causing him to have to fend her off or think ahead to evade her latest attempt.

He initially thought that she might try to come to class early the next day to try to claim it before he did, but instead she dragged herself in only moments before class was due to start, face haggard as if waking up at the very tail end of mao hour was the equivalent to rising at yin, although she was back to her regular form soon enough, bright and clever enough to make any teacher fond of her.

This became something of a pattern, in fact – sluggish wakening, intellectual jousting during class and an unspoken competition over the seat that had formerly been reserved for him outside of it. In the afternoons she usually went off with the more martially minded disciples, while he spent his time in the library or musical halls, though at some point she started dropping off random foodstuffs by his door in the early evening as if she thought he was too thin.

“Maybe she has a crush on you!” Lan Yueheng said enthusiastically; bizarrely enough, he seemed to like romance as much as his explosions or his math.

“I think it’s a little closer to treating me like a stray cat that she found and took a shine to,” Lan Qiren said, shaking his head. All the boys in the sect would have paid in gold and jewels for Cangse Sanren to give them a second look, and she didn’t care one whit for the best of them; there was no need for her to go courting when she could get three serious offers of marriage just by winking. “Give them here, I’ll redistribute them to the younger children.”

“You can’t do that!” Lan Yueheng looked offended. “It’s her sincere offering! From the heart!”

“It’s food she purchased in town,” Lan Qiren said doubtfully. “It’s not as if she baked them herself. Anyway, I can’t eat this many sweets without getting a stomachache. What else am I supposed to do with it? Let it rot?”

“Qiren-xiong, you’re the most unromantic person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m going to assume that’s a bad thing,” Lan Qiren said, not taking offense. “Do you want some? Last offer before they’re gone.”

“…well, I mean, if you’re going to give them away anyway…”

He told Cangse Sanren what he was doing the next day, as a matter of politeness in the event that she wanted to stop once she knew what he was doing, and she just laughed – she always laughed at just about everything, he’d found. She didn’t stop delivering food, either, which he might have expected, though she did shift over into items that were easier to distribute.

Their entire mode of interacting was simultaneously very annoying and also not, and Lan Qiren didn’t have the slightest idea about what to do with it.

And then he got his first letter from Wen Ruohan.

#mdzs #lan qiren #cangse sanren #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls #sect leader lan

[wannabemobwife]

Guns, Glamour, and Goodfellas - Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

-Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Brother!Parker Holland x Sister!Rosie Holland, Ex!Rosie Holland x Ex!Henry Osterfield

-Warnings: Fighting, Language, Angst (always), Heartbreak, Typos

-Words: 4.3K

Author note: Who else is the mom of their friend group? By the way, who can hear my California accent in my typing? Lol. Feel free to leave comments or message me directly your feelings while reading the chapter. Always love hearing from you guys. Chapter 9: Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

Words: 4.3K

Every part of Rosie was recovering, except her broken heart. She had tried to call Henry a few times. It was weird how someone could be such a big part of her life one moment and the next he was a ghost.

Rosie wasn’t the only thing broken in the Holland household. You and Tom were going through a rough patch. Neither of you had spoken to each other for longer than 5 minutes, Tom was still sleeping in the guest room and he refused to come clean. Still letting you believe he cheated on you.

Mornings before school hadn’t been the same. Tom would try to hide the fact he was sleeping in the guest room before the kids came down but it was no use.

“Dad, did you sleep in there?” Parker asked as he saw the unmade bed in the guest room.

“Yeah, no need to worry, your mom and I are fine,” Tom reassured his son. Tom was lying to his son and himself. He didn’t know how to fix this. He had really fucked up.

You had started to become a ghost. Nobody would see you for most of the day. It baffled you that after countless years of marriage, Tom could be so careless. You were aware of his moral code and felt that you never needed about infidelity.

One night Parker and Rosie had devised a plan, almost like a parent trap. They set up a nice candlelight dinner in garden. It was a picture perfect date night only if Tom and you weren’t fighting. Rosie and Parker tasked themselves for both sneaking you out there, knowing if you knew Tom would be there you’d probably throw something at him.

“Surprise!” shouted both Parker and Rosie as you removed you hands from your eyes.

“Oh, how beautiful. Yay, I get to have dinner with my kids,” you exclaimed.

“Actually, we aren’t joining you,” Rosie said as Tom came out of the shadows.

“I am your date tonight and always,” Tom said.

“Kids, this is sweet and all but, I’m just going to go lay down. I suddenly have a headache,” you explained, not ready to face Tom.

“Y/N will you please talk to me,” Tom begged.

“Why don’t you go talk to your fucking mistress, Tom.”

“Who? I never cheated on you,” Tom asserted, confused he thought you were mad about Henry and Rosie.

“Save it Tom. Parker overheard you on the phone meeting her at the Savoy.”

“What? Oh you mean, Jazz?”

“I’m surprised there’s only one.”

“Don’t fucking do that. She was my informant. She’s dead now.”

“What and that’s supposed to make feel better?”

“Y/N, just listen to me.”

“Is this your way of getting back at me? For Rosie and Henry? Not telling you? Cause I can’t believe you’d do such a thing.”

“Y/N, just sit down and have dinner with me. Please,” Tom exclaimed, you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“No. Good night everyone. Tom, hope the couch is comfortable,” you said, walking away.

“Sorry dad, we tried. What happened between you two anyway?” Rosie said, looking at the ground lowly.

“It’s alright. I loved the gesture. So what are we having?” Tom said, as he pulled out the chair and sat down all ready for this wonderful meal.

“Oh, you’re still going to eat without mom?” Parker asked.

“Hell yeah, don’t want all this food to go to waste,” Tom remarked.

“Oh, ok. I was going to go and do homework,” Rosie said.

“You go, Roo. I’ll stay will dad,” Parker announced.

“Parker, I have to make sure you know I never cheated on mom,” Tom said, trying reassure his son.

“Dad, I know what I saw… But if you say you didn’t, I believe you. You are a man of your word. I was sorry to hear about Jazz too.”

“Thank you.”

Tom was stuck. How could he make it up to you, if you wouldn’t as much as look at him? With all the worries concerning Rosie, he had forgotten of a trip he planned for you and him awhile ago. It was the annual trip to Barcelona to facilitate the company’s exportations, you’d always tag along. It was your one romantic vacation with your husband, but this time Tom had tainted it with his betrayal and lies.

This trip was going to be the longest time you and him had been together in a week. Your main focus had been Rosie, then Parker and then yourself and lastly patching things up with Tom. You had both argued in the past but, Tom hasn’t been in the doghouse since you were pregnant with the twins. Even then, it wasn’t the doghouse, he was just giving you space because of how uncomfortable pregnancy was making you.

You didn’t like being apart from him. He was your husband, your better half. This separation was killing you as much it was killing him. Rosie had recuperated but, lately you had been having nightmares of losing your children. It killed you, every time you would see one of them fighting for lives in a hospital or dark alley. You always knew the dangers of the mob so you understood Parker will just learn to be more careful but Rosie’s car accident was merely an accident. Not a ploy orchestrated by a rival mob, it was an accident. How could you protect your kids all the time if there was no one to blame?

Even when Tom would come home battered and bruised, your world would stop turning. He was your world, he was everything. Everything you had was because of him, especially your kids. Anytime when someone threatened to take Tom away from you, you would just break. It is hard to imagine a world without him.

This time is different though, you are begging him to give you space. You understand the insaneness of mind, you want him to explain but you won’t give him the chance to talk to you. Maybe being on the trip together will force you to acknowledge him.

It was a typical morning, you and Tom were supposed to leave in a few hours for Barcelona.

“Kids, grandma and grandpa are going to stay with you while we are away,” you said.

“Your mom and I have some a business to attend to in Barcelona,” interjected Tom.

“Why? What’s in Barcelona?” Rosie questioned, she was aware of your annoyance with Tom, everyone was.

“That’s grown up stuff, sweetie. Maybe a second honeymoon.” Tom said as you rolled your eyes.

“Since when do we need babysitting?” Parker piped up.

“Since you guys have proven that you can’t be left alone, grandma and grandpa are here to babysit you to make sure you don’t throw any parties,” you explained as a look of regret etched itself onto Parker’s face.

“Aren’t you and dad fighting?” Rosie queried.

“At the moment we are just disagreeing on a few things. This is purely business, ok?” You exclaimed, your last statement directed at Tom.

“I love you both so much. Be good for grandma and grandpa,” you grinned, kissing both of their foreheads before you left. And with that your vacation to hell started. Why were you and Tom fighting, is it because no one wants to admit they're wrong? Only god knows. Deep down you hoped this trip would bring you two back together.

Parker drove Rosie to school that morning, she had been going for only two days since the accident. She had yet to run into Henry. Rosie didn’t know how she would act. How could she see the boy who broke her heart everyday?

Rosie met up with her two school friends Jenna and Brooke. They had been friends since 5th grade but, their relationship mostly stopped at school. Once in a while they would hangout outside of school or have a sleepover. Rosie’s real best friend was Henry. He was the one she would share good news with or funny memes. Nobody at school really knew about the accident, a few people noticed she wasn’t there but it wasn’t like when Charlotte died. Rosie wasn’t as popular as Charlotte and she didn’t need to be, high school hierarchies are overrated anyway.

“So where were you for like a week?” Brooke asked.

“Oh, umm… I was… skiing,” Rosie answered, debating if she tell her friends the truth. Knowing only rumors would circulate because of it.

“Oh. Parker was here. I thought it’d be a family trip.” Jenna remarked.

“What’s with your obsession with my brother?” Rosie questioned. She knew of Jenna’s school-girl crush on Parker, it started back in grade school.

“Nothing, he’s just.. insanely hot,” Jenna responded, drifty into a trance. Possibly imaging his dreamy brown eyes.

“Ew, Jen. That’s my brother” Rosie exclaimed, trying not to gag.

“Whatever. So how’s it going with you and Henry?” Jenna persisted.

“We broke up.”

“Oh, Rosie. I’m so sorry,” Brooke and Jenna said at the same time, trying to comfort Rosie.

“It’s ok. It’s not like I loved him or anything we were only dating for like two months” Rosie responded, trying not to cry. RING the bell sounded

“Oh, that’s the bell. I’ll see you guys after class,” Rosie said, waving goodbye. She quickly turned to walk to her algebra class but something or someone stopped her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should watch where I’m going,” she said as she picked up her fallen books. Still oblivious to the person standing before her.

“It’s quite alright, Roo,” Henry spoke.

“Henry… I-I gotta go” Rosie mumbled, surprised he was standing in front of her. Oh, what she’d do to get to hold that boy once more. But he’s the one who broke up with her. He left her. Why is she letting a stupid boy bring her to tears?

Because he’s not some stupid boy. He’s Henry. The boy who made sure to always bring her Hershey kisses when her period would come around. The lovable best friend who made her feel loved and wanted.

Rosie needed that almost as much as she needed air to breathe. She was ready to forgive him in that moment if he would take her back. Only if he wanted her back.

“Please, can I talk with you?” Henry asked.

“No, I have nothing to say to you and don’t want to hear what you have to say,” she muttered, walking away and not turning back.

Rosie quickly rounded the corner and slammed her back against the wall. Sliding down to where her knees were in her chest, trying to hide her tear stricken face. Parker was on his way to bathroom when he saw her, sitting on the ground in the deserted hallway.

“Rosie, what’s wrong?” Parker asked, seeing her tears.

“I just saw Henry,” Rosie said with her voice cracking.

“Hey, why don’t we go get some coffee. I’ll let you be basic this one time and order an iced caramel macchiato. Come on my treat.”

“What about school?” Rosie sniffled.

“I guarantee you they won’t miss us. Let’s go home. They’ll understand.”

“Ok, but I’m getting the largest size they have,” Rosie asserted.

“Alright, Roo,” Parker said, chuckling while he helped her up. Parker felt like a bad brother lately. The last nice words he said to her was when she was in her coma and most likely couldn’t hear him. He was taking a play from Tom, when Tom knows he screwed up he showers you with gifts. This was Parker’s version of that, taking Rosie to get some coffee and maybe a cupcake.

Later at home, Dom and Nikki were already there. Parker was kind of annoyed he had to be babysat but in your and Tom’s defense, he did throw a party that last time you were out of town.

“Grandma! Grandpa!” Called out Rosie as she came through the door. Rosie will always be a kid at heart with a fiery passion.

“Oh, there’s my flower and my peanut,” Nikki returned. Those were her pet names for Parker and Rosie. “Peanut” because even though Parker was older he was slightly smaller than Rosie when he was born. And “flower” because of her name.

“What are you guys doing home?” Asked Nikki.

“Oh, umm they let us out early,” Parker remarked quickly, not trying to raise any further questions.

“Did you ditch?” Dom questioned.

“Uh, yeah. Don’t tell mom and dad, please,” Rosie mumbled.

“Alright, only because now I get to spend more time with my kiddos,” Nikki exclaimed.

Nikki and Dom were definitely more prevalent in the twins lives when they were younger. When Tom had just taken over the mob, Nikki and Dom would spend every hour of the day with Rosie and Parker. Always taking them to the park, museums or plays. You think that is where Rosie got her love for theatre from. You also had an influence in that, you’re kind of a sucker for show tunes.

Their role in the twins lives fizzled out over the years. Nikki and Dom who are now both retired, traveled more than anything. But their place in Parker and Rosies’ heart remained the same.

They all decided to order pizza for dinner, something quick and easy. And none of them wanted to be formal so they ate on the couch and watched The Sound of Music. It was Rosie’s turn to pick, so of course it was a musical.

They were all about to turn in for the night when Nikki called for her husband. She didn’t say honey, darling or love or his full name, Dominic. She called out his nickname, Dom.

“Dom, did you lock the door?” Nikki called out.

“Yes, sweetheart. Now, kids make sure you brush your teeth. Good night everyone,” Dom said as he made his way to the guest room.

That was it, a three letter name Nikki had called Dominic. Parker’s mind flooded with thoughts from the night he overheard you and Tom talking in his office. “No, Dom. He arranged the hit,” those words replaying in his head. If it was his grandfather who gave up his location, why was he betraying Tom?

Parker was a bright kid but, not one for connecting the dots. The last couple weeks of his life had been devoted to get back at Tom. He knew working for Wilson would give Tom a heart attack right on the spot. But, it was never Tom who arranged the hit or had his men pull the trigger. It was his grandfather, Dom Holland.

He knew Dom’s full name, Dominic, but never made that connection. How stupid could he be? Never in a million years would he think someone who he looked up to, could inadvertently brought so much destruction to his life. Dom was someone Parker trusted. How could Dom be so devious and betray his own grandson?

Parker didn’t just lose Charlotte that night, he lost his innocence. That was the first time Parker actually thought he was going to die. He felt like he was dying, being beaten up to within an inch of his life. Parker was just realizing the gravity of what he had done in a desperate attempt to make Tom pay. Parker was doing the same thing to Tom, Dom did to him.

Parker was entrusted by his dad, given the skills to kill and yet he had been betraying him. Taking out all his men and Jazz. “Oh, Jazz” Parker thought, he even said sorry to Tom for her death. What could Parker do now? This whole time he believed he was killing for sake of mercy but in truth it was for sport.

Parker had to confront Dom, he needed to know the truth. So that’s exactly what he did, but waited till morning breakfast.

“So, how’s working for your dad going?” Dom inquired with his mouth stuffed with bacon and eggs.

“Fine. Things have been put on hold with Rosie’s accident and all,” Parker replied, his feelings were conflicted. He didn’t know who to believe.

“That’s it? I want details.”

“Have you had your first kill yet? How’d it feel?” Dom pestered on.

“Yeah. I’m only doing this to avenge my girlfriend, Charlotte. She was killed a few months ago,” Parker said, trying to get Dom to fall into his trap.

“Yeah, I heard about that. I bet it was sad. Well, you are here now, that’s all that matters. You’re truly a part of the family,” Dom said, raising his glass of orange juice to toast.

“I know you used to work for the mob, so could you maybe help me find her killer. Well I already found the guy and gave him a few licks, but I want the guy who orchestrated the hit,” Parker exclaimed.

“I don’t know, kid. I’d stop looking if I were you. Seems like this guy covers his tracks.”

“I know it was you. I know you were the one who gave up my location. I’m not going to hit you or anything but, I need to know why,” Parker said, his voice completely changing its tone.

“Think of it as an encouragement. You needed something to get your foot in the door of the mob and she was it.”

“God, this fucking family. It’s so twisted. News flash grandpa, I’m the fucking traitor. I’ve been working for Angus Wilson. I’m the one taking out all of Tom’s men,” Parker screamed.

“What? Why would you do that?” Dom questioned, growing more furious by the minute. How could Tom raise a traitor?

“Because I thought it was Tom who called for the hit on me and Charlotte. Then I find out it’s you,” Parker bellowed.

“Parker, calm down.”

“A little part of me died the night she died. Don’t you get that? I was a normal kid and now I’m a mobster.”

“You were never a normal kid. You were always going to be the next Holland to run the mob.”

“I NEVER WANTED TO BE! I never wanted to be part of the mob. Now once my dad finds out I killed his men and Jazz, I’m dead. And once Wilson finds out I’m quitting I’m dead,” Parker screamed.

“Tom, won’t hurt you. I promise. Can’t say the same about Wilson. But I can help you, Parker. When Tom gets back we will talk to him together ok?” Dom assured only to be returned with a nod from Parker.

Parker had his chance to kill the man who got his girlfriend killed and his grandpa in cold blood, but didn’t take it. Parker didn’t want anymore blood on his hands. Having Dom on his side was Parker’s only possible way out from Tom’s thumb. Dom could’ve killed Parker right then and there too. But both of them had fucked up. Both their actions had already cost too many lives. So they joined forces, hoping Tom wouldn’t react the same when he got back.

It was the weekend and Rosie was looking forward to just relaxing all day and doing nothing. Maybe a puzzle with Nikki or watching another movie. Seeing Henry at school really set her back in her getting over him process. The first few days she wallowed. Not at home but in a hospital bed. She cried and cried until she couldn’t cry anymore and you were there to comfort her.

Once she came home from the hospital she wallowed some more. Watching romantic comedies with you in your room as you both ate tubs of ice cream. You wouldn’t let yourself show it but you were heartbroken about Tom’s supposed infidelity.

Next, Rosie cleaned out anything that reminded her of Henry. The outfit she wore on their first date was trashed. Along with a teddy bear he had given her when she sprained her ankle in the 3rd grade. Also the silver H and R necklace that he had given her. She couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, so she gave it to Parker. She said “I don’t care what you do with it. I just don’t want it anymore.” Parker took the necklace, totally planning to give it back to her once things blew over.

Now Rosie was finally accepting her breakup. The process of getting over a relationship is similar to the 5 stages of grief. She barely bargained, if he didn’t want to be with her she wasn’t going to beg him to take her back. Rosie knew her worth. Denial didn’t really affect her either, she was mostly confused that he broke up with her straight out of her coma.

That left her with anger. God, she was so angry. What kind of jackass breaks up with someone once they’ve been in a coma? Seriously, like what the fuck? Also depression which never really goes away. She will always be sad, that he pulled the plug on their relationship. Lastly, acceptance. Rosie had accepted it but, will never understood what happened.

All the Henry sightings, started to put her back at square one. I didn’t help when Henry came to the house.

“Henry, what the fuck are you doing here?” Parker asked as opened the door to his somewhat estranged best friend.

“I heard your parents are out of town. Can I talk to Rosie?” Henry pleaded.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. But, she did give me this, to give to you.” Parker said holding out the one thing that symbolized their love for one another, her necklace. Henry, just took the necklace and walked away. He felt so awful inside.

“Who was that?” Rosie asked, standing behind him.

“No one,” Parker responded.

“It was Henry, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I told him you didn’t want to see him”

“Thanks,” Rosie mumbled, in truth she wanted to see him and talk to him but it was too hard.

“Of course, Roo,” Parker replied.

“Oh, not you too. I hate that nickname,” Rosie remarked.

“Why it reminds me of a baby kangaroo,” Parker joked.

“Exactly. That’s the reason why. It’s for a baby and sounds like kangaroo,” Rosie explained.

“Whatever. Mom and I like it so, too bad.” Parker said.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.” Rosie interjected.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Parker responded.

“Why are you sneaking out? I can hear you from outside my window.”

“Oh, I just… I go to the library,” he said, hesitantly.

“At 10:30 at night?” Rosie was skeptical of his remark.

“Yeah, I have a study group that only… meets at night.”

“Parker, I have seriously never seen you study. I can’t believe you won’t tell me where you are going every week. Do you remember what keeping secrets has done to this family? Mom and dad might get divorced!” Rosie exclaimed.

“Roo, you know that won’t happen. If I tell you, you have to promise to keep it a secret,” Parker only trying to comfort Rosie. He was scared to that you and Tom won’t work it out, you’d never fought in the past.

“Ok… Is it some girl?”

“No, I did something really stupid Roo. It was all part of my plan to get back at dad.”

“Why? What did dad do?” Rosie questioned, very concerned.

“Nothing. I’m the idiot here. I got myself hired by dad’s rival mob and I’ve been the traitor dad is looking for,” Parker said, scared of what this mistake will cost.

“Oh my god, Parker. What the fuck are you going to do?”

“I don’t know but Dom said he’d help me… I mean grandpa.”

“Okay… You know if you need anything, I’m always here.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks for not telling anyone,” Parker thanked.

“Of course, you’re my twin brother. Almost an exact copy of my DNA, if I can’t have your back then what’s the point,” Rosie said, awarding a chuckle from Parker.

Parker’s days of living a double life were fleeting. You and Tom were set to return today. After a hopefully decent holiday. Parker was just glad Dom would be there to hold Tom back. Parker knows how enraged Tom can get.

T-minus 3 hours til he had to face Tom. Only 2 more class periods standing between him and involuntary rage. Parker and Rosie were in their English class when the loud speaker sounded.

“Will Parker and Rosie Holland please report to the principal’s office. I repeat, Parker and Rosie Holland please report to the principal’s office.”

They swiftly made their way out of their classroom. Dumbfounded to why they were called in the first place. Neither Parker nor Rosie had done anything bad in quite sometime.

“Uncle Harry? Uncle Sam? What are you two doing here?” Rosie questioned. Opening the door to the principal talking to their uncles, Harry and Sam Holland.

“Wait… you haven’t seen the news?” asked Harry.

“No. Why? What’s going on?” Parker speculated. The office admin had turned their small TV to channel 4 for the latest update.

“BREAKING NEWS. A Holland Exportation and Luxuries helicopter has just gone missing. The private helicopter departed from Barcelona this morning. I’m getting word that both Tom Holland, CEO of Holland Exportation and Luxuries, and his wife, Y/N Holland, were on the helicopter. There is no sign of the helicopter, we will continue to update you as this story unfolds,” announced the news anchor.

The room turned dead silent. Tears managed to escape from Rosie’s eyes and Parker pulled her into his arms. Trying to comfort her the best he can, even when he was a mess. The two people that were constant in their lives, their parents, were missing. Nothing was more important, except finding you and Tom.

Guns, Glamour, Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom #mob!tom x reader #mob tom #mob!tom #mob!tom holland #dad!mob!tom holland #mob!tom x mob!reader #mob!tom holland x reader

[thefallenbibliophilequote]

Welcome to New York

Loki x Reader

1989, chapter 1

"We begin our story in New York"

Summary: It's hard to find the one, but even if you do find him it's always going to be a daily struggle to make it work. Can you even make it work after he broke your heart? The answer to that is complicated, but it all started when you found each other again in the stark tower- and that's where our story begins.

Word count: 2,306

Warnings: language as always

A/N: I have wanted to tell this story for so long but I was insecure I will ruin it. I am still not sure if my writing is good enough for this. But this is my idea and my story to tell, so with a little confident boost from my mutuals here we are. For all the non-swifties: The whole 1989 album has hidden messages but this one is different because it all combines to tell one story. the link to the song is down below!

A/N 2: thank you for @sweeterthanthis for giving me the encouragement, and to @slothspaghettiwrites for beta reading this alongside @nacho-bucky and to @chrissquares for making me custom dividers especially for this series! I love all of you!

No one is allowed to repost my writing or steal or copy my work! Reblog on tumblr is fine.

Series masterlist

song on Spotify or YouTube

"Do we have a deal then?"

"You assisted us, and our motives align- we will get those powers." The man closed the long suitcase, the red skull on it shining through the dimmed warehouse.

They went their separate ways after that, he heard the loud noise through the wind before it got quiet yet again, the wind was howling as he carried his case close to his chest, protective of it.

•

 You walked through the crowd of New York, through the rushing people until you saw the doors to the big Avengers tower. After all this time you still weren't used to the extravagant halls, but you will have to eventually. This is your world and now this is your home.

Your powers were of no use to SHIELD, so after a long debate, you started to work with the avengers, being there every day and not living there seemed unreasonable- so you finally gave in to Tony's offer. "Your room here will always be waiting for you." He told you until you took him up on it.

Perhaps this additional new start will be good for you. You decided to abandon the past behind you a long time ago.

"Y/N dear, so glad that you're here," Tony hugged you and ignored the loud yells coming from his phone. "Set up in your room, then come down here, we have a special visitor."

"Oh okay, anyone I might know?" you smiled at him.

"No, he is not really important." Tony scrunched his nose and escorted you to the private Avengers elevator. You waved at him as the doors closed.

You ignored the bright lights and walked in with a smile into your new room, leaving all the past behind you as you shut the door. So here it was- your own little space all fresh and new- your small little corner in the tower. Well, it wasn't little by any means- if anything it was an apartment, but it was still yours.

"Hello new home" you said to yourself, looking at the four corners with anticipation of what's to come.

"Hello Miss Y/N" F.R.I.D.A.Y chimed in, causing you to laugh. You dropped your bags on the floor and went to unpack all of the boxes that were already there. Your music was playing at full volume as you danced around your room until it was clean and filled with all your favourite things.

"I'm glad to see you're settling in." Natasha's voice startled you and you turned around with burning cheeks. "Those are quite some dance moves."

"Haha very funny, you didn't see anything." You rolled your eyes, stupid spies. "What do you want?"

"Nothing, just came to see how you were doing, the room looks great." She smiled at you and giggled as you hugged her. "Finally you're here for good! Tony wanted to throw you a little welcome party."

"Tony? Little? The only time those two can go in the same sentence is if you're talking about height."

"Don't worry I talked him out of it. Besides, he was soon occupied with Thor when he got here- you haven't met him yet now did you?"

"Thor? Like the god from Asgard?" you stared at her in shock, but she just laughed at you.

"Yes, but don't worry he is really nice and surprisingly down to earth."

"Tony said he is not important." You let her lead you as the two of you made your way downstairs.

"Of course he did."

•

"He is doing better, he is even courting a young maiden, I am certain their marriage will be arranged soon." You heard the booming voice getting louder and louder. "Loki is on the right path I assure you, my friend."

Your heartbeat sped up more and more, but you willed yourself to look more put together when the god was in your sight, sitting on couch that seemed so little now, next to Tony and Steve.

"Thor, meet Y/N," Steve introduced you to the god and you nodded to him as he shook your hands.

"It is very nice to meet you Lady Y/N" Thor smiled at you, and you relaxed a bit.

"It's nice to meet you too. I am not a lady though." You chuckled.

"Well I have heard high praises about you so I assure you that you are." He spoke with such certainty that you decided not to argue it.

"Well she might look sweet, but don't piss her off." Tony snickered.

"Hey, I won't do anything." You stared at Tony who was quick to fix his mistake.

"She will kick your ass in training, trained by the Black Widow herself."

"That I can confirm." you looked at Natasha and winked.

You sat with them for a chat then. You might have been a different person before everything went down but you always did have manners even if you wanted to adjust in your room. You shook your head when Tony's phone ringed and he hastily took Steve and went out with him.

•

"What's up with this surprise mission?" Clint asked as he walked onto the quinjet, with his combat suit and his arrows. It has been ten minutes since F.R.I.D.A.Y alerted you of a new mission. You were already on your way with Steve, Tony, Clint and Maria Hill. You were on edge by the fact that she's here, clearly, some things about this mission were left unsaid.

 "We are going to get some intelligence from an underground building we found," Maria answered instead of Steve.

"If that's the case then why am I here?" her eyes turned to you now, you could see her calculating an answer.

"Because the place is not abandoned at all, it is full of agents but we don't know what we are there to pick up, and we need the people there alive." Tony replied.

"Oh fun, I get to keep hydra agents alive." You took in the new information, something was still off about this mission, but you'll probably figure that out soon enough.

The snow was heavy as you walked through it; your daggers were safely tucked inside their pockets, not wanting to accidently draw attention to yourself with a glimmer of light.

According to Tony the small warehouse that was on the ground was mostly empty, so you advanced forward with Tony from above, searching for any devices that may lay hidden in the snow.

So Tony went down first, then Clint, then you, Maria and then Steve. You exited into a big area underground, you could already hear the hydra agents coming your way so you split up, as Maria and Steve went to find whatever it was they were trying to find, the three of you provided backup and tried to clear rooms.

The four of you got to the doors, and as Tony blew up the doors you moved in, pulling your weapons out at the soldiers. There were only seven of them there, but with the sounds of the fighting and the gunshots, it was certain that your presence was known.

"Y/N there are three scientists coming your way, keep them alive, to a certain degree at least- whatever you want." you heard blasts from your earpiece and you smirked when you saw the scientists in front of you. When you saw the guns in their hands you smiled at them.

"Hi," you advanced towards the first one, your eyes caught his- he saw the glimmer in your eyes and in panic he raised the gun and shot forward. You dodged it and quickly came closer, gently taking the gun from his hand keeping eye contact with him until he dropped to the ground and closed his eyes. "I hope you enjoy my gift."

The other two scientists tried to fight you but soon their eyelids closed and they fell with a silent scream. You sighed and grabbed the back of their coats and dragged them to an empty room, oh what you wouldn't give for some telekinesis now.

The mission had to go on. So you got up and went to show some other agents your gift. Another agent to the kill, he screamed as he looked at you, the machine in his hand shattered and he fell to the floor before you were even near him. Shit. You relaxed him a bit when you reached him, his shaking calmed down a bit. You didn't mean to show him that much, but he brought it on himself- it was really easy to find with this one. Every weakness played as if it's a movie in your brain, you showed him just some parts of it now, and paralyzing him until you'll bring him out if you will at all.

"Y/N we need you here, leave them where they are- Tony will pick them up."

"Are you kidding? I kept them in a safe room for nothing? They are some heavy sons of bitches Steve!"

"Language," Steve sighed, you smiled. "He was busy then but now we need you, we found what we were looking for, but there are too many of them here, they will ruin the weapons."

"Or use them on us."

You came here for weapons? You jump a story down and advanced towards Steve and Maria.

"Go loose on them, they'll survive, we can't lose what they may have here."

"You don't even know exactly what they have there?" you questioned Maria, she only glared at you. So you went into the room, the doors slamming against the walls, you let yourself go, eyes sparkling as you reached into every soul in the room, their eyes going blank as you showed them every version of themselves that you wanted. You tuned out their screams until they passed out.

"All clear." You replied, and went around the room, looking at the files and unfamiliar technology. All sorts of sealed boxes were on the desks, they must have been packing. You passed a desk, and right then objects flew out as they combust into flames. "What the fuck?"

"Y/N stay away from this, we don't know what this does," Hill talked to you when she opened a case that you couldn't see. "Get out of the room."

It was an order with which you didn't argue and closed the doors behind you, leaving Steve and Maria in there.

•

They were shooting at you now, and you stole the best defense you could get from Steve. You snatched the pillow from under his arm and shielded yourself from the attack of popcorn the two redheads were now throwing at you. A girl has to fight back, so pretzels it was

 "You can't use a pillow Y/N! That's not fair!" Wanda yelled at you. You will get betrayed by those closest to you.

"No, what isn't fair is you using your powers on the popcorn! It's not my fault that you threw all the pillows to my side- that was not a good strategic move for you."

"She's right about that- we are way better a team." Steve dodged a water bottle the spy expertly threw at him for the comment. The war always leaves scars.

Your laughs were cut short when F.R.I.D.A.Y called all of you in from the living room.

"What's up Tony?" Natasha asked when you walked into the room and saw all the other avengers there.

"We found some concerning new details about what hydra has been up to lately," Tony paced through the room, leaving you waiting.

"Did you contact Thor? Is it confirmed?" Steve asked him then and the billionaire nodded.

You shook your head and looked at them as you leaned on the wall opposite them.

"Hey boys?" Steve and Tony looked back at you and you smiled shortly at them before they had a chance to stop you when a flash of purple crossed your eyes.

Steve was annoyed when he saw the thunder in the distance and the rain pouring down on him and Tony. Tony grumbled and looked around Steve at the muddy ground they were surrounded with.

Within a second they blinked and saw the room in the compound, taken aback for a moment.

"Did you have fun boys? I personally love the rain but now I am just annoyed so can you please just share with the group for fuck's sake?" they glared at you now.

"Y/N, you can't just use your powers on petty things like that." Steve shook his head, shaking the imaginary feeling of the rain from his face.

"Don't ever, place me in that disgusting place again, you are lucky I wasn't in my favourite suit there!"

"I'll be sure to keep that little detail in mind next time you annoy me." You smirked.

"You little menace- Okay, we found Asgardian weapons and technology in the custody of hydra."

"What the fuck? How did they get it?" Natasha rose up now from the table.

"We are trying to figure it out, but from what we managed to gather is that these are ancient things… so we need an expert."

"Then why is Thor not here?" Bruce asked his friend, who pinched his nose.

"No, I said we need an expert…" he then looked behind you, and you turned when you heard the door opening. No, your past should stay sealed shut.

There in front of you came in Loki, when he caught your eyes, you were sure his look of shook matched yours. And you were frozen in place.

"Y/N?" he was confused to say the least, but your eyes never left each other even when you felt all the eyes in the room focusing on you. You shook your head at him. No.

"You said you'd never come back." It felt as if you stabbed him with that comment.

 Tags: @ayybtch @buckys-other-punk @chaoticpete @madcrazy50

#1989 #my writing #loki x reader #loki #loki odinson #taylor swift #fluff #loki laufeyson #loki odinson x reader #loki x you #tom hiddleston #welcome to new york

[kyber-crystal]

Be Careful

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Words: ~2.7k

Summary: You patch up an injured Captain after he comes back from a rather rough mission late at night.

Warnings: mentions of blood, violence, soft steve, cocky steve :)

A/N: this was one of my older oneshots...so it sucks

"Thor, it's 3 in the morning. Why are you trying to cook Pop-Tarts in the toaster at this ungodly hour?"

"My apologies, Lady Y/N. I did not mean to wake you," the Norse god gave you an innocent smile. "I heard toaster Pop-Tarts are quite delicious, so I decided to try my hand at making some myself."

"No no, it's fine," you waved him off, "I've been awake for a while, anyways. You can just carry on if you want, but try not to blow anything up, alright?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You'd been waiting for Steve to return from his solo mission, and currently, you, Thor, and Sam were the only ones awake in the compound. Not wanting to fall asleep without knowing if he was alright and returned in one piece, you were planning to stay up for as long as necessary. Fatigue was tugging at your eyes for a while now, but you couldn't care less. You'd handled worse things than sleep deprivation.

Just as the Pop-Tarts finished cooking and Thor took them to his room to eat as he watched Gossip Girl by himself on his MacBook, you decided to watch TV to fill the silence that had settled in around the lounge.

Around half an hour later you heard the elevator doors slide open, revealing an exhausted-looking Steve Rogers. His face was streaked with dust and debris, dried blood sticking to his dirty-blonde hair and a tired look in his icy-blue eyes, but you still thought he looked perfect regardless.

"Hey," you greeted him as he stepped forward, setting his duffel bag off to the side.

"I made it," he exhaled, "it was a bit of a pain trying to escape, but other than that, it ran pretty smoothly."

"That's good," you nodded. He inhaled deeply as he sat down at the edge of the couch.

It was only until you looked down and saw he was clutching his side that you realized he'd been severely injured.

"Shit shit shit shit, Rogers, what the hell happened," you muttered frantically as you tried to pull him into a more upright position to examine his wound. "Who hurt you?"

"HYDRA. And language," he croaked out, laughing lightly before being overcome by a coughing fit, wincing in pain. "Ow, that hurt. But I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine!" you whisper-shouted. Blood was seeping through his uniform and gushing out of his wound at an alarming pace. "You think you can stand and walk for a bit? I need to get you down to the lab to treat your wound. Bruce is asleep so I can't get him."

"Maybe?"

You let out a sigh of disbelief, slinging an arm across his shoulders and helping him down the hall to the lab, sitting him down in a chair you pulled up next to the examination table. You quickly grabbed all the necessary medical supplies and set them down next to him.

Steve took his hand off his stomach and you tried not to faint at the sight of it coming away covered in blood, making bile rise up in your throat.

"That bad, huh," he joked, but grimaced when he tried to move slightly.

"Stop moving!" you scolded as you came forward, "you're gonna make it worse if you do! I need to take the bullet out, so don't move."

"I'm fine," he reassured you.

"No, you're not. Now shut up and stay still."

"What's with the hesitation?"

"Um...you need to...remove your suit..." you spluttered.

A smirk came across Steve's face. "Sure."

"Not here!" you raised your voice. "You know what...just...take off the top...part..so I can get to your wound easily..."

"If you wanted a piece of this, you could've just asked," he grinned cheekily.

"Shut up!" you squeaked. "Just...take it off."

You sucked in a breath as he slid the top part of his suit off, revealing his toned shoulders and torso.

"I'm sorry for making you all flustered."

"Shut! Up!" you whisper-shouted as you began to treat his wound, flinching at the spark you felt running up your body when your skin came in contact with his during the process. "I'm not flustered!"

You almost cringed as he hissed in pain when the metal tweezers came in contact with his skin, trying to keep your fingers from shaking as you removed the bullet. "Sorry, sorry, sorry, this'll only take another minute..."

Letting out a breath of relief you didn't know you'd been holding inside, you dropped the bullet onto a tray off to your side and wiped your hands before grabbing the thick roll of bandages to wrap up his wound.

"There," you dusted off your hands, "it's over. I'm gonna clean up your face now, and then you're going to not overwork yourself by not sparring four hours a day for the next week."

"Y/N..."

"Listen to me, Steve. You aren't gonna get better if you keep overworking yourself, so you're gonna do as I say and rest."

"Aye aye, Captain," he mock saluted you.

"Now," you sighed, "if you aren't tired, I can go make us some coffee if you want."

"That sounds nice," the super-soldier agreed.

"Try standing up on your own now," you said, "if you can't I'll help you over there."

"Y/N, I'm fine," he reassured you as he gripped the edge of the table and stood up, "see? Stop worrying. I can handle myself perfectly well."

You sighed again. "Alright, fine. Let's go, then. Get changed first, then meet me in the lounge once you're done."

You headed to the kitchen and as he sat down at the couch, now changed into a soft white T-shirt and grey sweats, you plugged in the coffee maker and got out the pods from the pantry. Hopefully, Tony wouldn't mind you using a few of them.

God, you really needed to stop staring at him so much.

But it's not my fault he wears tight shirts all the time! another voice yelled back inside your head.

"You okay, Y/N? You look kinda pale," Steve commented as he looked back to see your now-pale face.

"Yes, what, huh?" you blinked several times, shaking your head and snapping out of your momentary daze. "Yeah, I'm okay. You want your coffee black, or with milk?"

"Black," he replied simply, rubbing his forehead and yawning, stretching his arms up in the air.

You poured the coffee into two separate mugs once they were ready, putting milk in one and handing one over to Steve before taking a seat next to him on the sofa. "Now, will you tell me how the hell you got hit? I should know that, at least."

"Caught in the crossfire," Steve replied simply. "Got unlucky, and took a hit, right as I was getting the data files downloaded."

"Sounds like a repeat of Montpellier," you raised an eyebrow at him in suspicion, "except that time, it was me."

"Trouble always seems to find us, huh," he hummed, taking a sip of his drink.

"When I was the one to get hit, I knew what I was getting myself into. I jumped in front of Peter to take a bullet meant for him. You, on the other hand, decided to just jump into the fight without looking at the possible outcomes."

"Wow, sounds like you actually care about the great Captain," he smirked. "Thought you had no heart."

"You're funny. I'm not completely heartless, you know. I care about people."

"Well, well, well, look what we have here," you heard someone clap slowly from behind you and when you turned around, there stood a rather smug-looking Pietro. "Heartless warrior and Cap finally getting some action. Nice."

"Since when were you awake? I thought you were sleeping," you were now confused.

"I was playing against Sam in Mario Kart this entire time. I think that's a solid enough reason to stay up," the speedster explained. "Steve, when'd you get back?"

"Fifteen minutes ago."

"You didn't die?"

"I'm here right now, so no."

"Oh, Y/N, when you were patching him up did you get to see his abs? He's totally ripped, you know, I hope you didn't get too carried away staring—"

"Pietro!" you snapped, cheeks going bright red, much to his amusement. "Really?"

"What? I'm curious!"

"I had no choice but to see!"

"You make it sound like you didn't enjoy it."

Steve chuckled as your cheeks grew an even deeper shade of scarlet. You groaned loudly, gulping down your coffee in just three more large gulps to save yourself from having to reply to his comment.

“Okay, Speedy, I’ve had it with your comments, now shoo,” you waved a hand at him. “Go to bed.”

“Need I remind you I’m no longer a teenager and I don’t have a bedtime,” he scoffed before walking away. “Also, ship it!”

You sighed and let your head fall into your hands. 

After several more minutes of the strained silence, Steve cleared his throat. “Thanks for fixing me up back there. I would’ve bled out if it weren’t for you.”

“That’s not reassuring at all,” you mumbled into your hands. 

He chuckled again. “I’m sorry. I’ll try not to get shot next time.”

You lifted your head to glance up at him. “You said that when Fury sent us on that mission to Montenegro and I had to drag you back to the jet because you got shot, twice. And I did it with a concussion, dislocated shoulder, and a severely sprained ankle. Wanda brought me breakfast in bed for four days after that.”

“You’re making me sound a lot heavier than I really am.”

“Yeah, you outweigh me by sixty pounds at least. Of course you’re gonna feel heavy to me.”

“I thought you could bench press 300? That’s over twice your weight.”

“That’s not an actual human being.”

“I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that someone like you who’s so light can lift so much.”

“I’m lightweight?”

“Compared to 300, or in my case, 180, then yes. But hey, most of that’s muscle,” he winked at you, rolling his sleeve up slightly and flexing his bicep. “So how’s the view, Y/N?”

You rolled your eyes. “Showoff.”

“You love me.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Seriously, though...” Steve’s voice softened, as did his gaze on you, “thank you.”

“...For?”

“For staying up late to wait for me, even though you don’t like doing so. It’s nice to have someone to look forward to when I’m coming back home.”

“I never said I didn’t like staying up.”

“Y/N, I know you like the back of my hand,” the corners of his mouth turned up in a small grin, “I’m pretty sure I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Bet. What’s my favorite color?”

“That’s easy. It’s blue. But like you consistently remind everyone who asks, it’s not just plain blue. It’s the blue only found in the deepest corners of the ocean that are furthest from the shore. You had the highlights of your suit changed from grey to this shade, after Fury forced us on that vacation to Sicily and you refused to leave the beach because you’d fallen so in love with gazing at the horizon. When we returned, Clint kept teasing us because it looked like we were trying to coordinate our stealth suits with one another.”

You were shocked and taken aback, not expecting for him to memorize what you’d told him word for word. “Okay...what’s my biggest fear?”

“Failure. Failing to protect those you love, failing to succeed in your job as an Avenger,” he said softly, “Ever since Phil gave word of your parents’ passing four years ago, you grew extremely overprotective over what family you had left, which happened to be the team. You refused to let your mission partners out of your sight and if they did, forced them to stay on call at all times. You couldn’t afford to have whatever happened to your parents happen to your teammates, because bearing that burden would be too much for you to handle.”

You swallowed hard, blinking back tears. “Yeah...um. What was my job before joining the initiative, and what made me join the team in the first place?”

“A brilliant student, you graduated two years early to become a trauma surgeon for the next four years. At first, you were reluctant to accept Fury’s offer because you’d dedicated your life saving people instead of doing the opposite. Violence was the very last thing on your mind so the Battle of New York was rather difficult for you to cope with after it ended. Continuing to be able to save people in your new line of work and seeing thousands more look up to you was what pushed you to keep going; you didn’t want to let them all down.

He laughed to himself, recalling the memory. “I didn’t expect you to be so relentless on the battlefield. You never told any of us you were also training under SHIELD at the same time you were going through med school, so Nat and I were blown away when we saw you fight. I’m pretty sure Clint fainted when he saw you shoot out electricity bolts. Thor was insistent on seeing if you could lift Mjolnir afterwards.”

“I offered to be SHIELD’s lab rat because nobody else was willing to step up, so here I am,” you chuckled lightly, “those powers ended up coming in handy in the operating room sometimes...during emergency surgeries.”

“You’re amazing,” Steve exhaled. “I can see why so many people look up to you as a role model.”

You laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck. “I’m not that special.”

“You are. You’ve impacted millions of lives, Y/N. The world owes you a debt.”

“You know me so well, Captain. I’m surprised you remember the little details...Tony sometimes forgets my birthday and here you are, listing off every little thing easily.”

“I’m just observant, that’s all...” he hummed, a ghost of a smile on his face. 

“If you answer this question right, then you’ve won it all,” you challenged. “What’s my opinion on finding love?”

“You always claim to be opposed to falling in love, but I know you better than that,” he explained. “You’ve only started showing the signs of being in love a few months ago, but your heart was stolen many years prior by one man.”

Was it just you, or did Steve look almost...hurt as he spoke?

“Who’s that one man?”

“You’re asking me?” he raised an eyebrow at you, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position that wouldn’t put too much pressure on his abdomen. “How would I know that?”

“Because you know me better than anyone else in the compound,” you stated. 

“Why don’t you describe him for me, then.”

“For starters, he’s extremely loyal. Always sticks by your side and will stay loyal to you until the very end of his days.”

“Sam?”

“No. I’m not finished,” you held up a finger to interrupt him. “He’s a great leader and the slightest bit cocky, but he’s got a great sense of humor and at the same time, he can be very serious. He always knows how to make you feel better even when you’re in the worst mood, and gives the best hugs known to man. My favorite color isn’t just because of the ocean, but his eyes...I think that’s what made me start loving blue in the first place.”

Your eyes widened and you immediately shut your mouth, realizing you’d gone off on a mini tangent. Steve didn’t look all that surprised, but rather amused. 

“You’re in love with me?” A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. 

“Don’t let it get to your head, Rogers,” you muttered.

“If you’re in love with me, then that’s good because I’m in love with you too.”

Now it was time to be taken aback a second time. “W-what?”

“You heard me right.”

“I think the medication I gave you is making you a bit too loopy.”

“I’m being honest. This is the real me talking here, Y/N.”

A red light going off in the corner of the ceiling made you both look up and groan. 

“Well done for finally fessing up, kiddies?" Tony’s smug voice came over the intercom. “When’s the wedding?”

You flipped off the camera before standing up and walking away. Steve just shook his head and chuckled. 

#avengers imagines #steve x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #marvel #avengers x reader #avengers #captain america #captain america imagine #captain america x reader #marvel fic #avengers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #steve rogers fic #captain america fic #mcu #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans one shot

[songofsaraneth]

Ok now that I have time/space to breathe again, I wanted to do a writeup on the unusual reaction I had to the second Covid vaccine dose. I debated posting this, because I don't want to go against the "I was vaccinated and it's fine!" encouragement train. And I 1000% encourage EVERYONE to get vaccinated if possible. But I have not seen much documentation of the averse symptom I got, except in some case studies I specifically looked up so details below. Big TMI/gross warning however. 

Mostly I'm posting this because I had to do SO much self-advocating/arguing with the Dr at my urgent care clinic, and if you're not as read up on weird medical issues as I am, you might not be comfortable doing that. But IANAD, just describing my experience and what I read, which ended up being very long because it was awful and I have a lot to complain about I guess, sorry.

Basically: for me the vaccine triggered an inflammation response, which in itself is normal. The usual muscle aches/joint pain/slight fever. It also triggered an outbreak of ulcers in my soft tissues. Basically, a bunch of canker sores in my mouth/throat. I am already prone to getting these when I get sick or stressed out, so no biggie, annoying and painful but I could handle them. Canker sores are distinct from cold sores in that they form inside the mouth as crater spots, usually around the size of a pencil eraser (though can be bigger or smaller), and will develop a white film across the crater as they develop and start to heal.

An unfortunate fact I have learned: the mouth is not the only exposed “soft tissue” of the body. this group also includes genitals.

So 2 days after the vaccine I noticed a "burning sensation"/rawness downstairs, which turned into a sharp pain, especially when going to the bathroom. I obviously knew this was abnormal and because of what was happening in my mouth, had a pretty firm idea of what was happening, but was ready to brace myself through the healing process. However by day 5 I had 8 red, crater-like sores on the tissue of my vulva. Essentially they are open wounds, and urine is an acid, so you can imagine the hell that using the bathroom had become. Even just sitting hurt.

As someone healthcare-averse, even I knew this was untenable, and went to Urgent Care for the first time in my adult life. I told the NP what was going on, how they matched the canker sores (NOT cold sores) in my mouth in onset/form--and she immediately, without even looking, diagnosed me with herpes.

Lots of people have herpes or other STIs, and that's fine. I know I do not have any, and wanted to pursue treatment for what I was sure they were--Non-sexually acquired genital ulceration (NSGU). I had even found three case studies of COVID patients who had developed them. I had spent several harrowing hours on google images making sure that the sores I had did not match any STI I may have magically acquired during a year of social distancing. I even brought up multiple case studies, including a woman who had them as a Covid reaction in a neighboring state. Didn’t matter. She looked at them and went “Yikes! Herpes!” and prescribed me: 

1) an antiviral, which I said I did not think would do anything because the trigger for this was a vaccine not an illness. She said it was probably a herpes flare up already in my system. I reiterated that I have had similar sores in my mouth since childhood and that all my past doctors and dentists agreed it was not viral but something related to an immune response. She said the antivirals should clear them up in a few days.

2) a topical 5% lidocaine ointment, aka an oral grade numbing gel, which was essentially what I was after anyway.

I would have preferred a steroid course to the antiviral, but agreed to start taking them until she got the results of the bloodwork I needed to come in the next day for. I asked how many days after taking them I would expect to see a difference/if she would reevaluate treatment if they didn’t have an effect in a certain amount of time, and she said if they hadn’t cleared up by Monday then she’d look into other causes (spoiler, they did nothing in that 4 day span). to her credit, when she saw me pick up my bike helmet (because my car had been at the mechanic for a month by then), she was properly horrified that i was having to bike everywhere with this situation and printed off some coupons/called all the prescriptions into the grocery store pharmacy next door instead of the CVS my insurance likes a mile away.

So eventually I got home and took my pill & went to put on the ointment so I could use the bathroom for the first time in 8 hours. I’ll spare you the details but suffice to say I had an extremely, overwhelmingly painful 10 minutes of application. Like absolutely awful burning feeling. However once that faded, I was indeed actually numb, and so I figured it was worth it. Got my bloodwork done on Friday (biking there & home again). On Saturday, I thought that you know, maybe a prescription anesthetic shouldn’t be doing that or at least have some sort of warning? And read the details on the jar.

Good things about lidocaine: it is a powerful numbing agent and lasts pretty well for an hour or two.

Bad things about lidocaine: you cannot get oral grade lidocaine without added mint flavoring.

I happen to be EXTREMELY sensitive to mint. Like I still can’t handle breath mints or mouthwash, and used bubblegum flavored toothpaste until I was 14 and found a brand with half as much mint flavoring as is typical. Even if you’re not, mint has no business being anywhere near genital tissue. Even on an average person that could cause awful burning. to make a long saga shorter I had a very frustrating back-and-forth with urgent care involving many rerouted phone trees, visit in person, unhelpful receptionists, and attempts to find over-the-counter alternatives. All were fruitless so I just  suffered all weekend until the urgent care Nurse Practitioner called me back on Monday and was suitably apologetic/outraged about the mint thing, and looked up every OTC product that might work as a substitute, since she couldn’t find any prescription level without mint. On Tuesday she called back again having found this:

It’s 4%, so just below prescription strength, while not oral grade, it’s actually fine for soft tissues as long as not fully ingested/internally applied. And most importantly, ABSOLUTELY NO ADDED FLAVORINGS. there is also a spray version that comes in a bottle, which under no circumstances should you try because it uses alcohol as a propellant and I had a very bad 5 minutes after testing that one. But the cream one is fine and brings blessed numbness in around 5 minutes with only minimal contact pain--they are still open wounds after all. 

I use this for the next 7 days. By this point the sores have gotten worse and larger, and then started to heal and shrink again. Mouth canker sores go through a similar ~2 week process, so this is about what I expected.

Finally the results of my bloodwork came back, and I was negative for all STIs. The NP was dumbfounded and apologized, and agreed to look up more information/treatment options for cases like this in the future. I’m not surprised her reaction was to assume herpes as it IS very common, but I’m sure other women experience NSGU’s and receive improper treatment. If you look them up, they’re even mentioned as being predominantly a problem for “young or prepubescent women” which, reading between the lines--it’s not that these become less likely if you’re older or sexually active. Doctors just make assumptions and don’t always look past the easy answers.

So if you or someone you know ends up with these--from the Covid vaccine or as a complication of upper respiratory infections in general (as they ARE an immune response and can just Happen to you)--here is what works as treatment. If you can see a doctor you trust, still do that. But if they don’t listen or if for some reason you can’t seek treatment, here is the course of action I recommend: 

Pick up that over-the-counter Pain Relief+Lidocaine NON MINTY numbing cream ASAP. Sores go from “annoying” to “excruciating” in only 3 days, so it’s best to get in person or with rush shipping. Sit in front of a mirror and gently apply with a q-tip, and wait 5 minutes for the medicine to take effect.

Pat gently dry with toilet paper, don’t make wiping motions. If you don’t feel clean enough, pat more with a wet washcloth and rinse it out, or hope in the shoer for 5 min just to rinse.

There may be pus or reside from the ointment that doesn’t go away with just rinsing. Every 2 days I made a half-strength bath of epsom salts, NUMBED FULLY, and then took a 10 minute bath to fully cleanse the area. the salt will sting terribly if you wait any longer, so I recommend standing and rinsing after this time.

The vulva is more exposed to air than the mouth. this may cause the sores to crack/bleed as they dry out. to avoid this, after using the restroom and cleaning yourself, you can apply a thick coating of Aquaphor on top of the sores. It will need to be rinsed off before you apply more numbing cream however, so if that is too many steps I recommend just using the Aquaphor overnight.

You may think its ok to get up in the middle of the night to pee without the numbing cream bc you have to go really bad and just once will be fine but it is NOT you will REGRET IT.

Unfortunately if you have sores on both sides you may develop what is known as “kissing sores”, aka sores directly opposite each other that touch when the area is not spread open. this means that after an extended period of time (overnight), the sores will try to heal into each other and opening the area back up painfully rips the tissue apart. INStEAD of ripping them apart, take a washclosh, run it under warm water, and do a hot/warm compress on the area. this will loosen the sores back up and separate them painlessly.

This is not exclusive to people with a vulva, they can also happen on scrotal/anal tissue. However it does seem to much more frequently affect people with typical XX sex organs. 

If you develop these, PLEASE fill out an averse reaction form or your country’s equivalent. Also, I’m so sorry and if you need emotional support or have questions please feel free to get in touch.

Most likely, these will not happen to you--the vast majority of vaccinated people have not had this as a side effect. But it IS popping up more and more, and it is good to know about it in advance so you can be prepared to deal with and treat it without as much anxiety and all the hoops I had to jump through to get good care. Overall I’m still glad to be vaccinated, but if I had known this was a side effect, as someone already prone to canker sores I would have waited to vaccinate until my car was fixed a week later a the very least :|

#covid #covid vaccine #averse vaccine reaction #nsgu #ive got my finger on the block button for whatever pornbots this post activates do not try me #anyway #gross warning sorry :( if u dont want to know about my tmi personal health dont read this one #ramblings #wharglbargle #i dont wish these on anyone i cant describe what an awful experience this all was #tried to be more humerous bout it in the post but i cried p much nonstop at urgent care and many of the days after #long post #plagueblogging #still better than getting covid and dying tho so

[re1d]

different lifetime | spencer reid

→ summary: “only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.” - george elio → warnings: maeve’s death, graphic descriptions of murder, mentions of depression and drug use, basically major angst but a fluff ending → word count: 4.4k (ouchie mama she’s a slow burn) → a/n: based on no.74 from the prompt list ; “let go.” “i can’t.” // cassandra stop making spencer cry in her stories challenge : FAILED // also this is my first time using time skips n i kinda dont like it :[[ i hope u guys enjoy it tho !!

Books are ripped from his shelves, and Spencer can’t see straight. Papers fly around him as he relishes in the feeling of the pages cutting into the skin of his fingers. Blood forms and begins to drip, but he can’t bring himself to clean it up. His mom would’ve chastized him in that moment for damaging the worlds with his reckless touch. However, his whole world had just been destroyed as well. Pictures of Maeve traipse through his brain at an agonizingly slow pace; they mock him and wait for him to snap. And, he feels as though it’s finally time to do so.

Spencer screeches into the silence of his apartment, undoubtedly waking up his neighbors and possibly even alerting the police. He tears through his hair with bloodcrusted hands and debates on wrenching it out from the roots. Sitting on the floor in a puddle of sorrow and anguish, Spencer sobs. It’s the first time in his life that he’s been so consumed with grief and guilt that he can’t even muster the strength to stand. He merely clutches The Narritive of John Smith to his chest and continues to fall apart.

As tears run down his cheeks, he denies everything that happened in the last few hours. Maeve is still going to meet him after work next Wednesday.You didn’t cover him with your FBI jacket after she was shot. The blood that poured from the gunshot wound in her head was fake. It was a joke—a painful, stupid, not-at-all funny joke. Tomorrow, he would enter the office, ride the elevator up, and make casual conversation with all of his work friends. Thoughts race through his mind, and he finds himself laughing. Laughing. A voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s in shock, that he’s not well. Another voice tells him that he’ll never be well.

He doesn’t know who to believe.

A rhythmic knock on his door sounds, and Spencer pretends not to hear it. He knows it’s you. Part of him is screaming to let you in, telling him to accept the comfort you’ve come to give him. But, he decides he isn’t ready. Not yet. So, you decide to wait. For Spencer, you’d wait until time itself no longer existed. 

Night approaches faster than you think. The sun is a paintbrush as it dips into the horizon and paints one of the most beautiful sunsets you’ve ever seen. It’s merely a passing thought, but you hope Spencer wills himself to see the pleasant combination of warm oranges and deep reds that are smoothed across the dusk sky. Glancing down at your watch, you read the tiny numbers with tired eyes—8:02PM—and, that’s when you realize you’ve been sitting for so long that your butt has gone numb. You register the pins and needles beginning to poke at your backside, but you make no move to stand or to leave. All you do is lean back, your head thumping gently against Spencer’s door while closing your eyes.

Spencer has no knowledge of the countless baskets of goodies from Garcia or the small notes that JJ has left behind after her short visits come to a close. He doesn’t even know that you’re still outside of his apartment. He knows nothing but the monotonous whir of his air conditioning and the smell of Thai food coming from his living room. Spencer tries to focus on anything but Maeve, but his mind is scattered, fragmented. He grows frustrated at the fact that his thoughts are moving too fast to collect. Blood. Bodies. Sweat. Tears. The feeling of your hands on his shoulders. Normally, Spencer is excellent at compartmentalizing trauma, but not this time. Not when his first true love had been so unfairly stolen from him.

Rage simmers inside of him as the clock strikes twelve. He clenches his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream once more. Instead, he palms for the book nearest to him. With his original, hard cover, full-Russian version of War and Peace in his hand, he swings his arm as hard as he can at his door. Specks of dust fall from the frame at the impact, and a chip is now visible in both the book and the wood. Spencer hears a small yelp from the other side, and finally, something other than grief overtakes him. Confusion and anxiety course through him as he forces himself to stand, grabbing a kitchen knife before launching his door open.

You topple over, crushing his toes under the full weight of your upper body. Profanities are exchanged as your stare flicks nervously between his face and the butcher knife in his grasp.

“[Y/N]?! What are you still doing here?!” He means to sound angry, but the rasp in his voice does the emotion no justice. The weakness in his words is easily detected, and you find yourself studying his features from the ground. You’re profiling him, but you can’t help it. His shoulders are hunched, his five o’clock shadow has turned to six, and his eyes dart cautiously around your face. It’s as if he’s making sure you don’t see the torture his own mind is subjecting his body to.

“Well,” you begin, tone gentle, “I came to see you, but you didn’t open the door. So, I thought that I would wait you out, you know? Just to make sure that if you needed someone to talk to, that I would be there—ready to listen.” 

Spencer’s expression is blank, his eyes having stopped their search a long time ago. “How would you have stayed? You have work, [Y/N]. Work that we both know doesn’t stop for time to mourn.” There’s bitter vitriol in his words; he can’t bring himself to care about how they effect you for the time being. But, you don’t mind. It’s only natural. Finally pushing yourself up from the floor, you stare through him and have to fight the need to place a hand on his shoulder, to try to connect with him. The two of you are still separated by the threshold of his door, but it feels as though the Grand Canyon itself is in between.

“Spencer, I can’t even begin to fathom what you’re going through, but—.”

“No,” his retort is clipped, “you can’t. Goodbye, [Y/N].” The door is slammed once again, leaving you stunned to to silence. Sure, you had expected Spencer to be different, but nothing like that. Torrents of rain pound against the roof of his building as dread flows steadily through you at the thought of having to step into it. Nonetheless, you collect your things and head into the office hoping to distract yourself until you’re really supposed to be in for work. The time is 12:54AM, and as you attempt to hail a taxi in the storm, a chill travels down your spine. It’s hard to tell what caused it—the thought of leaving Spencer alone or the copious amounts of coffee you will inevitably be consuming later today.

────

Eight o’clock rolls around quicker than you hope. From the corner of your eye, you spot Penelope and JJ walking in together, their normally bright faces marred with concern. Eventually, the clicking of their heels comes to a halt in front of your desk. JJ takes a seat on top of the files you’re working, moving your recently emptied mug out of the way with a tight smile. Garcia’s crosses her arms with a hmph as she stares down at you. Neither of the women are hostile—it’s moreso agressive curiosity.

“So, [Y/N] ...” JJ’s voice trails off a bit, “You saw Spence?” The nature of the question is pure. Worry is evident in her words, but as you try to answer, nothing comes from your mouth.

Garcia cups your face in her hands, squeezing your cheeks to the point of discomfort. “[Y/N]. All we wanna know is that he’s okay?” She declares, “If you perhaps could comfirm if he has gotten my muffin basket, that would also be nice—but, Boy Wonder’s safety is always first!” The chipper mask she uses to hide the pain is crumbling away, and it’s easy to see.

“Honestly, guys ... He doesn’t look good. Spencer—he, uh, his apartment is a mess, like, books everywhere, three day old Thai food in the living room. I’m worried about him—and, Garcia, he hasn’t touched anything outside his door. It’s kinda like he’s trying to fight reality.” Your explanation is obviously hard for the two women to listen to. JJ’s face is turned down, her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth. Penelope’s colorful appearance seems to dim as words continue to fall from your mouth. She gapes, evidently trying to come up with something to say, but her phone chimes.

“Jeez,” Penelope drags in a sharp intake of air, “this is a bad one. Hotch wants us in the conference room ASAP.”

Sitting around the round table, you take in the information about the case. Two people, a man and a woman, bore holes in the insides of their thighs, exsanguinated. But, there is no other chatter, no normal banter, no tossing around ideas. Only silence, and you feel as though you’re falling. Once you stand, your knees wobble and your hands shoot out to grab JJ’s shoulders. Her presence itself is an ocean of calm as she works to steady you.

“[Y/N] ... maybe you should stay with Garcia on this one? I’m sure she could use the company.” Although not forceful, JJ’s words are more of a command than anything, but you make the executive decision to dismiss them with a shake of your head. As you walk up the stairs leading to the jet, your stomach churns with the intensity of a thousand tigers. 

The absolute quietude on the plane is staggering, and until Garcia’s digitalized face appears on the screen, no one dares to say a word. She briefs everyone that another body has been discovered, and Hotch moves directly onto assignments. “[Y/N] and Morgan, go to the ME and see if the blood results have come back, yet. Blake and Dave, head to the newest crime scene. JJ and I will start working with the local PD.”

As you stare out at the clouds, you wish so desperately to be one of them. Oh, to be a big ball of water and ice crystals and not have a care in the world. The sun reflects off of the white, and when you turn away from the window, you can just barely see Morgan’s form sitting in the leather seat across from you. A pensive frown is present on his lips, his eyes tracing your body, looking for something to tip him off as to what you’re feeling.

Eventually, he finds that he can’t pick you apart. It seems as though each layer he tears through, another is waiting to conceal the truth. “Alright, kid,” he starts, a light air of humor in his voice, “I’ll bite. What’re you thinkin’ about so hard over here?” To be completely honest, you’re positive that he already knows the answer.

“Spence.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan crosses his arms in front of his chest. It’s a tic; he does it when he’s upset. You watch him as he racks his brain for something to change the subject to, but the sigh he omits is a signal that he’s going to try to talk to you about him. Alarm bells shriek in your head, and the sound is deafening. You force yourself to resist the urge to cover your ears, knowing that it wouldn’t do anything.

“So, kid. Even though you’re pretty good at hiding it, you need to tell me what you’re really thinking, okay? I know you saw Reid, but that’s not what I wanna know about. Something else is buggin’ you—I can tell.” He’s beating you up with each word. A punch to the gut, a kick to the face, an elbow to the side—it’s relentless. He knows something is wrong, but you can’t tell him that you’ve been in love Spencer since the third month working at the BAU. It’ll ruin you—not your reputation or your future—it’ll ruin you. Your mind, your body, your heart. Even though you ache to tell just one person, your mouth won’t let you. But, your heart seems to win the fight.

“Derek, I—,” you pause, your voice giving out, “I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him. And now, I don’t know what to do.” Your colleague searches for words, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. He merely stares, his mouth a thin line. Discomfort settles in the space between the two of you, its thickness is probably felt by the rest of the team on the plane. You catch JJ’s glances at the both of you, but they go unacknowledged.

────

Spencer goes through the third stage of grief alone. Bargaining. The stage where he’s in grave need to talk to someone, he is only himself. His hands shake as he pours a cup of coffee, attempting to use the caffeine to stay awake. As the sun rises, a thought in the back of his mind sounds. It tells him that he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past four days. His sweat, blood, and tears have collected on the fabric, and even still, he doesn’t care.

The only thing he’s aware of is the fact that if he wouldn’t have tried to meet Maeve, she would still be alive. He curses Blake and his innate curiosity, and he curses the fact that his first words to her were, “I don’t love you. Sorry.” He curses the feeling of your jacket over his shoulders and the immense okayness that it brought to him, even while staring at Maeve’s body splayed in front of him.

Looking around at each book on the floor of his apartment, they somehow remind him of her. Some made him want to remember her happily, others made him want to vomit up his heart and cut it into a thousand pieces. If he had only said the right thing, maybe she would still be alive. Maybe they would’ve held each other tight and moved on. Maybe they would’ve gone out for three or four years, and then maybe she would’ve gotten pregnant. Maybe there would’ve been a miniature version of him with Maeve’s smile and his eyes. Maybe he would’ve been happy.

Spencer spits up bile into his kitchen sink. Happy? He’s not even sure he knows the meaning of the word anymore. Grabbing the handle of his coffee pot, he pours and pours until the scalding hot liquid burns through his mismatched socks. Wordlessly, tears brim in his eyes. Reaching down, he plucks off the soaked fabric and merely stands at the counter, staring down into the seemingly endless mug.

His phone chirps and effectively pulls him from his trance. Although there’s plenty of time to walk over and answer it, Spencer just reads Morgan’s caller ID and lets it ring. It goes to voicemail and immediately Morgan’s words fill the empty air.

“Hey, Reid, it's Derek. Listen, I got a work question for you. The unsub's exsanguinating victims and removing their eyelids antemortem. Does that mean anything to you? Hit me back.”

Ideas are weaving in and out of the genius’ head. Trudging over to his couch, he presses the call button and waits for Morgan to pick up. It takes less than two rings before the line clicks and he’s in the presence of someone else for a change. Spencer sits in silence, not speaking until spoken to. He feels like a kid, but truthfully, he doesn’t have enough energy to say more than he needs to.

“Hey kid, you’ve got me and [Y/N].”

“Hi, Spencer.”

The sound of your voice is a drive taken at the dead of night where all you can hear is nature. It’s a thousand waves of calm. Instead of giving you both an answer, Spencer revels in the small greeting. Maybe if things were different, he would’ve fallen in love with you first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He debates on slamming the phone back into the receiver, but decides against it. “Have the cornea or pupils been harmed in any way?” Morgan says no. “If he's taking care not to damage the eyes, then line of sight is probably what's important to him.”

“So this guy wants them to see what he’s doing.” Morgan pauses and the whole line goes quiet. Spencer yearns to hear your voice just once more before he hangs up. And, by the grace of a seemingly wrathful God, he does. But, it’s not exactly a question he’s prepared to answer.

“Hey, Spencer ...” You trail off. It appears as though you’re thinking through your next words, but you settle on a simple inquiry. “How are you?” 

“I gotta go,” Spencer replies.

The line goes dead.

────

The case ends up being solved with the help of your Boy Wonder. However, as you board the plane alongside him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t feel very wondrous. Plopping down into the seat across from him—similar to what Derek had done—you shoot him a tender grin. JJ’s shoulder rests above your head, and Morgan stands, taking up the whole aisle.

“So,” JJ begins, “I counted—what—five baskets?”

“Seven, but I think Ms. Cavanaugh next door may have taken a couple.” Her laughter mixes with yours in a melody that brightens the atmosphere in the jet. Morgan snickers in the background, but all Spencer is focused on is your smile. A pang of warmth spreads through him for the first time in a long time, even though a frown is turning his lips down. JJ and Morgan eventually migrate to their respective spots—JJ on the couch ans Morgan with his head against the wall and his earbuds plugged into his ears.

You pick up on the scowl on his features and pat the table to attract his attention. He meets your gentle gaze with hesitant eyes. “Why the long face, Doc?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he can’t even force out a laugh. Spencer succumbs to the monster that guilt presents itself as, cupping his cheeks and pulling down on his face. He tries to rid himself of the grime, the dirt, he feels on his body, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away.

“I dunno,” he slurs through exhaustion, “I was just thinking about how I acted when you came over, and I-I guess ... I just wanted to apolog—.”

“Spencer.” The severity in your tone shakes him to the core. His eyes widen as his mouth comes to a close. “Don’t apologize to me. You’re grieving, it’s only natural that you’d be angry. It was forgotten after it happened, okay? I promise you—we’re good.” There’s something you want to add, and Spencer can practically feel the words itching to come out. “And, Spence? If you need anything—anything at all—please, just ask. Please.”

His mind wanders back to his messy apartment, and he ponders the thought of asking you to help him clean. His mouth moves on autopilot, speaking before he even knew what to say. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I could use some help with something.”

“Of course. Name it, Spencer.”

When the wheels hit the ground, you and Spencer sit and wait for everyone else to clear out of the jet. Morgan and JJ squeeze his shoulder on the way out, and Blake shoots him a motherly smile. The sorrow in her eyes is blatant, but it travels to the back of your mind as soon as she passes. Standing up, you gesture in front of you, allowing Spencer an exit before you head down the stairs. He offers you a ghost of a grin, and it makes your heart bound in your chest. You didn’t remember signing up to run a marathon after this case.

The short stroll to Spencer’s Volvo in spent in a surprisingly comfortable silence. It is full of shy glances and small smiles, and you can practically feel yourself falling for him all over again. Climbing into his car, you turn on the radio to a classical station. Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major plays at a low volume, causing you to close your eyes and lean back against the headrest. The old car hums to life, igniting a sense of nostalgia deep in your soul. The drive to his apartment passes by in what feels like seconds, and he takes the keys and moves to open your door.

Giggling, you step out of his antique. The gravel crunches against the bottoms of your boots as you walk next to him up to his door. “So, this is the elusive Dr. Spencer Reid’s humble abode?” There’s a lighthearted teasing in your voice, “It’s cute. I like it. What d’you need me to do?” He cocks an eyebrow, looking around at the books scattered across his floor and he wonders how someone could find beauty in this. And then, he realizes that he’s standing next to you—Penelope Garcia’s closest confidant—and another question replaces it. Was there anything you couldn’t find beauty in?

“Well .... we should probably start with the books, and then, we can move on to the Thai food.” A grimace appears on his face and you laugh at the way it scrunches, “And, after that, we can talk.” The statement is more of a question, but it still makes you unbelievably jittery. 

With a nod, you bend down to pick up story after story, every so often becoming enchanted by the bindings that surrounded the little worlds. Spencer crouches and pulls out a vinyl, placing it on the record player and lowering the needle. Once more, Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major fills the air, the static of the record scratching every once in a while. “I noticed that you liked it in the car,” he murmurs, “I’m more of a Waltz in A Minor type of guy, but Nocturne in E Flat Major Op. 9 No. 2 is always a good pick.”

“I just love Chopin, to be honest,” you say, picking up the copy of War and Peace sitting at the threshold of his door, “his pieces are all good, really. They’re all great creating pieces, you know? Like, I could just sit, listen to them, and make up stories in my head for days.”

You’re making up one right now. It’s a sunny day, as opposed to the inky blackness outside his apartment window, and you and Spencer are walking down an ambiguous dirt path. Woods surround you as well as sounds of nature, birds sing and branches snap under your feet. There is no air of danger, and all you can feel is the warm pressure of Spencer’s hand in yours. A cool breeze kisses your cheeks, forcing you to stop and take it in. Spencer comes to a halt, his gaze shifting to you. Smiling, you both move towards each other like plants to the sun. Captivation, charm, magnetism. It’s inevitable, like the meteor that destroyed the first inhabitants of earth so long ago. You move closer and closer to one another; it feels as though you’re floating, you’re gravitating towards him—.

“You know, if you’re that fascinated by East of Eden, you could borrow it,” Spencer’s weak teasing breaks you from your reverie, and you realize you’ve been staring at the front cover for over five minutes.

“Ah, uh, no thanks. Reading Of Mice and Men in high school was enough John Steinbeck for me. Personally, I think he drones on and on about things for too long,” you grin while shelving the book. He hums an acknowledgement and picks up a paper container full of week old pad thai, the smell forcing his head in the other direction.

Soon enough, there are only four, thick novels left, and you two are standing side by side at the bookshelf. You gawk at the number of collections and volumes that reside on the freshly dusted wooden panels, eyes wide. Spencer has one hard cover in his hands. It’s in pristine condition, the white of the jacket glaring at you with a vindictiveness that only the dead can muster. Maeve’s memory is held in between his palms, and it becomes hard to watch him struggle with the thought of having to put it away.

“Spencer ...” Your voice is feathery as it rides on the heavy air, “Let go.”

The words are broken as they fall from his mouth. Tears drip gently onto the glossy cover, and it seems as though The Narritive of John Smith is crying along with him. “I can’t.” A sharp pain pierces your entire being. Seeing him so vulnerable, so fractured, is agonizing. He cries over the story, repeating the tale of his whirlwind romance over and over again in his head. Reaching out, you urge his hands towards the only remaining space on the shelf. The book slips in effortlessly, and Spencer collapses to his knees in front of it. His hands are limp by his sides and his head hangs low between his rounded shoulders.

You lower yourself to meet his figure on the ground. He doesn’t move, his spirit completely dulled. As you ghost your hands over his back, he leans into your touch. After depriving himself of physical contact for so long, he wallows in the feeling of your fingers rubbing soft patterns into his skin. Spencer allows himself to sink into your embrace, inhaling the sweet combination of vanilla and jasmine.

For some time, Spencer cries into your chest. He apologizes through his sobs for the darkening spot on your work shirt, but you quiet him each time with a shake of your head. The atmosphere in his apartment lightens to the point of comfort as you do nothing but hold him. It’s poetic, really—something that you’d listen to a Chopin piece to.

“In a different lifetime,” Spencer’s hoarse whisper is barely audible over the quiet buzz of his air conditioning, “I would’ve fallen in love with you first.”

You contemplate his statement, mulling it over in your mind with a giddy optimism not quite suitable for the situation. He can tell you’re thinking over his words, but he doesn’t comment on the length of time you spend with them. A significant amount of time passes before you offer him a small nod that he feels when your chin collides with the top of his head. Smoothing a hand down his curls that are already slicked with grease, you open your mouth to speak.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” you murmur, hugging him closer, “I’ll be waiting. Always.”

#mine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

[dangcommaannie]

Hi. I am, once again, thinking about Eliot, and I have some thoughts, so join me as I cry.

So, in season 3, we know they’re all searching for Moreau. It gets established early on and we know each job they do is meant to be a step closer to him. We don’t know much about him aside from the fact that he’s bad news and it’s not fully explained until the Big Bang Job, but also, there’s something else that doesn’t get explained until then either.

Early on, when Nate mentions that they have take down Moreau, they’re hesitant. They’re not fond of the idea and notable, we hear Eliot talk about how they shouldn’t do this. But they do, of course, because they’re the good guys now and Nate is only free on borrowed time, and it’s not until the Big Bang Job that I am struck with these thoughts because that’s when we finally learn, not just the extent of what Moreau has done, but the extent of what Eliot has done.

So now, I have to ask how long did he suffer alone?

I’ve mentioned in my previous ramblings that Eliot has always been alone. He was a football player and a soldier, and I’m sure he found friends and family there, but there’s likely always a part of him that felt separate from everyone else due to the fact that he hadn’t fully accepted who he was himself, and that likely grew when he did decide to leave Moreau go and work on his own.

But now, he has this little family and he loves them. He really does. His role as the hitter is to protect them by any means necessary, and that’s not just physically from others. It’s from himself too. I’m sure there was a part of him that debated coming clean and telling them about him and Moreau from the beginning, a part of him that needed to explain why they shouldn’t be doing this. They know each other well enough. They’ve worked together long enough.

But Eliot’s not just a hitter. He’s a protector. That’s not just his job. It’s who he is. So instead of telling them, he keeps quiet to protect not only them, but himself. He tells himself this is to keep them safe because he knows the extent of what Moreau can do, what Moreau can cause. He tells himself it’s better not to tell them because he knows they likely won’t let things lie and will continue to dig and search, even if it means helping one person. But also, he doesn’t tell them because he doesn’t want them to hate him like he hates himself. Eliot already knows he’s done a lot of shitty things and meeting the crew gave him a fresh start. The things in his past were still there, still a part of him, but they didn’t look at him the way some people did when they found out who he was, they didn’t look at him like he was just Moreau’s favored dog, they didn’t look at him like he looked at himself. So he decides to keep quiet to protect them and himself because he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle it if they saw him the way he did.

But then that means he is alone once again, alone in his suffering. He says its for the best, for them, but then he goes home, gets his 90 minutes of sleep a day, and is still left with hours to spend.

Does he sleep so little because he’s plagued with the memories of what he had done? Or is it because he can picture what might happen to the crew if Moreau came after them? Or maybe it’s the opposite and he uses the hours he's awake to think about what he’s done instead, as a form of penance, as a reminder. Maybe he’s up training and searching for his own way to deal with Moreau, so the others wouldn’t have to. Either way, nights are silent, but thoughts tend to be loudest then. They can be heard then. Either way, he is alone.

So how long did Eliot suffer alone until the crew helped him realize that he wasn’t anymore? That there were people willing to love him when he can’t? Even when they knew who he was? How long did it take for Eliot to realize he was worthy of that love?

#leverage #eliot spencer #leverage meta #is this meta? #i still don't know #i just have a lot of thoughts and feelings #my leverage post

[ohokimdumb]

Carlos Oliveira Imagine (Prove it) 💛💋💎 SMUT

Request:  Can we have a delicious SMUT about Carlos regretting the fact that he fancied Jill (which didn't work out) and now he fancies the reader instead and tries to make up for his foolishness with a passionately loving session to ensure the reader about his feelings, pretty please? 😍

Word count: 1.7k

Carlos walked into the motel room with Chinese takeout in one hand, shutting the door with his free hand. You looked over your shoulder at the muscular mercenary and smiled gently.

“Tonight we feast.” Carlos tossed the plastic back filled with piping hot boxes of takeout onto the questionably clean bed. It was odd seeing Carlos so positive in such a bad situation; knowing Umbrella was crumbling and had every intention of taking their employees down with them. Hiding out was the most logical plan to start with, until you two came up with a better idea.

“Have you been able to get in contact with Jill?” You asked, worried. Jill being in trouble wasn’t what you were worried about. Carlos’ feelings were occupying your mind. Everyone in the station knew he was attracted to her after everything that happened to them in Raccoon City, but she sort of...disappeared.

Carlos shrugged and fumbled around in the plastic bag, separating the set of orders. You paused in silence as you debated whether to push the subject or not; Carlos didn’t seem interested in discussing Jill’s disappearance.

“You ordered the orange chicken, right?” Carlos casually moved the topic to Chinese food, you rolled your eyes at his subtle childish behavior. He was never one to avoid important issues. Perhaps, it wasn’t an issue she was gone.

“Don’t act like that with me.” You scolded him, and Carlos chewed on hip bottom lip. It was clear Carlos was slightly annoyed by you pressing the issue.

“It doesn’t matter, she’s fine. Wherever she is...she’s tough as nails, I doubt she can’t take care of herself.” Carlos tossed your order of food on the right side of the bed and began to dig into his noodles. The tall Brazilian that sat across the bed from you was a hard person to read; you never knew what he was truly feeling. Maybe that’s something he learned after being in the force for a good amount of time. It was no secret, Carlos would grow distant when it came to his emotions; he didn’t want to waste people’s time.

“It does though, you cared for her and she disappeared-” You were interrupted by Carlos standing up, clearly distressed.

“It doesn't, because I don’t care enough. There’s someone else I care and worry about, someone who is more important than anything in this world. I fucking hate myself for not realizing how much she meant to me sooner.” Carlos blurted out and your eyes widened in shock from his sudden change of tone. Carlos’ sudden shift from cool and collected to being a total disaster in a matter of seconds was something you would never witness with him. Carlos bottom lip trembled as he struggled to explain himself; he couldn’t even make eye contact. Caustically you walked closer to him; you weren’t scared of him, but he was in pain and you want to only show signs and body movement indicating kindness and compassion.

Carlos sat back down and covered his eyes with his hand in defeat, even though his long, fluffy hair would have done the job just as well. You sat down next to him and lightly set your hand on his thigh, leaning forward slightly to try and see his eyes through his full head of black hair.

“It’s you.” Carlos quietly admitted and gazed intensely into your eyes. It was silent as you stared into his eyes, paralyzed by the unexpected. You shook your head without even realizing. Why didn’t he tell you how he felt?

“W-why are you just telling me this now?” You asked, it felt like your soul wasn’t fully in your body anymore.

Carlos sighed once more, attempting to find the right words to express the deep disappointment in himself.

“I’m a fucking coward.” Was all he could muster as you looked down at your lap. Your hand was lovingly covered by his; Carlos was so warm to the touch. Carlos...a coward? Perhaps he was when he had to express how he felt, but he was a courageous Brazilian god when it came to everything else in life.

You shook your head in disagreement toward his false, one-sided statement. Carlos eyes had a sad look to them, but there were hints of hope within the dark brown of his eyes. Gently, you set a hand on his cheek. Carlos’ facial tickled the palm of your hand as he rested his cheek comfortably against your hand.

“Prove to me you care.” You said in an almost demanding tone. Carlos immediately sat up from your subtle demand. The way you were leaned in so close to Carlos, told him what you wanted. The young, handsome Brazilian wasted no time and crashed his lips hungrily against yours as you latched onto him in a desperate plea for more. The moment your lips connected with his, it was the end and you knew what you wanted.

You moaned in the kiss and he gently pushed you down onto your back as he crawled on top of you, immediately asserting dominance. No matter what position he had you in, you felt safe and secure.

Carlos had a gentle touch. He caressed his finger tips all around your body. He created a trail that started at your neck, running between the crevice of your breasts, past your tummy, and stopped right above your sensitive center. You breathed in deeply from his ticklish touch. As his hands grabbed and massaged all around your body, he slipped his tongue in between your lips and groaned as he felt your saliva mix with his.

He had no intention of halting anytime soon and it you didn’t have a problem with it. You desperately tugged at his shirt, signaling him to strip and he complied without hesitation. Carlos threw his shirt onto the floor and you broke the kiss to admire his hypnotizing figure. His abs were past a six pack and toned like no other; he really was a god. Carlos noticed your amazement and he smirked at your flushed cheeks. You touched and graphed out his abs with your pointer finger to make sure what you were seeing was real and not some sick, but beautiful hallucination.

Carlos interrupted your obvious admiration towards his body and lifted your pajama shirt up. His eyes widened when he sees your bare breasts; he expected you to be wearing a bra. There was nothing wrong with not having a bra on; he drank in what was in front of him...and you were gorgeous. While he was standing up, you gladly undid his pants and pulled them down, along with his boxers. His large cock sprung from its constraints and you were even more astonished than when you saw his god-like abs. How was all of him going to...fit? You breathed in as Carlos gently pushed you down onto your back once more. He knelt down and curled two fingers around the sides of your pajama bottoms, yanking them down; you weren’t wearing panties either. Your cheeks flushed an ever deeper red as you watched Carlos admire your body like it belonged to him. Honestly...in a way, you did belong to him.

Carlos kissed his way up your body, starting at your ankles, up your leg, between your thighs...a quick peck against your sensitive clit; he paused and looked up at your expression. Desperation and desire was written all over your face as he covered your body with loving kisses. Carlos made his way up to your lips. Right as his soft lips connected with yours, the greedy mercenary took a handful of your breast and groped with intensity. You whimpered delicately in the kiss as Carlos gently pinched your nipple, twisting slightly. Your hands explored his lean back, you felt every muscle that flexed when you touched it. Carlos used his other hand to guide his cock to your entrance; it didn’t take him long to rub the tip of his cock in between your wet folds. Instinctively you deepened the kiss and braced yourself to be stretched in a way you had never felt before.

Carlos was slow and gentle, he let you accustom to his large size. You squealed he filled you completely, the passionate kiss was still unbroken as you tightly wrapped your thighs around his waist. Carlos knew you would feel a little pain since he was so big, so he was as gentle as a bear could be. He wrapped his arms around you, and you instantly melted in his affectionate embrace. Carlos began to thrust slowly as your walls grew more comfortable around his cock. Your body began to relax as the pain started to fade the more he thrusted back and forth. Carlos broke the kiss to catch his breath as he kept a slow, steady rhythm with his thrusts. Every time he pushed inside the bed creaked a little; it echoed in the motel room.

“You’re the only one...” Carlos unexpectedly broke the silence. Your eyes were still tightly shut from adjusting to his size, but a tear escaped between your eyelids. Carlos noticed and immediately wiped the tear away with his thumb.

“You promise?” You asked for his honesty. Your eyes opened and Carlos eyes were furrowed together. How could you ask such a thing?

“Of course.” Carlos grazed his thumb across your bottom lip as he continued lovingly thrust in and out of you. Instead of saying something, you pressed your lips against his once more. You didn’t want to talk, all you wanted was to focus on how good he made you feel; emotionally and physically. The way he touched and admired your body, made you feel so exotic. Carlos truly made you feel special.

There was no doubt you were close to cumming all over him; you didn’t want that moment to end. Another tear ran down the side of your face as your walls tightened around his thick cock. You didn’t need to tell Carlos you were close, he could feel everything. He felt himself caving in as he suddenly spilled his warm, salty cum deep inside you. The feeling of being taken in such a deep, desirable way made your climax even stronger. Your cum squirted onto the shirts and dripped from his cock. All you heard was the mixture of heavy breathing between you and Carlos; it was all you wanted to hear. Carlos kept himself hovered over you, his cock still rested inside your walls as he gently kissed each breast.

“I mean it, you’re the only one...meu amor.” The way his R’s rolled off his tongue shot a bolt of sensation down your spine. You were ready to fight Umbrella with him, he was all you needed.

#Carlos Oliveira #carlos oliveira x reader #carlos oliveira imagine #resident evil 3

[bills-pokedex]

This isn't an ask, just checking up on you to make sure you're taking care of yourself. Lanette worries a lot about you.

I know, anonymous, and it’s very sweet. At the risk of sharing a bit too much personal information, I just hope that I’m reciprocating well enough.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. I understand fully that there’s no wrong way to reciprocate, and anyway, relationships of all sorts are different for every circumstance and for every person. But the point is...

Well. I suppose the point is I worry about her too.

Anyway, to answer your question, I am indeed taking care of myself. In fact, that folds into why you haven’t quite heard a lot from me lately, other than the difficulty in typing one-handed for about half of last month. It’s not that I’m busy. In fact, if anything, I’ve started incorporating breaks into my schedule, which apparently has been quite a shock to the Institute. They’ve sent me emails to make sure I’m still alive and human, simply because I’m neither fifteen days ahead of schedule on my current projects nor working fifteen hours a day for six days a week. It’s odd, really—just realizing how much time you’ve spent at work when you have someone urging you to take tea and eat a proper meal and even sleep every day.

In short, yes, I’m fine. But thank you for checking on me, of course.

[Lanette can smell something burning.

It’s not wires. It’s not electricity. It’s not even wood, which sometimes happens when Bill’s playing with dragonfire again. No, it’s something else. Something ... familiar.

She pokes her head out of her room. Or, well, it’s not really her room as much as it is their room; since they made things serious, she’s been living at the Sea Cottage and sharing a bed with her partner. But that’s not important because it’s nine in the morning, Bill let her oversleep, and something is burning in the Sea Cottage.

And then the fire alarm goes off. Lanette rushes to the kitchen where she knows Bill’s kept the only fire alarm in the entire damned building outside of the lab, but she doesn’t have time to do anything because Foxglove is already on it, hovering right beside the alarm while frantically waving a tea towel in its general direction. Bill, meanwhile, is in front of the stove, covering one of the burners with a lid while staring fervently at Foxglove—probably issuing silent commands that the kadabra is frantically obeying.

“Um.”

And just like that, the tension between the trainer and his pokémon is broken, giving way to a wild look from Bill. He’s a growlithe caught in the act of setting the curtains ablaze, and he knows this is not proper behavior.

“Lanette!” he cries. Then, clearing his throat, he forces a smile. “Ah ... good morning?”

“Good morning to you,” she says. “There’s a fan above the stove. Reach up and press the button.”

Bill looks up at the console on the hood above him. “Oh. Of course.”

He follows her instructions, and the roar of the vent fan swallows the beeping of the fire alarm. Lanette puts her hands into the pockets of her linen pajama pants, then looks up at Foxglove.

“Twist it open, then remove the batteries,” she says.

Foxglove jumps to it, as if he was actually waiting for that instruction. And he probably was. Lanette doesn’t say anything to this, instead walking past him to Bill’s side. By the time she reaches the stove, the fire alarm is finally off. There was smoke, but there’s no fire—or at least, there shouldn’t be one, now that Bill’s suffocated the absolute crap out of it. She peers down at the stove to see a half-empty sauce pot full of scalded ... milk? She inhales and catches the scent.

Ah. Not cow milk. Coconut milk. And chocolate, it looks like. What’s left in the pan has separated into a slurry of curds, clumped-up cocoa powder, and thin water. Some of the concoction has dribbled down the side of the pan, and this tells her everything she needs to know, even before she gently nudges Bill’s hands off the pot lid and sees the burned remnants of hot chocolate forming a half-ring around the glass-top burner.

“I’d only taken my eyes off of it for a second!” Bill exclaimed, his words rushing into each other.

She gives him a reassuring but sympathetic smile but takes the handle of the pot and gives it a swirl. Badly curdled. Looks like it’s beyond repair, not that this would help the fact that half of it is all over the stovetop.

“It happens to the best of us,” she says. “Milk curdles and boils over, no matter what kind you use. Some do it faster than others.”

She takes the pot to the sink and empties it, then rinses it out and returns it to the stove—the other front burner this time.

“Wanna try again?” she asks.

Bill snaps out of his daze. He’d been looking at the burner while Lanette was working, as if debating something in his head. And noticing this expression, Lanette slides the lid back over the ring.

“You’ll ... want to let it cool for a bit,” she says. “Anyway, grab more coconut milk.”

He does so, and he’s back at her side in less than a second, silently nudging her out of the way of the pot as he fiddles with the cans.

“I’m sorry if I woke you,” he says. First can pops open, and in it goes.

“I probably should be up anyway,” she says. “It’s never good to sleep until noon.”

He doesn’t say anything to this. Instead, he reaches for the mess on the counter next to the stove and measures out cocoa powder. All the while, he continues as if she hadn’t said anything. “Honestly, I was hoping this would be a surprise. You’d just walked in on, well, part one.”

“Part one?”

“Yes. Cocoa. I’ve seen you make it, so I thought I could. The rest, however...”

She winces a little and gives him an uncertain look. “What was the rest?”

Bill clears his throat again, then mumbles something Lanette is almost certain is “French toast,” but she can’t be too certain.

“You had no idea how to make it, did you?” she asks.

“I have a recipe.”

“A recipe?”

A pause.

“No,” Bill admits. “I do not know how to make French toast.”

Lanette’s uncertain look cracks into one of gentle sympathy. She clears off the pot lid and starts cleaning up the burner next to her partner. She’ll need it, she realizes.

“I appreciate the effort,” she says slowly, “but I have to ask...”

“Yes?” Bill’s watching the pot like a pidgeot this time. Steady. Unwavering. Dedicated to seeing this through, one way or another.

“Why?” Lanette asks.

Bill smiles sheepishly, though he doesn’t take his eyes off the pot. “It’s ... ah. Well. Today is special, so I thought—”

“Special?”

“It’s-it’s Valentine’s Day,” Bill replies bluntly.

“Ah.”

Lanette retrieves a pot from a cabinet, followed by a bowl. There’s a small collection of items—packaged bread, eggs, coconut milk, cinnamon, sugar, vanilla—that’s materialized on a blank spot of the cabinet; Foxglove curls up in the corner after what he believes to be a job well done. Lanette mentally thanks him, then cracks an egg into the bowl.

“Don’t Johtonian men usually treat their significant others on White Day?” she asks.

“‘Men’ is a complicated word,” Bill replies.

She nearly points out that he’s dodging the question, but she doesn’t. She just snorts and finishes cracking eggs.

“But, ah. The truth is...” Bill punctuates his half-thought by stirring the hot cocoa.

“Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you.”

Lanette mixes the toast batter in silence. She doesn’t mean to go quiet. It just sort of ... happens. Mostly because she’s confused. But she also knows that whatever he’s trying to say, it’s hard for him.

Because, well. Bill’s like that. He’s always been like that. He’s so good about addressing the whole concept of emotions and about paying attention to other people’s, but when it comes time for him to talk about his own? He just sort of ... clams up.

Lanette knows why, of course. She’s the only person who knows why, she’s pretty sure. Bill doesn’t trust easily—not generally speaking, and certainly not when it comes to this. It’ll take work for him to untangle that mess, and ... well, she can’t quite say she’s helping him work on that so much as realizing there’s a mess at all. But ... even small progress is progress.

“For what?” she asks. Quietly, of course. She doesn’t want to scare him off.

“For—” Bill stops. Catches himself. Tries again. “Well, for everything.”

Lanette gives him another reassuring smile and nods to the pot. “It’s probably done.”

Oil in the pan. Heat. First slice on. It’ll take time, like all things. Luckily, not as much time as fixing whatever’s going on with Bill, but still. He pours the cocoa and goes to set the mugs on the table, and it’s here that Lanette notices most of the pokémon have been cleared out.

“Did you recall everyone?” she asks.

“Of course I did,” he replies. “Do you have any idea what Primrose would do if she got her hands on this stuff?”

Lanette does, and it wouldn’t be a pretty sight. But still...

“Lanette?”

She freezes. There’s something to his voice.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to say,” he says.

She tenses again. She flicks through everything she knows about Bill. See, he’s really about patterns, if you just look hard enough. As chaotic as he might be in the lab, if you’ve been with him long enough, you can sort of predict what he’ll say next because all of his idiosyncrasies follow this rhythm—one that Lanette has spent a good portion of her life studying and understanding.

So she knows where this is heading.

“Bill,” she says. “If you’re about to ask me if I’m happy here, the answer is I am. I know I have a lab in Hoenn. We’ll figure out what to do with that soon.” She hears him breathe in and cuts him off again. “And I know it’s been weeks since you’ve gotten your cast off and since we came back from Crown Tundra, so now’s a good time, but ... I don’t know. There’s a lot to do to sort things out there—and I know you’ll be okay with helping, not to mention you might have to in order to help me figure out how to run Hoenn’s system remotely, but—”

“Lanette.”

“The point is that yes, I’m serious when I say I want to be here, okay? I’m serious when I say I want to stay here, not because I’m worried about whether or not those flygon genes will mess you up because apparently they won’t, but instead bec—”

“Lanette.”

“Bill, I’m trying to—”

She suddenly realizes he’s directly behind her, and she realizes this because a tail winds around her waist, and wings fold over her. He’s mostly human, but apparently, he felt he needed this many limbs to ease what she now realizes was ... probably a little more insistent and frantic than she’d intended. Where did that even come from? She relaxes in his arms.

“I know,” he says. “That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

Lanette runs through all the possibilities. Which one did she overlook? “Then ... what did you want to talk about?” She pauses. “You’re not about to propose, are you?”

“What? No.”

He rests his head on her shoulder. “I ... I love you. That’s what this is about.”

Lanette pauses. Bill admitting his feelings? Not mincing words? Not framing it as “I care deeply about you”? This. This is new.

“I love you too,” she replies. She doesn’t know what else to say. She leans against him and closes her eyes, and they stand there for a moment until Bill lifts his head.

“Is it supposed to be that dark?” he asks.

Lanette snaps her eyes and looks down at the pan and immediately reaches for the pot lid.

“Um,” she squeaks. “No. No, it’s not.”]

#asks #powerverse #about the author #about the editor #{Happy Valentine's Day everyone!} #Anonymous

[virgil-is-a-cutie]

Alya salt Alya and class (except Chloe and sweet tomato Nathaniel) destory Marinette's sketchbook but shes doesn't care cuz it was 4 the class and consequences happen (based on unmaskedagain fictattered remains and broken dreams(yours not mine))

Screwing Up (You Did, Not Me)

This has light salt cuz I'm too lazy to to continue. If y'all want a sequel tell me.

Marinette hums as she put her sketchbook of her designs in a metal box with a lock in it. She had bought the small vault after Chloé copied her hat design.

Chloé still winced and gave her a sheepish smile whenever they hanged out at the bluenette's room.

At least she showed she regretted it honestly.

She was glad she got the steel box, it was something she was glad she got once Lila came into the picture. She lost trust in her ex friends a week after Lila came back since they easily followed Rossi without taking into consideration what she was saying.

Sure the class have only known her for two years, but surely they've heard about her the four years that she's been at Dupont since moving from America at the age of 10 years old.

They acted like friends, but they honestly saw her as someone to only do stuff for them.

At least some did a commission unlike others in the class. That made it easier to have separate sketchbooks for the class really.

She puts a white sparkly sketchbook in her backpack since Sabrina and her had been discussing the designs for the school play that she and the rest of the theatre class were going to put on.

At least the theatre teacher commissioned her early on and Sabrina and her discussed with Marinette on what the style of the costumes they wanted for the play.

Mylene had been kicked out of the theatre club as well the class after they witnessed her verbally assaulting Marinette, who had been ignoring the shorter girl by listening to a P!ATD song. Mylene had protested, but Sabrina had ripped Mylene a new one. She may not get along well with the bluenette since Chloé and her became friends with the bluenette, but she didn't believe Marinette deserved to be treated harshly.

She wore a baby pink sundress with a black motorcycle jacket with pink flowers stitched into it and pink combat boots with spikes on them.

She had started to hang out with Gina more now and her outfits have changed a little because of that.

She fixes her hair in a side braid before grabbing a granola bar and a yogurt cup before grabbing her school bag before heading to school 40 minutes early. She had a small breakfast meeting to get to before class started.

She met with Sabrina and the theatre teacher in the theatre classroom to discuss any alterations and last minutes things needed on the classroom, which were not needed much to Marinette's relief.

So when there was about 10 minutes before class was set to start she went to her locker and put up her small make up bag that just contained eyeliner and light pink lipstick and a few nail polish containers. She noticed she was missing a white sketchbook with the design of a rainbow poop emoji, but she shrugged it off.

It wasn't that important. Well it was, but only for her class really, the classmates that deemed it a right to use up her time among other things for free things that she really believed they didn't deserve.

She hums listening to I Write Sins Not Tragedies as she walked to class, softly mumbling to the beginning of the song.

Nathaniel was pacing back and forth outside the classroom, he noticed her and tried to talk with her, but Chloé grabbed his hand and questioned him quietly as to what was worrying him.

A few of her classmates had a shameful look on their faces while a few smirked smugly at her or snickered as she walked passed them on her way to her seat in the back.

She frowns upon seeing shredded paper on her desk, but realization struck her when she saw the cover of the sketchbook her ex friends ripped up.

Nathaniel and Chloé watched from the door with a nervous and worried look on their faces.

She shrugs and sings along to the song softly as she takes a picture of it, grabs the cover of the sketchbook, saving it into her backpack.

For fun reasons only.

She then sent emails to whoever she needed to before grabbing the shredded paper and throwing it into the trash can that was beside the corner in the back. Making sure to clean up the mess well in her desk, and goes over to the front of the. She wanted to see their faces as she told them that they all screwed themselves over.

Well... a few of them did really.

Nathaniel tried to gently grab her shoulder, but she waved him off with a soft smile. She took off her headphones, music blaring loudly out of it as La Devotee played out.

She turns back around before groaning and pinching the bridge of her nose before smiling widely to the class.

Her ex friends were very much surprised, they thought she would be crying, or screaming really. Even Lila was a little shocked at the biracial girl's reaction to seeing her ripped up sketchbook. She wanted the Chinese Mexican American girl to at least cry.

They thought the the

"Aren't you.... aren't you at least a bit sad dudette?" Nino asked weakly.

He wasn't close to Marinette anymore because of Lila, but he knew that Alya went too far in destroying the bluenette's sketchbook.

He was honestly debating on breaking up with her ever since she started to beg for more dates and tell him to drop their younger siblings off with Marinette, who he knew was possibly too busy to even do so because the bluenette always had her schedule in order.

Marinette breaths in deeply and makes a praying gesture with her hands as she does this before giving them a toothy and wide eye grin.

A very wide toothy grin with wide eyes that sorta freaked out a few of her classmates. Possibly even Lila.

"I cannot stress this enough... but y'all fucked up, pendejos. Pinche brutos," she said slowly as if to let them understand as if they were children.

Which they were, but more on the teenager part really.

Everyone gaped as the small petite bluenette cursed at them. Lila blinked in surprise before smirking smugly, hiding her smirk as she dipped her head low.

"I would be, but not really. Ya ni me va importar ese cuaderno," she says with a small tilt of her head.

Everyone in the class blinked, except for Nathaniel and Chloé. Sabrina stepped in a second later and paused to take in what's happening.

She was about to speak when Chloé shook her head, making her frown, but she stayed quiet.

Marinette raised an eyebrow, "don't really care for that sketchbook really. It wasn't at all tan importante. Not at all that important to be frank with y'all."

Everyone blinked in shock at what they heard the bluenette say.

"What do yo-"

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN NOT IMPORTANT?! IT WAS YOUR SKETCHBOOK!" Alya screeched as she stood up.

Lila flinched and winced at the yell since Alya sat very close to her.

"It was a sketchbook yes, but not one that would break my heart if torn," the bluenette said with a shrug which shocked the class.

"Wait what," Nathaniel asked in shock making Mari lightly giggle before giving the class a shit eating grin.

"The sketchbook with all the designs that are worthwhile and deemed good are locked away at home in my room. I stopped bringing it to school a month after the hat contest," she said as she looked at her nails.

"The sketchbook with a rainbow poop emoji is for this class specifically. Specifically for the class members who demand for things for free, as well as class representative things."

Everyone in the classroom frown.

"What do you mean demand? We commission you for almost a lot of things," Ivan asked curiously.

He may have stopped being friends with the bluenette, but that didn't stop him from paying a commission early than necessary for things he needed since not many stores carried his size.

A few others nodded since they always commissioned the bluenette as well order a box or two full of pastries from the bakery when they wanted to bring a treat to the class that they have Marinette bring. However, only a few froze and sunk in their seats little at the implication.

Marinette raised her eyebrow at him and gestured with a nod towards Mylene, Alya, Kim, and Alix who all just sunk down in their seats from being called out.

Lila raised an eyebrow at the people who got called out.

Rose frowns as well did the rest of the class, "wait... hold up-"

"Wait... did you all four expect Marinette to make your stuff for free?" Nino asked in disbelief.

"It's just that she desi-"

"It doesn't matter if she's a designer Alya. Marinette may not be our friend anymore, but even if she was it doesn't mean to take advantage of the fact she designs clothes and other things," Rose said with a disappointed look on her face.

"Wait-"

"Don't worry to those who commissioned me, I have your commissions on a separate sketchbook and you all did the commission online so you're all good. I just need to work on them so that they can be finished in the intended date."

"THAT'S NOT FAIR! WHY-"

"Césiar she is wasting time on making things that you and the other three useless beings don't bother to commission that make her waste tons of material just to make your useless asses things that honestly none of the four of you really deserve to have made," Chloé bit out icily with a glare.

"But it's just small things! A dress here, a jacket here-"

"Yeah posters really," Kim interrupts Alya.

Chloé raised an eyebrow and smirked widely as she stepped towards her ex friend.

"Adrien, do tell how much a custom made design does your dear old dad charge someone."

Adrien blushed and mumbled softly.

"I'm sorry what?"

"$9,000 and that was for a simple black pantsuit with a a red rose stitched in one pocket," he said out loud. The blonde shaking a little, he had arrived a minute before Nathaniel so he didn't know what was going on until the commotion started.

Chloé hums and looks at her manicured nails.

"My mother would charge up to $3,000 depending on the 'simple' dress Alya asked for really. Up to 20 grand for the dresses Alya and Mylene basically demanded from you unless she had to hand sow herself," she said with a smug grin to the two girls that basically demanded Marinette to make them skirts among other things really.

The two girls paled as they realized how much money they basically would've saved if they hadn't ripped up the bluenette's sketchbook. Even if they basically demanded it to be made by her.

Alix paled as she realized that she demanded Marinette to design her a suit simply because she hated dresses. That would've cost her so much more than a simple measly $100 that she had somewhere really.

"B...but I need a dress for a date with Ivan!" she gasps out with wide eyes.

"So do I! I need a new skirt!" Alya growls out.

"Yeah too bad so sad, but you two are not going to get anything because my commissions are already full really," Marinette said.

"B...But the school's basketball's team needed new uniforms!" Kim out.

"That is a ridiculous thing you had asked of me Kim, even your basketball couch was appalled that you asked that of me," Marinette said with a raised eyebrow to her ex friend.

Kim blushed at the realization of what was said, "but-"

"Either way I gave him the number of a really nice cousin of mine, Carrie Ross-Snell. She does design for a living, but it's more of a hobby in the side to be honest. She doesn't mind really," she mumbles the last part.

"She gave him a good price really," she said out loud.

She really was going to have to thank the stars that Sue had used the bunny miraculous to have Carrie be placed in a new home when born after The Blood Prom occured. At least Fu saw it fit for the girl and her boyfriend see their error of their ways and wanting Carrie to have a happy childhood. Which led her to be adopted by Ms. Desjarden.

Their future P.E teacher. Who later married her uncle Chris.

Thank god Master Fu had been in a America for a short while when that happened.

At least Carrie was raised with love and was cared for. Even if she was still a very shy person.

"Either way I can't work on all the things that were on that journal, there were too many last minute demands you forced on me. They're gone, as well as the other things that were on that sketchbook," Marinette said with a shrug.

"W...what about fundraisers you promised to help?!" Alix screamed out.

The bluenette raised an eyebrow and placed her hands on her hips, "I never promised anything at all Alix. You and Kim bitched about wanting help and that's it. I just told y'all good luck really," she told the now embarrassed two.

"B...but my outfit for Kitty Section!" Mylene cries out.

"Can't really work on it, it wasn't a commission, although the rest of y'all didn't commission for anything so I don't really have a reason to work on anything," Marinette said with a shrug.

The members of Kitty Section nodded, but then everyone who commissioned her froze. She had her schedule she stuck by so they knew she was already swamped and all internally groaned.

Those who never commissioned her didn't think what the matter was but remembered how much they had to have paid if they even ever asked for a commission.

They paled after that remembering what Adrien said.

The others internally groaned remembering that they had a few things they knew couldn't be worked on because they forgot about them.

Marinette shrugs, "I also had a few of the class representative things there, but oh well, can't do those anymore. As well a few things that only a few other people asked for."

Everyone frowned, but shrugged it off really as the bell rang for the school day to start.

Ms. Bustier walked in and sighs before looking at Marinette with a soft concerned look before sighing.

"During lunch class we will decide the new class representative. Marinette unfortunately has to pull out due to reasons," the teacher said with a weak smile.

Marinette smiles brightly at the teacher before going to her desk.

"What a shame, we could've gotten to go see Luther Inc. and Oscorp," she says to herself, but she said it out loud for people to hear.

All of them heard and felt their hearts break at what they just heard.

The class will soon realize that those who destroyed Marinette's sketchbook for the class fucked them all over.

Because not only did it have things for class representatives and such.

It had their schedules and other important dates that Marinette always believed and told them were very much important for them.

Something they honestly believed wasn't until the last minute and caused them to feel dread at the thought of them forgetting something or anything they had scheduled.

All because Alya and the other three decided to tear up Marinette's sketchbook.

The wrong one at that.

#class salt #nathaniel and chloe are safe #so is sabrina

[theatresweetheart]

❝  you should have called me.  ❞ Virgil andlogan

Tally Marks

Warnings: Swearing, mention of past fight, homophobia, blood (though not a lot), injuries, bruises, religion mention.

Pairings: Brotherly Analogical, Mentioned Romantic/Parental Royality

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Roman and Patton (mentioned but not present.)

Word count: 2032 words.

                                              ———————

The drive home was intense.

The silence being shared from both sides was insufferable and miserable. Both parties equally upset, but by two differing accounts.

It was emotionally charged and it was uncomfortable to sit in, but there was nothing he could do to ease it. Logan had already tried talking to his brother and Virgil had promptly snapped at him and turned his head further in the opposite direction.

Logan sighed through his nose, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You should have called me.”

“But I didn’t,” Virgil snipped without missing a beat.

“But you should have,” Logan snipped back just as quickly. It wasn’t unlike them to argue, but this was serious. Getting into a fight with someone just because they offended you was being no better than them.

Virgil tugged his hood up further over his head, tucking into himself as best as he could in the limited space the car allowed. “Just drop it, it’s fine.”

“It is not fine.” How many times did they have to have this conversation? “Getting into fights at school is not fine. You’re a junior, you should know better by now.”

“And you should know better than to involve yourself in my life.”

“I’m your older brother, Virgil, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Leave me alone when I want to left alone, fuck. It’s not that hard.”

Once again, they had made absolutely no progress and they were that much closer to home. Their dads weren’t going to be thrilled that Virgil had gotten into another fight, but at least it hadn’t been during school hours this time. That only made it more difficult, though, since Virgil would have to tell them himself and explain the situation.

Or, if that didn’t happen, Logan would tell them as much as he knew about the situation and leave it up to their parents to go from there.

It just occurred to Logan however, that he hadn’t seen Virgil’s face yet. The other’s hood had been pulled up and his face ducked down. Refused to meet Logan’s eyes when he came and picked him up and was now completely turned away from him, the side of his hood concealing that side of his face.

“Virgil look at me,”‌ he instructed, taking his eyes off the road for half a second, seeing if the seventeen-year-old would actually do it or not.

“Fuck off,”‌ was what Logan got back in response.

Having enough of this, Logan flicked on the turn signal and turned off into the nearest parking lot. He ignored the startled noise from the other teen before putting the car in park and twisting in his seat to face him.

“Look at me.”‌ His tone left no room for argument.

“And I‌ said fuck off,”‌ Virgil reached up and grabbed the edges of his hood and made sure to keep a hold of them. “Seems like neither of us are going to get what we want.”

That wasn’t what Logan wanted, but at least his suspicions had been correct. Virgil had been injured in the fight and he didn’t want anyone—especially not Logan or their dads—to see. He didn’t force it though, even if it was extremely frustrating.

“I‌ know you’re hurt,” he said instead, letting his arm rest against the top of the steering wheel, watching for some sort of reaction. “If you let me see, I‌ can help clean you up a little bit before we get home.”

Virgil shook his head. “I‌ don’t need your help,” he hissed. “I’m fine. Let’s just go home.”

“Stop saying you’re fine.” Logan watched Virgil turn his head further away, trying to get out of the conversation, he was having none of it. “You are not fine. You know not to tell me you’re fine, when you’re obviously not.”

“Jesus Christ, fine!”

Logan hadn’t actually expected Virgil to turn to him, but when he did, he took a moment to register what exactly he was looking at. A split lip with dried blood on Virgil’s chin, a bruise beginning to flourish brilliantly on the side of his face and a black eye that was only a dark ring around his left eye at the moment. Blood had dried under Virgil’s nose and the tween looked exhausted.

His baby brother’s face was most likely going to scar because of how deep some of those wounds were.

“It doesn’t hurt as bad as it looks,”‌ he mumbled, his eyes dropping from Logan’s to stare at his knuckles. (Which Logan could see were also brilliantly bruised.)

Virgil was a strong kid and could hold his own, but this was ridiculous.

“Virgil–” Logan started, Virgil cut him off by turning swiftly away again.

His arms wrapped around himself, hood pulled down over his shoulders as his fingers dug into the sleeves of his hoodie. “Don’t.”

“I‌ was just going to—”

“Don’t.”

Instead of trying to say anything more, Logan opened the middle compartment separating their seats and dug through it. He knew there was a packet of baby wipes in here somewhere. When he found the white packet, he pulled it out, shut the compartment and settled it on top. Truthfully, Logan didn’t know how long they had been in here, but he hoped they still held at least a enough moisture to get some of that blood off.

Pa and Dad would freak if they saw Virgil covered in blood like he was. Logan could at least lessen the shock factor by getting some of it off.

So, Logan held out his hand expectantly.

It took a moment, but Virgil noticed. He did something of a double-take before rolling his eyes. “I’m not doing it.”

“Then clean your face yourself.”

Logan knew Virgil’s hands hurt, so if he was smart, he’d take his brother’s offered help. But heaven knows Virgil had a stupid amount of stubbornness within him, so it was possible he’d suffer through it himself. Besides, he had until those knuckles healed to suffer through it himself. The least Logan could offer was sparing it for a little while.

After a second more, Virgil sighed in an over-dramatic fashion. “I‌ hate this and I‌ hate you, it’s embarrassing.” But he leaned forward and put his chin in Logan’s palm.

Logan angled his brother’s face up gently before pulling out a baby wipe and beginning to work at the crusted blood under his nose and around his lips. He winced in sympathy when he rubbed a bit too hard to get the dark red to disappear. “What did they say?”

Logan knew for a fact that Virgil wouldn’t just throw fists. There had to be a reason behind it. There had to have been something said that provoked him enough to hit the idiot who said it.

Virgil refused to meet his eyes. “Said something bad about Dad.”

Logan hummed. He didn’t understand exactly what had set him off though. “You could not have said that more vaguely.”

“They started using the f-slur, alright?” Virgil tried to pull away in a fit of exasperation but Logan held his face carefully still. When Virgil stopped squirming, Logan loosened his hold but didn’t let go. “I‌ kinda blacked out after the first hit and everything else is a blur.”

So, Virgil was defending their Dad. It was probably more of an instinctual reaction than it was anything else. However, Logan knew exactly where Virgil was coming form.

Logan had found himself standing up to people that decided to throw slurs around like they meant nothing. Either thinking they were funny or if they were legitimately trying to hurt someone by saying it. He had never resorted to physical violence, but there had been times where he had caught it very close. Stooping down to their level by knocking their teeth out could be incredibly satisfying, but it also made you look bad yourself.

After finishing up with most of the dried blood on Virgil’s face, Logan pulled back and grabbed his water bottle from the cup holder. It had been in there since that morning, but the water was still cold enough. He passed it over. “Put it against your eye, it should calm the swelling and soothe the pain for a bit.”

Virgil did as he was told after a moment and sunk into the passenger’s seat, keeping his eyes glued on the floor of the car.

“Is there anything else that hurts?” Logan needed to make sure that they wouldn’t need to make a trip to the hospital tonight.

Virgil answered by shaking his head.

However, even though Virgil wouldn’t meet his eyes, Logan could bet he knew the look in them. He was worried about Pa and Dad finding out and getting mad and kicking him out. It was an irrational fear, but it was something that Virgil had convinced himself would happen. If he kept swinging, he’d eventually strike out.

Logan had caught the seventeen-year-old making tallies in a notebook he kept by his bedside. It was something Virgil had been doing since they were children. (They were biological siblings, so they had come from the same parents before being put into the foster care system.)

Every time they went to a new home, Virgil started a new page and marked a tally in a notebook for a wrongdoing.

This habit hadn’t changed over the years and it hadn’t changed after they’d been adopted by Patton and Roman Sanders. Virgil still marked in his book. Logan had almost walked in on him doing it before and the teen had shoved the book under his pillow so fast Logan almost hadn’t known what he’d been holding in the first place.

Their dads didn’t know about this tally book. Logan knew for a fact that it would break Patton’s heart if he did. So, Logan kept it a secret that he knew. It was a personal thing anyway, almost like a diary but all the more hurtful to oneself.

“You’re sure?” Logan prodded, then debated his next words carefully. He’d never been good with emotions, but his baby brother was different. “It doesn’t have to be physical pain, you can talk to me.”

Virgil stayed resolute in his silence.

Well, it seemed they weren’t going to be getting anywhere from here so Logan righted himself in the driver’s seat and did his belt up. Starting the car again, he pulled out of the parking lot and turned back onto the road home. The car was still tense with silence, but it wasn’t as angry as it had been.

Before pulling into the driveway not ten minutes later, Logan noticed that both other vehicles were home as well. Which meant both parents were inside. His eyes flickered down to the clock on the dashboard. Dad had rehearsal in two hours, which meant dinner was most likely going to be on the table within the next hour. It would be enough time to let Virgil clean himself up a bit more and come up with a plan to figure out how to tell the story.

Logan pulled the car into the driveway before shutting the engine off. He took a breath, before turning his head just enough to see Virgil in his peripheral. “I’ll go in first and distract Dad and Pa, alright? Sneak in through the back and get upstairs. Change into some fresh clothes.”

After taking his silence as agreement, Logan moved to get out when Virgil reached over and grabbed him by the wrist. He paused, looking back to him with a questioning look.

“Thanks,”‌ Virgil said, as if it physically pained him to get the words out. “For, you know, not freaking out and tattling.”

“You’re going to have to tell them yourself,”‌ Logan told him, but he softened and took Virgil’s hand in his own before squeezing it reassuringly. “But I can be there when you do, if you want.”

The small appreciative smile he got in return made that warmth flourish for just a moment. Logan then got out of the car, shut the door and went inside.

The least he could do was push the inevitable back for a while.

#hiddendreamer67 #Brook writes #Sanders Sides #TSSides #Logan Sanders #Virgil Sanders #ts Logan #ts Virgil #Brotherly Analogical #Familial Analogical #Platonic Analogical #Roman Sanders #Patton Sanders #Romantic Royality #Royality #tw homophobia #tw swearing #tw cursing #tw bruises #tw blood #tw injuries #tw fight #tw homophobic slur #Teen!Logan #Teen!Virgil #Dad!Roman #Dad!Patton #Parental Royality #Familial LAMP #Ficlet a day

[thestraggletag]

Creature Instincts

A/N: Surprise, @nerdrumple! It is I, your Super Secret Santa that somehow managed to REMAIN super secret! I’m always stoked when that happens. It’s been loads of fun being your Santa, and it was super nice to write fic for someone who was written some of my favourite Rumbelle fics. Hope you like it!

Prompt: Locked-out, torrential downpour, hold.

Summary: Mr Gold cannot be accused of being a knight in shining armour, but when Belle French becomes a damsel in distress he cannot help to try and play the role, in spite of how ill-suited his nature makes him.

Rating: R for sure. There be sexy sex here, kids.

It was a relief to finally be home, after what felt like the longest day in the month. Rent day usually was, as it kept him out and about town all day, both collecting from those who reluctantly but diligently paid on time and those who thought they could evade him and thus get a reprieve. Very few chose alternative means of payment, and he was sure it was in part because most people enjoyed the notion of making him work for their rent money.

He looked up just before he closed his front door, noticing the grey, fat clouds that he had been running from most of the day. The air already smelled like rain, which for him meant hell on his ankle. That, coupled with the freezing temperature, had him more than happy for the comforts of his home.

His housekeeper had left the house warm and dry, as per his usual instructions, and for a moment or two he paused on the entryway, dropping his keys onto the bowl by the side table and simply enjoying the warmth as it seeped into his skin. Though he was used to the cold- and, to a certain extent, he enjoyed it- he could not deny he was a creature better suited for heat. 

Methodically, the motions so familiar that they were almost automatic, he shed his outer layers. First his thick wool coat, a shade of charcoal grey so dark most people thought it was black, and his red cashmere scarf. Then off came the gloves, suit jacket and vest. He took off his tie next, unbuttoning the collar of his shirt before removing his vest and reaching for his banyan, the damask silk showing a pattern of thistles in bloom. He limped upstairs to exchange his suit trousers and Oxfords for woollen lounge pants and thicker knit socks and loafers. 

It felt heavenly to be out of his customary suit and into more comfortable clothing, warm and dry in his home as the first drops of rain began to splash against the windows. He flexed his fingers, his elongated nails still a bit uncomfortable from having to wear gloves all day. As he filled the kettle with water for his tea he felt the scales on his neck ripple and begin to unfurl. It was the most unpleasant part of rent day, how he had to hide all day. It made him itchy and uncomfortable, but it wasn’t a duty his nature would allow for him to delegate on others. 

As he waited for the water to boil he switched on the tablet he had left on the island, having read the paper on it in the morning. In spite of his claws it was easy for him to navigate around the display and hit the green facetime button, locating and clicking on the desired contact immediately.

“Hey, pop!”

Baden’s gruffy face appeared on the screen, hair a bit wild and beard looking like it could use a trim. ‘Fashionably scruffy’, he called it. Since he had accepted a video call he deduced Emma was not home yet. He had remembered correctly about her extra shift, then.

“Hi, son. How’s life in the big city?”

He moved around the kitchen as Bae filled him in on any news, mainly talking about Henry’s latest antics and his newest clients. He was a bit of a hot-shot graphic designer, much sought after. 

“And how’s life in Storybrooke, dad? Still keeping that cavernous Queen Anne, I see. That’s too much house for yourself, pop.”

“It’s not just for me. It’s also for you, Henry and Emma. For when you visit.”

Bae rolled his eyes.

“We only stay over a few weeks every year. What about the rest of the time, pop? Don’t you get lonely?”

It was an old worry of Bae’s, one he tried hard to scoff away every time he brought it up. His son seemed to give up rather easily, asking instead after his hoard.

“Which one do you mean?”

He had several, of course. It was, after all, part of his nature.

“All of them. It’s been a while since I’ve received a full report.”

“Well, the property portfolio is looking good. Market’s been appreciating, as expected given the development of the town. I attended three very productive state sales, so the antiques are looking good. Might even be able to part with one or two of my previously not-for-sale vases. I’ve also managed to find a treasure-trove of jewellery. Owner inherited them from his mother, thought they were costume pieces. I could smell right away he was wrong.”

He smiled, feeling the scales around his neck flash in and out of sight, a golden glint in his eyes, a sure sign he was pleased. The pieces would be a joy to restore and clean, and the thought of how they would shine brought a smile to his face.

“God, you’re such a stereotype sometimes.” Bae shook his head. “Aaaand… how’s the library? Any progress on that front?”

The younger man tried not to waggle his eyebrows suggestively, going for a light-hearted tone as he monitored his father’s reaction. There was no mistaking the way his scales flared up around his neck, as if fluffing up, turning a darker shade of gold than what was usual. It was a minute reaction, there one moment and gone the next, but it was a very telling one, especially for someone as experienced in things as Bae was.

“N-no, not really. Regina, she’s being… unreasonable. Stubborn. It’s a bad year to acquire real estate, in any case, what with the-”

“And how’s the librarian, pop?”

There was a bigger ripple then, crossing the entirety of his face, scales turning so dark they almost looked black. The younger man snickered, trying to be subtle about it. 

“Be- Miss French is fine. And none of your concern, boy.”

“Did she recover from that nasty fall the other day?”

Bae tried to valiantly pretend he didn’t notice her father flex his claws unconsciously, and he studiously kept his mouth shut about the glazed look in his eyes too. He had been thrilled when his father first started to mention the woman, over a year ago. A new addition to Storybrooke, at the time, and a sore spot for his father, who had fought to acquire the library only to have Regina insist on reopening it instead, just to spite him. Miss French was, at first, an unwitting pawn of the mayor, but later grew to be a nuisance in her own right. Always fighting with his pop over city funds, organising “noisy library events” that disturbed him while he restored some antique or the other at his shop and absolutely refusing to cower before him like everyone else in town. 

At some point he had begun to catch on to the fact that his father was constantly mentioning the librarian, and it wasn’t always to deliver the scathing insults he likely thought he was dishing out. He called her “obnoxiously sweet” and rambled on and on about how she thought she could get anything by batting her long lashes and speaking in her lilting Australian drawl. He had had to endure entire conversations where he talked at length about a five minute exchange between them, to the point that even little Henry had cottoned on to the fact that his grandpa had a crush. 

He denied it, of course. Dismissed every single one of Bae’s attempts at discussing the matter and even made a conscious effort to try and stop mentioning Belle French. Didn’t exactly work out all that much, though. Specially after a close encounter, like last week, when his father managed to barge into the library, intending on getting some very urgent books and getting out with as minimal human interaction as possible, only to unwittingly catch the librarian as one of her too-high heels slipped from the step she was perched on and she tumbled off the ladder. His father had called him that night with a dazed look on his face, the pupils of his eyes blown wide as he recounted the event, his scales rippling out completely. Bae knew that look, though he had only seen his father direct it at objects before. A covetous look, possessive. 

He understood then why his father was reluctant to even admit to a crush, much less something more serious. It was easy, and dangerous, for his natural tendency towards greed to permeate his relationships with humans, which meant he made a conscious effort to keep people at bay, not only because he could not trust people with his secret but also because he could not trust himself to form attachments that were acceptable to humans, that would not lead to them feeling suffocated and imprisoned.

It had been a point of contention between him and his pop, he could not deny it, back when the issue of college had come up. It had led to heated debates and pleas from his father that he was trying, he was doing his best to let go, but it was hard in a way Bae would never understand. He cringed every time he remembered what he had said in anger.

“Right, because I’m not like you. I’m not your son.”

It had been, until then, an unspoken truth they both knew. That Bae was not biologically his. A hard thing to ignore, taking into account their different nature. It had taken time and effort for him to believe his pop when he said he was his son in any way that mattered. Which, of course, had eventually led to the growing pains of their eventual separation, and his father learning to deal with parting with something he held dear. As much as it had been a chore it had truly helped alleviate some of Bae’s still-latent fears about his father’s affection.

“Miss French is fine, your suspicious concern over her is misplaced.”

Bae, blessedly, let the matter drop, and the conversation was turned instead to Henry’s latest passion, now that his dinosaur phase was fully behind him. By the time they hung up he was already elbow-deep into dinner preparations- heating up a beef stew he had prepared last night. Most of his neck and face were showing scales, as were his arms and hands. Once upon a time, when he’d been young, he had not been able to keep his true form hidden for more than a couple of hours, and it required all of his concentration. It had meant living in the gutter while out on the streets and keeping to shadowy corners and dark alleyways. After his aunties had taken him in it had meant being homeschooled, and dedicating a great portion of his waking hours practising keeping pink, soft skin and dull, brown eyes. Now he could hardly recall ever having such little control, but he still found it uncomfortable and painful to keep up the facade for long periods of time, particularly when his emotions were running high. And though that was not usually the case rent day did like to try his patience. That’s usually why after rent day he prepared himself something full of meat and drank a bottle of a nice red of his choice while enjoying a book or a movie. He had a documentary set up for later that night, a riveting two-hour exploration of traditional kimono-making in Japan. He’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

Just as he was about to heat up dinner there was a knock on the door. His eyes flashed in displeasure before he shook himself in an effort to try to dispel the scales, hide them under whatever bit of skin he could conjure up. He was tired, hungry and not in the mood for anything other than the barest form of human interaction. With that in mind he put on his fiercest scold, shuffled to the door and opened it wide, ready to make whoever was on the other side regret being born.

“Oh, Mr Gold, you’re home!”

The Australian drawl was unmistakable, and it stopped him from actually verbalizing the genteel-yet-direct death threat he’d conjured up in his head a second earlier. Belle French was, indeed, on his front porch, shivering in her drenched peacoat, tights and boots, hair plastered to her face and eyes wide, wary. It was a look he often saw in most of the townspeople when they looked at him, but he’d never seen it before in Miss French. Afraid of nothing, she’d seemed to be, even an old dragon such as himself.

“Miss French, what on Earth are you doing out at this hour and in this weather?”

It didn’t even cross his mind to demand to know why she had knocked on his front door at all.

“Well, I was out in the woods, helping Dr Hopper get a hold of Pongo- you know how he likes to chase rabbits sometimes- and on my way home I realised I had forgotten my keys. I was about to call Ruby, who has the spare set, but I remembered she was out of town on a date. She would totally come if I call her but she’s been so looking forward to her first date with Dorothy that it would be a shame to interrupt her. I was gonna walk over to Granny’s when it started raining and I saw the light on at your house and thought perhaps I could come in and wait it out a little?”

She spoke in a rushed voice, teeth chattering and trying to look as if she wasn’t freezing to death. Her lips were tinged with blue, and her skin looked pale, almost translucent, in the dim light of his porch. He was about to awkwardly invite her in- perhaps to offer her a cup of tea and a ride home- when a bolt of lightning split the sky, followed a second later by a crack of thunder. In the blink of an eye she was in his arms, trembling like a leaf and holding onto the lapels of his banyan. He struggled to contain his reaction, to keep his human mask in check even as he registered how soft she was, and how she smelt like burnt caramel and vanilla, something he had only once managed to scent before, when she had fallen in the library.

“Miss French?”

He counted himself lucky that his voice, though hoarse and thick, still sounded distinctively human, and that he could talk without breathing out too much smoke. It was all about the small victories.

“I’m so sorry, Mr Gold, it’s just that… Well, I have this thing about thunder…”

By the time she detached herself from him, mouth curved in a tremulous smile, he was fully in control of himself, and also completely aware that he would not be able to keep his cool when Bae mentioned the librarian during their next call.

“Completely understandable, Miss French. I detest the rain myself. Do come in, you’re drenched.”

He ushered her in, letting her linger in the foyer, removing her coat and shoes while he looked for a towel in the linen closet next to the laundry. She wrapped it around herself, following him into the kitchen, self-conscious about dripping water on his hardwood floors. 

“Let me fix you a cup of tea. You need some warmth in you.”

The process of preparing a cup of tea was familiar and comforting enough to help quell the last bit of nerves at the idea of Belle French in his home, his lair, where all his hoarded treasure was. His finest antiques, lovingly restored to perfection, his favourite pieces of art, his most prized objects. The house itself was part of his hoard, the antique Queen Anne outfitted with beautiful crown moldings and other unique details. 

The moment he started to crave something he imagined how it would fit in his home, where he would place the object, and whether it would look right amidst his already established hoard. So he had pointedly and purposefully avoided even the briefest daydream of Belle French inside his home. Hadn’t allowed himself to entertain the idea at all, knowing that way lay madness. He had been right, of course, and it was patently obvious as he snuck glances at Belle, perched atop one of the stools surrounding his kitchen isle. The familiar itch, to take and keep, travelled down his spine, making his fingers twitch and almost causing him to spill scalding water all over himself. Wouldn’t have done any actual damage, but he would’ve had to pretend to be hurt, and he could not trust himself to do a good job of it at the moment. 

She took the cup from him with a grateful smile and he watched her as she poured a teaspoon of honey into it, leaving the milk and sugar untouched. He secreted the information away, as useless to him as it was precious. It spoke of a certain domestic intimacy that he found himself covetting deeply. To be expected, given his nature. He remembered doing the same with Bae, tucking away the bits and pieces of useless trivia that most people would not find valuable or interesting, but that few people would ever get to know about Bae, like how he liked to take hour-long showers and disliked chunky peanut butter.

“This orange blossom honey is lovely. Can’t say I’ve seen it at the local store.”

He got it from New York, from a specialised tea store Bae had taken him to a few years back.

“It pairs well with Earl Grey.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to promise her a case full of the stuff, but he pushed to sudden urge down, unhappy with that line of thought. It was common for him to shower those he had an interest in with things they might take a fancy too. It was in his nature, but he had learnt to curve the impulse, to a certain extent- Bae’s epic comic book collection being his last big failure. It did help that he tended to care about very few people, partly as a sort of defence mechanism. Clearly it wasn’t working as well, given that Belle French had managed to capture him so.

“I’m so grateful for your hospitality, but I see I’ve caught you in the middle of dinner preparations. I don’t wish to bother Ruby on her date, but I’m sure Granny would let me wait for her at the diner. I’ll call Leroy, he’ll give me a ride there.”

His relief at the perspective of being left alone, free to finally shift into a more comfortable form in peace, battled with the surprising cold wash of disappointment at the idea that she’d be gone in a matter of minutes. He was about to offer to drive her himself- Leroy’s truck, after all, was hardly a reliable method of transportation, when the lights flickered once, twice, and then went out completely.

“Oh, bugger.”

He counted to ten before he heard the generator kick in, the lights coming back on. He looked out the kitchen window, realising there were no streetlights. Everything was pitch black outside, obscured further by the heavy rain. Certainly not the ideal conditions for driving.

“Is it that bad?”

He startled, having not realised Miss French had made her way to the window as well, close enough to be uncomfortably thrilling. He saw her biting her lip, obviously realising that calling anyone for a ride was out of the question but unwilling to impose herself on him any further.

“Certainly no weather to be driving in. I must insist you stay until the lights come back on or the rain lets up enough.”

The sheer dread at the idea of having to maintain his human appearance mixed with the heady excitement of having Belle French in his home for an extended period of time. It made him both nauseated and exhilarated, a rather unsettling combination.

The sheer relief in her face settled his mood somewhat. While he ushered her into the downstairs bathroom and went to look for clothes that could fit her- there was no question of her staying in her wet things- he gave himself a pep talk, attempting to bolster his confidence. He was an old creature, he had certainly endured high-stress situations where he had managed to hold on to his control for longer. He could certainly make it through an evening with Belle French without giving himself away.

By the time he had dinner ready he was fully convinced of the success of the evening. He focused on filling two bowls, trying not to linger on the fact that he had chosen to use his Royal Warwick dinnerware set, the stew looking a bit plain surrounded by the fanciful rose designs of traditional Scottish landscapes. 

“Oh, that smells heavenly.”

He turned around, sheer instinct keeping him from dropping the plates in his hands at the sight of Belle fucking French wearing one of his shirts- why had he picked his favourite deep blue one?- and a pair of tights, his already oversized cashmere cardigan practically drowning her, making her look small and frail. He should have known, should have tried to contemplate the reaction he might have to someone he craved dressed in things he owned, things full of his scent. 

“Oh, let me help with that.”

She took the plates out of his hands, being nice enough not to comment on the absolutely idiotic look on his face. He gestured for her to skip his rather ornate dining room table, ushering her instead to the living room. There was a couch and a divan facing a coffee table, as well as a large carved armoire that hid a flat screen TV. To the side there was a fireplace, which he had been quick to light while Belle had been in the bathroom, unwilling to have to pretend to make fire the human way. 

“It costs too much to heat the house, so it’s best to resort to more traditional methods and save the generator for the rest. There isn’t a fireplace in the dining room, so I thought we’d be more comfortable here.”

He settled on one side of the couch, leaving the one closest to the fire for her. She still looked somewhat chilled, even though her lips had lost their blue tint and her cheeks were looking decidedly rosier. He gathered a throw from the nearby divan and wordlessly left it near her, trying not to preen in scaly satisfaction when he saw her unfurl the fabric over her feet, generously leaving half of it for his use. He wouldn’t presume to take her up on her offer, but it was a kind gesture nonetheless. Wordlessly he went to pick a nice bottle of Malbec and a couple of glasses, feeling that as risky as the alcohol was for his self-control it would help his nerves and help him warm up till the fire could properly heat the room. Belle accepted her glass with a charming smile, making a pleased hum with the first sip that had him slapping a hand against the raised scales on the side of his neck. 

They ate in companionable silence, broken by small comments from Belle about the stew- Guinness and beef, a personal favourite of his, with a smokey touch of bacon for added flavour- and questions about the many antiques he had sprinkled around. There was little rhyme or reason to his collection, aside from the price tag assigned to each piece, but just because something was considered expensive did not mean it caught his fancy enough to wish to keep it. 

“It’s like me and shoes. I adore them, but not every gorgeous pair of Louboutins I see catch my fancy.”

He had noticed her extensive shoe collection. At first because they were obviously expensive and he could smell it but later because they became a central quirk of Belle he wanted to learn more of. It had always bothered him, on the back of his mind, like an itch, the thought of how she paid for them. Her clothing was fine but either second-handed or from outlet stores, and everything else about her spoke of frugality. Her shoes, on the other hand, were decadent, and not just because of how they made her legs look. Her stockings too, always silk and never nylon. Very expensive, all around. Too expensive for a librarian.

“You’re right.” He flushed, realising he had said the last part out loud. “My other passion is books. I have… so many books. They quietly take over every living space I’ve ever had. I was raised by my dad, who was a florist, so there was never a lot of money for books. I became used to buying books in thrift stores and second-hand bookstores. And I discovered from a young age that I have a nose for rare books. Books that may not look valuable but are. So I’ve been able to turn my hobby into a profitable source of income. I keep a few rare editions that I like, but I am fonder of turning one book into ten than hoarding just the one book. So I sell them and buy books, shoes and occasionally some nice lingerie.”

He choked on what had been a nice sip of Catena Zapata, the alcohol burning his nostrils in an altogether different sensation to the usual one. He blessed the low light for hiding the way his fingers turned distinctively claw-like, unable to hold the illusion of soft pink fingers. He covered his shaky right hand with his left, which looked a wee bit better.

Thankfully Miss French was not looking at him, having apparently also realised what she had said. Both her hands were over her mouth, her eyes wide as she looked at her own glass of wine- the third one, if he was remembering correctly- in a faintly-accusatory manner.

“In my defence that’s the yummiest wine I’ve ever tasted.”

He shouldn’t have found the word “yummy” erotic, but there was something about Belle French’s accent wrapping around the word and the images it conjured that… distracted him.

“Yeah, well… Argies don’t fuck around with Malbec.”

He thought for a second he might have come off as pretentious, but Belle laughed, the tension from her shopping confession fading away as she turned her attention back to the stew.

“These are beautiful plates, by the way. Lovely pattern, and they have a weight to them that’s very pleasant.”

He cradled his own empty bowl protectively.

“Yes, well, they aren’t exactly the finest china. My aunties had part of the set, my Auntie Isla bought it for my Auntie Wyn for their tenth anniversary. After they died I spent many years completing the set, something they had always talked about doing.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Belle smile.

“My mom loved Victoria Holt books. It was one of the few things my father ever told me about her. Gave me her small collection and I set out to find the ones that were missing. I’m still missing a few she wrote under different aliases, but I got a few leads I’m hoping pan out. I get the impulse.”

The comment gave him pause, a spark of something flickering on the edges of his brain. But he pushed it aside, busying himself with picking up the plates and taking them to the kitchen, if only to give his overworked control a bit of a break. He was practically itching all over, skin buzzing in a way that was partly due to exhaustion and partly excitement. The creature in him was dying to claw its way out, desirous to wrap itself snug around Belle French and keep her there. The dragon had always taken an interest in her, before the man, even. Had scented her even before he’d ever laid eyes on her. But he hadn’t much noticed the fixation till he himself had begun to notice Miss French. The creature had rumbled in approval, practically gleeful, and since then he’d had to fight his own growing attraction to the librarian and whatever other baser instincts his nature brought about. Now, in the safety of its lair, with the object of its fixation surrounded by the carefully chosen objects of its hoard, the creature roared to be let out, and he was afraid to even consider what for. Nothing wholesome, certainly.

Debating on whether more wine would damper his instincts or his remaining common sense he picked up another bottle of Malbec- Achával Ferrer this time- and a box of chocolate truffles he had been saving for rent day specifically. No reason why he couldn’t share a few, it was the hospitable thing to do.

He tried not to preen when he heard Belle’s pleased hum at the sight of the chocolate and the wine, turning his head just so to hide the darkening of his scales around his ears, a blush-like response. 

“I checked outside and things seem to be much the same, so I texted Emma, who’s been in touch with the electric company as the town sheriff. Power’s supposed to be sorted out in a couple of hours, though she didn’t sound like she fully believed it.”

Well, fuck. Two fucking hours? He wouldn’t make it. He already felt like he was about to spontaneously combust, his grasp of his human self paper thin at best. On the other hand sending Miss French out into the darkness of the night, while it rained, was out of the question. And the evening, so far, was so… pleasant. Intimate and soft and everything he had been denying himself but had secretly desired for the longest time. There was a kinship building. Miss French made him feel nervous, yes, and tightly-wound, but also, at the same time, at ease. Safe.

“Would you be interested in watching a documentary about kimono making?”

He could not imagine posing such a question to anyone else with an honest expectation of interest. Even Bae, whom he loved and who loved him in return, would at best politely decline.

“Sounds amazing. Count me in.”

The documentary was riveting for its careful and thorough exploration of Japanese craftsmanship, with an emphasis on the dying and printing of the kimonos as well as the differences in kimono styles depending on age, marital status and time of the year. Not that Gold was paying attention to any of it, as much as it all seemed right up his alley. Somehow, during the first ten minutes of the documentary- the only ones he would later be able to recall- they had drifted closer in the couch, with Belle eventually resting her head against his shoulder, cuddling close for warmth and comfort.

The warmth he could agree with, the comfort was more of a relative thing. As good as the weight and feel of Belle was against his side- human contact was a luxury for him- it made the itch all the more unbearable, and halfway through a fascinating scene about the process of stamping patterns into kimono fabrics he felt the scales around his neck and hands unfurl completely, resisting any and all attempt to retract. He had to console himself with the fact that the only light in the room was coming from the now dwindling fire, and that the high collar of his banyan and the cashmere throw around their laps was covering most of him. Surely as long as he did not call attention to the changes they would not be all that visible.

He almost had a heart attack when he felt the tip of Belle’s nose brush against the side of his neck. She had to feel it, the decidedly non-human texture, the slight roughness of the scales, but she made no comment, which left him free to pause his relentless anxiety about her discovering his nature and give free reign to his relentless anxiety at her close proximity. She smelled… divinely, and the feel of her made his heart drop to the pit of his stomach in a way that felt too good. It was nerve-wracking in a toe-curling sort of well he seldom experienced and he was shocked at how good it felt, considering how much he liked always being in control of any given situation. Growing up the way he had had forced him to toughen up, learn to be the predator instead of the prey. He had spent years growing into his nature, so to speak, learning to both control and embrace the creature that he was to the point that there was little that could perturb him. Not Mayor Mills, with all her power over the town, not some of the bigger, stronger people who rented from him and thought at first that they could push around their smaller, older landlord and not the ruthless business sharks he made deals with day in and day out. And yet one small, unassuming woman could bring him to his knees. It was irrational. It was worrisome. It was-

Arousing.

Next to him Belle moved, standing up and stretching languidly. He looked at the television, noticing the screen was back to the USB menu.

“That was a lovely documentary, made me feel like I was right there in Japan, soaking in the culture and the air. It’s why I love documentaries, they allow me to travel on a budget, so to speak.”

She moved around the room slowly, tentatively reaching out to touch a figurine or explore a paperweight. 

“You know, I’ve always wanted to go to your shop, for the same reason. You seem to have so many fascinating things. But your hours are the same as the library’s, so I haven’t had any luck.”

He told himself he was imagining the flirty tone in her voice, surely her accent was just so pretty everything sounded that way.

“I didn’t know you brought your work home so much, Mr Gold.” Rowan, he thought, call me Rowan. “Where’s this figurine from?”

She lightly touched the top of a Lladro figurine depicting a ballerina stretching before practice. Haltingly, he told her the story behind it, how he had found it at a yard sale for five bucks, sold by the greedy sons of a once-wealthy widow that had died a couple of days before. The whelps hadn’t waited till the funeral to try and get their money’s worth out of their inheritance. The figurine was worth just shy of five hundred dollars, in today’s market.

“What a thrill it must have been, to snatch up such a price.”

Yes, the creature inside him whispered, seemingly thinking less about the little ballerina and more about the flesh-and-blood woman in front of them. He closed his eyes, but it only made the scent of her more prominent in his mind. This was utter madness.

“What about this one?”

They spent what felt like hours in such a way, Belle pointing at several objects that caught her fancy and God struggling to somehow relate their story while attempting to ignore how she practically fondled his hoard. The creature did not take its eyes off her, utterly entranced. The fierce dragon captured by the fair maiden, a modern twist to the story. Every now and then she’d find something she particularly enjoyed and she would hum or make low approving noises, which was slowly but surely making him go mad.

He stood up on shaky legs, going over to the fireplace supposedly to add a log and stoke the fire. In reality he was trying to stop staring at her, in the vague hope that it would bring him some semblance of control.

“You have a beautiful home, Mr Gold. So big, and so full of things.” She sounded closer than he expected. “But so empty of people. It feels a bit… lonely.”

He could see her in his peripheral vision, but kept his head low and eyes on the fire, which allowed his hair to hide his face. Otherwise she would surely notice the deep gold-green scales around his eyes, and the unnatural glow of his irises. 

“Yes, well… I’m a difficult man to love.”

He hoped she would attribute the strange hoarseness of his voice to his thickened accent. He thought about Milah, and Cora, and the other handful of women he’d ever been with, thought about how careful he had had to be to avoid hurting them, how unsatisfied they had been by what they considered his complete lack of passion. That, more than protecting his secret, had made him swear off human contact and affection. It never paid off in the end, and he wasn’t willing to put himself out there for little to no reward.

“Doesn’t feel that way to me.”

He turned his head slightly to find her looking at him from beneath her lashes. The scent of her seemed stronger and sweeter and that, along with the soothing warmth of the fire, was making it hard to think. The creature inside him was urging him to take. Just one kiss, one fleeting brush of the lips, one small taste. And, surely, he had followed that impulse before. If it gave it something to treasure, however little, it might quiet down. There was no harm in just a kiss.

He moved quickly, swallowing the sound of surprise Belle made as his lips slanted across hers with more pressure than he intended. Relief and arousal raced down his spine, urging him to pull her closer, to bury himself completely in her. Idly, as he cupped the back of her head and tilted her head just so, he wondered how he had been able to resist for so long, and why. It seemed both impossible and pointless now, with Belle’s fingers sinking into his hair, pulling at the strands in a way that he did not know until then he found arousing.

Belle was surprisingly strong, and delightfully feisty. She seemed determined to get boss him around with tugs on his hair and his arms, her hands shoving at his shoulders until he was sitting down on the couch- how had they moved there?- and he had a lapful of librarian. The creature was playfully competitive, encouraging him to roughhouse, to nip and bite and wrestle for control. It was nothing like any of his previous sexual encounters, there was some sort of animalistic, playfully violent aspect to it that was foreign to him but felt familiar somehow, instinctual. He tried, between toe-curling brushes of Belle’s tongue against his, to remember how soft and fragile she was. Human and therefore delicate. He needed to be careful, needed to get a hold of himself and go slow, and soft and-

‘Fuck, did she just bite me?’

He growled in warning when she tried to rip his banyan open, wrestling to trap her arms against her sides and tumbling out of the couch and into the shaggy rug in front of the fire. Beneath him Belle chuckled, a low, deep sound that went straight to his cock. Fuck, but she was perfect, writhing beneath him, fighting to regain the upper hand even as she attacked his neck with her mouth, niping at whatever exposed bit of skin she could get to. Needing to touch her in return he blindly reached inside the shirt and cardigan he wore, tracing the ridges of his spine, feeling her skin hot and slick beneath his fingertips. It was then that she found a particularly-sensitive point between his neck and shoulder, sinking her teeth into it with such force that he practically roared, raking his nails down her back. She gasped, arching up against him before a shred of common sense filtered back into his addled brain, freezing him in place. 

Fuck. He had hurt her. He had been so fucking careless he had forgotten his sharp claws and how easily they could cut through human skin. He didn’t fight her when she flipped them over, pinning him down like the fucking beast he was. They were close enough to the fire that he now realised she had to be able to see it all, the eyes, the scales, the sharpened teeth. The utter inhumanity of it, out in all its ugly glory. He fumbled for an apology, hating himself for still feeling extremely aroused after hurting her. She was probably scared to death, he needed to fucking think and try and say something to reassure her, to make her see he wasn’t going to hurt-

“Hey.”

Belle’s voice sounded low, no hint of trepidation in it. One of her hands combed the hair away from his face, turning his head so he would look up at her. It was then that he noticed her eyes… they were glowing. Bright blue, an almost electric colour, with the barest touch of silver. He looked beyond, into the pale skin of her face and arms, bared by his frenzied undressing. The skin had a strange shine to it, and when he focused he could see the small, sleek scales, so pale they were easily overlooked, except that their opalescent nature made them reflect the light from the fire in a myriad of different shades, like an opal. Everything felt, at once, familiar and wholly strange, so similar and yet so different from his own appearance.

‘Like us. Told you.’ The creature purred from inside him, smug and pleased. ‘Smells right. Like mate.’

He inhaled, noticing her burnt caramel smell was more pronounced and sweeter, not to mention coming mostly from within her soft thighs. Fuck, how had he not seen it before? He had never met another like him, not up close and personal. He had heard rumours of others, had read stories, but his had been a solitary life. For all he knew he was the only one like him in Maine, or even the United States. Fuck, the whole world. And it turned out he wasn’t even the only one like him in Storybrooke. And the creature had known by scent and instinct alone. 

A new sort of desperation grew in him. He wanted to see, he needed to see. Fully unsheathing his claws, now that he wasn’t afraid to be discovered or to hurt her, he shredded what was left of his shirt on her, uncovering more of her glorious torso to his greedy eyes. His eyes took in her delicate scaled waist and the opalescent reflections the light made on her breasts, where the scales seemed to be softer, almost feathery. He watched in enraptured fascination as a pale lavender blush spread down her torso and across the high points of her cheeks. 

Fuck, she was perfect. Delicate and beautiful and a match for him in every way. There was no need to pretend, or hide, or go slow and soft. The creature inside him agreed in a gleeful hiss. He buried his head on the crook of her shoulder, his tongue darting out to taste her scales, marvelling at the feel of them. Not rough at all, but rather pleasantly slippery and hot. He rubbed his head against her neck and shoulder, purring at the feel of it.

“Gold, please.”

She fidgeted above him, aroused and bothered by his seemingly-stupified state.

“Rowan.” He growled his name against her skin, voice thick and barely understandable, pitched too low to be human. “Call me Rowan.”

When she whispered his name in a keen, needy wail it was as if something snapped inside him. He pounced, tackling her to the grown and taking advantage of her surprised gasp to kiss her open mouth, letting his tongue trace the sharp points of her teeth and feel her raspy tongue. His claws made short work of her lovely leggings, and he would have felt a small stab of guilt at destroying them if Belle hadn’t proceeded to practically shred his own pants. He lost the rest of his clothing in the tousle that followed. It wasn’t the way he had ever understood sex to be like but it felt right, instinctual, to wrestle on the hardwood floor, nipping and scratching and biting as they took turns pinning each other down.

Slowly, naturally, a rhythm built between them, everything getting slower and more intense. Claws dragged deeper against skin, teeth dug harder against flesh and the air grew hot between them, smelling pleasantly of burnt caramel and woodsmoke. He mouthed at every bit of skin he could reach, taking special care to map as much of her breasts as she would allow, taking care to notice when she made needy little whimpers or when her scent spiked, indicating her pleasure.

“Enough.” Belle sunk her nails deep into the scales of his shoulder, hurting in the best possible way. “Fuck me, Rowan.”

He didn’t know if it was the words or the commanding tone that made him lose his mind but in the blink of an eye he was pinning her to the ground, hands holding her wrists above her head. He took a quick moment to try to commit the moment to memory before instinct completely took over and he thrust deep into her. She arched, tight as a bowstring, cunt tightening around his cock in a vice grip that had him almost spilling himself then and there. No human woman had ever felt this hot and good, and had he known it could feel like that he would have never been able to orgasm with a human partner. 

When he finally had himself under some semblance of control he began to thrust, with little finesse but all the pent-up passion he had. It was brutal but she took it all, reciprocating his movements and begging him to go faster, harder. Pleasure built up to an almost painful degree, his muscles coiling, tension building until it was difficult to say what hurt and what didn’t. Instinctively he bent over, scraping his teeth against the underside of one of her breasts. Belle thrashed beneath him, letting out a hoarse cry as she tightened around him once more, inner muscles fluttering against his cock as she came. She followed her seconds later, the relief leaving him almost giddy with delight.

He found himself desperately in need of pressing himself against her, the orgasm leaving him uncharacteristically cuddly. Belle felt clearly the same, twining her limbs around him. He marvelled at the colour contrast, deep gold against pale opalescent pink, and at the similar way in which their scales were raised, overly-sensitive after their coupling. He pressed his ear against the side of her torso, feeling rather than hearing her purr.

“Hmm, that was even better than I imagined. Didn’t know it could be so good with someone like me.”

It felt ridiculously good to know that he was her first as she was his, in a sense. He wondered if she had always known what he was, if she had been able to recognise him as kin from the beginning, and how. Wondered about where she came from, and how her upbringing had been compared to his. He wanted to see her hoard, her books and her shoes and see if he could detect what it was that appealed to her. 

There would be time for all of that later, he decided, propping himself up just enough to reach the cashmere throw forgotten on the sofa, spreading it over them as their bodies cooled.

There would be time for everything.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle #rumbelle christmas in july #nerdrumple