#(looking at my own art with wide eyes as i feel the horror of realization creeping up my spine)

[theokusgallery]

Omg We're both Bi & Autistic with Extreme throat pain & Like creepy shit for some reason/pos

(coughs) (because of throat hurty disease) If you figure out how to deal with any of these three things tell me

[rubykgrant]

(Segment of my story, How It Feels, with Jon and Martin recovering at Daisy's cabin after leaving London, and before the Eye Apocalypse happens. This in particular focuses on Martin, how he's changed since being in the Lonely, and how he is also still himself. This involves tooth loss and feelings of depression/disassociation, but isn't gory, and leans more toward being comforting. Inspired by the art of @lonelyslutavatar ~)

Jon is quite proud of himself for responding to Martin in a very calm manner, instead of rushing in and assuming the worst.

The calm quickly shatters when he sees Martin standing in the bathroom, face a mix of embarrassed and worried, holding two teeth in the palm of his hand.

Several teeth-related horror stories from past statements flash into Jon’s mind (the apple, a few dozen about some sort of “evil tooth fairy” that were probably not real but still upsetting, and several connected to the Flesh and the Hunt). Jon nearly starts to panic as well, but somehow he composes himself, and moves slowly, helping Martin sit down on the lid of the toilet, and begins trying to figure this out.

Martin has some pain in his jaw, but nothing feels “broken”, and there isn’t any blood. The teeth look “fine”, except for the fact that they aren’t where they should be. Jon asks Martin to open his mouth, and it doesn’t appear as if anything is infected or irritated. To be thorough, Jon runs to get a small torch.

“I’m VERY close to freaking out! Just so you know!” Martin says, loudly.

“Yes, I’m- I’m sorry, I’ll be there in a-”

“ANOTHER ONE JUST CAME LOOSE!” Martin is able to spit it out before yelling the news to Jon. He does NOT want to swallow any of his teeth.

“I’M COMING BACK! HERE! HERE I AM!” Jon stumbles to a stop at the small door, and walks back in carefully.

This time, Martin opens his mouth WIDE, and Jon shines the little light to see properly.

“Oh,” Jon says after a moment.

“Oh? Oh, WHA?” Martin asks, making sure his mouth doesn’t close.

“Oh, um… I sort of see the- er, the issue?” Jon answers, without actually giving Martin a real answer.

“Wha ih ih?” What is it?

“Well, I can see the empty areas, where your teeth were, and… it looks like something is, er- pushing them out?” Jon elaborates. Martin finds this description unhelpful and worrisome.

“UH HUH UH AH EEE?!” The fuck does that mean?! Good God, what was in his mouth?

“Sorry! There are NEW teeth coming in! Like- like when we lose our baby teeth, and-”

“I AREHEE AH I AHEE HEE! HOW OOH I HAH OR!?” Martin demands, and after a brief second of trying to translate it in his head, Jon realizes Martin has just said- “I already lost my baby teeth! How do I have more!?”.

“Uhh…” before Jon can say anything else, two more teeth fall out, helped by Martin’s attempts to talk. These were from his top row, on the left side. They completely leave Martin’s mouth, and land in his lap. Martin groans, irritated. Jon tries to speak again, before something else distracts him. “If- I had to guess, which is all I’m doing, I’m sorry, this- this might be like your OWN spooky puberty?”

Martin groans again, giving Jon a glare.

“You were working with- hell I’m just saying his name, Peter, you were working with Peter for a while, and before that you were working at the Institute. That changed all of us, a little bit, but Peter really pushed you along, and… what finally made me change and become something more than just human was- I died. Sort of. When I was in that coma, I was pretty close to being dead, but then I came back. You were… you were almost ready to fade away when I finally found you, and then you came back. I think you might have become something more than just human,” Jon pauses a moment, to let Martin have a chance to understand what he’s saying… and because another tooth falls out. “And we saw what happens to ME when I don't feed on any statements, so… you haven’t been doing anything at all when it comes feeding what you are connected to,”

Jon places his hand on Martin’s cheek and turns off the torch, letting Martin know he can close his mouth again. Martin does so, and then immediately gives an angry huff, spitting still another tooth into his hand. He gathers up the rest in his lap, so he’s holding all of them together.

“What the hell. The isn’t FAIR. Your- your eyeballs didn’t fall out when YOU changed! And why my TEETH?! Am I supposed to start eating people? Peter didn’t even do that!” Martin blinks a few times, uncertain. “I mean, I never SAW him to that…”

“This might not be so LITERAL. I doubt this is a sign you need to actually eat anybody-”

“Pff, whatever, you don’t KNOW…” Martin scoffs.

“What I mean is- sometimes when people like us change, it isn’t always straight-forward. This might be more… like it symbolically represents the way loneliness can, er- consume you? Eat you up?” Jon is leaning back against the wall opposite Martin, arms crossed anxiously. He hunches his shoulders up, as if to shrug in a way that asks for approval.

Martin does not exactly “approve”, but unfortunately, he’s beginning to see that Jon may have a point. He also remembers that nightmare he had, as if it had been some kind of “punishment” for rejecting the Lonely. The fact that Martin can now remember Peter purposefully pulling him into the Lonely to avoid true and permanent death added up as well. Did the Eye punish Jon when he wouldn’t feed it new fear? Yes, he supposes so.

“Wonderful. So my teeth are falling out as a METAPHOR. And what am I even supposed to DO about it? Read statements that are relevant to feeling forlorn and isolated?” Martin now feels THREE teeth pop loose. Great. More to add to the collection in his hands.

“Perhaps not…” Jon ventures another guess. “That’s sort of the specific thing I’m stuck doing. And it started even before the coma, remember? So maybe- was there anything you did while working with Peter that might have been related to feeding this particular kind of fear? It might have even been something that seemed almost normal, but the more it happened, the more it had an affect on you, and when you stopped, you felt strange?”

Martin’s first reaction is to just say NO, because he’s in an ornery mood (Why shouldn’t he be moody? His teeth are falling out! He has a right!). Instead, he tries to give Jon’s question some real thought…

When Jon was still in the coma, and Peter first became the “new boss”, Martin had initially tried to take on more responsibility as a way to shield other people from the problems that came from working so closely with… a man like that. The most unnerving part was how pleasant Peter seemed. He often asked Martin to come along as his personal assistant when he went on various errands; some were clearly for meeting with other unusual people part of the whole Fear situation, while others were part of the more normal side of business for the Magnus Institute.

These people, in either situation, would usually not even acknowledge Martin at all until Peter made a point to turn to him, ask a question or make a request, and then they’d startle to see there was a WHOLE man there beside Peter. When Martin got more used to it all, he’d speak up on his own, blatantly pointing out when somebody was giving Peter incorrect information or outright lying. In those moments, they were not only surprised that Martin existed, they were suddenly INTIMIDATED by him.

Peter was very amused by this, and proudly complimented Martin on being so “accomplished”.

Yeah, that may have been how this started.

Martin was well practiced at going unnoticed, keeping quiet, fading into the background. That was a good way to keep yourself safe. It was also a good way to be lonely. The shock of suddenly being given attention no doubt fed Peter’s patron Fear plenty of Martin’s own nervous energy… and when Martin did it on purpose, making himself known with an aloof sort of confidence, it caused unease in other people. The Lonely probably loved feeding on all that.

That was the start… but what turned it into a pattern, something that Martin had to continue doing, and also something that he did without thinking about it?

It finally occurs to Martin that what was happening when he first left the Lonely might be a hint; the sleepwalking. That never happened back in London, not exactly. However… very often, when Martin left the hospital after visiting Jon, or took a break in the evening in the middle of working late, he would walk through the city and let his mind wander.

No, that was putting it mildly. He’d feel a growing disconnect from his own feelings and thoughts, and whatever remained gave him a sense of bored contempt, if anything.

He blended into the crowds, but still wasn’t “part” of it all. Martin remained separate, even in the shared experience of riding the bus or waiting for a light to change.

Occasionally he would pop into a store and use the self check-out lane, or even a bar with no intention to mingle or drink, and he would go unnoticed.

All around him, he would see people talking to each other, or chatting on calls, crying over break-ups, getting into arguments, lying about what they were doing, waiting to meet somebody who wasn’t coming, staring at displays in stores of things they longed to buy but couldn’t afford, getting frustrated after searching for a job all day, trying to be funny for friends or deal with a stressful visit with family… Martin could nearly picture himself, as if looking on from another point of view, and he was nothing but a nameless face on the street.

Obscure and forgettable. Martin would walk on, automatically, no effort in reaching his destination. It was eventual and certain. He may as well be a memory, instead of somebody who was still there.

Then he would be back at the Institute, or at home, and his thoughts would click back into place. Maybe he’d take a shower, or have something to eat. If it wasn’t too late and he was done with research or paperwork, he’d watch something on TV. It was alright. Mostly.

In the current situation, with Martin sitting on the toilet in a bathroom of a safehouse in Scotland, trying to figure out why he’s losing his teeth… he thinks that he’s finally connected some dots, and sees the bigger picture.

“Yeah… well, um- I guess maybe when I would walk around London and sort of lose myself in groups of people, without interacting with anybody, that was possibly like feeding on loneliness. So. Maybe I just need to do THAT again,” Martin looks up at Jon again, now the one checking to see if what he’s saying makes any sense.

“Hmm… it might work when you go out to buy us supplies. You’ll be around people again, and- whatever lonely feelings they have,” Jon nods, though he doesn’t look happy about it. That’s fine. Martin isn’t happy, either.

“What if I… Jon, when you got REALLY bad, you compelled people to talk about things when they didn’t want to. What if I VANISH somebody? What if I can’t control this?” Martin asks, and as soon as he closes his mouth, he has to spit three more teeth into his hand.

“That is upsetting, I know…” Jon replies, reaching out one hand to place on Martin’s shoulder. “But, listen- a few days after I started to really try and rein myself in, one of the people I compelled actually showed up at the Institute again. I was… well, I- erm…”

“You were outside, sneaking a smoke,” Martin guesses.

“Yes, FINE. Anyway, I thought they were still having problems because of me, and I immediately apologized and assured them it wouldn't happen again. I was honestly sort of distressed about that, I didn’t want to go find everybody I had compelled, because seeing me might just make them even MORE afraid, but I still wanted to say I was sorry… well, this person told me they only came there to explain they weren't angry with me. They didn't forgive me exactly, but-,”

“What, they wanted to rescind what they said before? Like, withdraw the complaint?” Martin raises his eyebrows at this.

“Something like that. They told me… they weren’t having nightmares anymore, about me OR what I made them talk about. It had faded after a while. They also told me that it sort of helped, in a weird way, to finally confront something they’d been ignoring for so long. And now they knew, the world had scary things in it, that was REAL, and they weren’t crazy for wanting to be careful…” Jon sees Martin wants to jump into the conversation, but has to pause to catch another tooth that has escaped. Jon continues talking, knowing what Martin was going to ask.

“The reason I didn’t say anything at the time- I didn’t want it to seem like I was making excuses. Oh, this person says the nightmares stopped and they faced their fears, this means nobody should be mad at me anymore! Hell, no. I still forced people to share private thoughts and experiences against their will, and that wasn’t right. I’m only telling you this NOW because I’m hoping that you being around people in public, absorbing whatever you need, THAT will be more like when I read the statements. The fear and the hurt already happened. You aren’t making it worse. If you keep ignoring this hunger, then… it will most likely get more intense, but even if that happens, you still might not vanish somebody to death. People even escaped from what Peter did, occasionally. I just don’t want you to feel… hopeless,”

“OK… yeah, OK. This is still pretty fucked, though,” Martin says, trying to steady his breathing.

“Yes. And it will probably continue to be fucked. But we can try to help each other feel better,” Jon smiles down at Martin, and somehow, that makes a tense knot in his chest loosen.

Jon waits with Martin as the last few teeth come loose, and gets a small glass jar for them. After some “Should I leave them under my pillow?” jokes, Jon grabs the small torch again to see what the situation is with Martin’s new set of teeth…

“You really don’t feel them growing in?”

“Uh-uh,” Martin may not physically feel the teeth coming into place, but he has noticed that the ache in his jaw is gone, and the weird grinding has stopped (that was probably his weird new “spooky” bones making room for his weird new “spooky” teeth. This sounded like such a stupid problem when he thought of it that way, but there just wasn’t a better term unfortunately).

“Well, they’re almost all here, and- they’re sharp! Martin, your new teeth are POINTY!” Jon uses his hand not holding the torch to tilt Martin’s head back slightly.

“WHA? LIE A HA-HIRE?” What? Like a vampire?

“No, not like that… you don’t have fangs, exactly… oh lord, I can see them rising up!” Jon says, and now Martin is starting to get annoyed that he sounds EXCITED about this. “They’re wider, and sort of flat… Martin, I think these are like- like shark teeth!”

Jon has set the torch aside, and is now holding Martin’s head with both his hands, leaning him back even more so the light from the ceiling shines into Martin’s mouth. Jon is pushing aside Martin’s upper lip to see the teeth as they move through the gum better, and that is IT, Martin is DONE.

“GEH YER FEE-HERS OW UH I OW!” before Jon can translate that into “Get your fingers out of my mouth!”, Martin actually SNARLS as a final warning, Jon whips his hands away, and just to be dramatic, Martin CHOMPS his mouth shut.

His new teeth are officially finished growing in; all the severe ridges fit together. Sharp, solid, and strong.

Shark teeth... really? Was that just the Lukas Brand? Martin has to turn half-way into a SEA MONSTER? For the aesthetic?

Jon knows Martin wasn’t actually going to bite him… and Martin knows that Jon knows this. Which is why Jon still looks more fascinated than afraid of Martin’s new MONSTER TEETH, and that just makes Martin want to try and snap at him again. Jon can see that as well, and he starts to snort laughter. Martin wishes he was strong enough to stay furious, but the corners of his mouth betray him, curving into a smile.

Yep. All his human adult teeth fell out, he’s got weird spooky shark teeth now, he’s damn near close to laughing about it. He must be mad. Oh, well. So is Jon.

[ikeromantic]

Ikevamp Boys React to Tattooed MC pt 2

Theo, Vincent, and Mozart!

Theo

Theo grabs your arm as you set down a frame in the small gallery where the next art show will be hosted. His grip is firm and insistent.

"What?" You raise an eyebrow, more curious than annoyed.

His other hand tips your chin to the left so that he can examine the side of your head and that's when you realize. He's noticed your tattoo. "Hondje, what did you do?" His voice is lethally soft, ungentle and demanding.

"I've had that since before I met you." You pull from his grip. "Anyway, it's none of your business."

"Everything about you is my business." He catches your hand in his and pulls you close. "Tell me."

You sigh. "Fine. I wanted a tattoo when I decided to go straight to work instead of college. Something to show I trusted myself. So . . . I got that star. Because I am my own guide and I choose things for myself."

Theo's severe expression doesn't shift as he tucks your hair back to get a better look at it. His breath tickles your skin. "Mmm. Fits you. Stubborn girl. Never listen to anybody."

"Hey!" You smack his shoulder. "I do when the advice is worth my time."

He laughs. "Is that so?"

"It is! Hey! Why are you still laughing?"

"Give me a kiss, then, Hondje." He points to his lips, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Vincent

You disrobe, preparing to model for Vincent. It's the first time you've sat for him without being fully clothed, and you're a bit nervous. The vining flowers on your leg are not discreet and this will be the first time he's seen your whole leg without the cover of skirt and hose.

Vincent's eyes are immediately drawn to the colorful tattoo. His eyes go wide and before you can take a breath to say anything, he's kneeling beside you, fingers tracing the delicate lines and curls of ink.

"Ummm. Vincent?" You look down at him, feeling a bit flustered. His smile is angelic but the way he touches you is . . . not. And you aren't sure what to think.

"This is gorgeous. The colors. How did they get this shade? Here?" He is so close to your calf now that you can almost feel the motion of his lips, the flutter of his lashes.

"I - I don't know. You'd have to ask the shop." You give a self-conscious laugh. "Is it going to be a problem? I understand if you don't want -"

He looks up at you, his big, blue eyes as wide and endless as the open sky. "It's beautiful. You are beautiful. But I am going to have to figure out how to mix that color before we start." His smile is full of anticipation and excitement. "Do you have any more of these?"

Vincent reaches to push aside the modest robe you are wearing.

"N-no!" Your face is completely flushed now and your heart is racing.

He drops his hands, his expression going still and flat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

You feel immediately terrible for disappointing an angel. "It's ok. I just didn't expect you to be so interested."

His smile returns, tentative and shy. "I am interested in everything about you." He presses his cheek to your tattooed skin. The gesture feels intimate, precious. When he lets go to mix his paints, you can still feel the ghost of his touch.

Mozart

You notice Mozart giving you an odd look. Something between bafflement and horror. "Do I have something on my face?" You self-consciously wipe across your nose and cheeks.

He shakes his head and stands, lips pressed together in a pale line. His hand goes to your arm, drawing a line up from your wrist to your bared shoulder. "This, fraulein. What is it?"

That's when you realize, you've never shown him your bare shoulder, where your colorful little tattoo is etched. The rose and thorns are easy to cover, though you don't mind showing them off. "It's a tattoo. Surely you've seen one before?"

Mozart opens his mouth and then closes it again. It takes him several breaths to get there. "You let someone put needles beneath your skin? Someone who touched you? Who marked you?"

"Erm, yes? I mean, that's how you make a tattoo."

He crosses his arms and walks to the window, chin jutting out.

"What's wrong?" You go to stand beside him, but he won't make eye contact with you. He's grinding his teeth and just staring out at the garden as if he wanted to see it burn. "Do you . . . hate it so much?"

You didn't want him to hate the tattoo. It was part of you, and seeing him like this was making your heart ache.

"No," he grumbled finally. "It's . . . it's very beautiful. I just . . ." He let out a long, slow breath.

"You what?" You prompt him to speak after several silent minutes pass.

"I don't like the idea of someone else touching you like that. On your bare skin. Holding you." He frowns.

You wrap an arm around him and lean your head on his shoulder. "Wolf, you are adorable when you're jealous. You know that?"

"I'm not - I mean, I -" He huffs, trying to excuse himself without admitting the truth. Then he sighs. "It's fine. I'll just mark you in my own way." He turns his head and you can see a dangerous, hungry smile on those delicate lips.

[princesssalmavegeta]

Taste of Heaven

Shiba Taiju x OC Kurokawa Yuri

Amidst the darkness, she appeared, and like a ray of sunlight, she shined, embracing him with her warmth. A man like him was incapable of love and unworthy of it, but why was his heart fluttering whenever she was near him, and why did her smile take his breath away? I present to you the love story of Shiba Taiju and Kurokawa Yuri. (OC) AU; set in the Taishō era. Enjoy!

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Chapter I:

Yuri hummed as she stared mindlessly at the lake; its stillness reflected the trees around it. Fireflies danced around the area, gently illuminating it, and crickets chirped, creating a lovely song for whoever was listening. The moon was high in the sky, and its light made the place appear surreal. She took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. Coming here was a good idea; she could already feel her fatigue going away.

Earlier that day, the Shiba estate's housekeeper reminded her that if they didn't pay their debt sooner, their house would be taken from them as a form of payment. Yuri and her younger brother, Izana, tried everything they could to make ends meet, with her working at a bakery and Izana teaching martial arts, but alas, it was not enough.

"What should I do...?" she whispered, her mind going through various scenarios of when they would be evicted. Their aunt was their only relative, but she was in another village, and she doubted that she would let them stay with her. "This isn't fair." Her eyes stung with unshed tears. She closed her eyes and tried to stop thinking about what was waiting for them for the time being.

She started humming again, a lullaby their mother had used to sing to Izana when he was still a baby, which had always soothed her. Their mother was the epitome of kindness and grace, and remembering her brought a smile to her lips. Sadly, she died three years after Izana's birth, leaving Yuri to raise him alone. Their debt stemmed from the medications they bought for her mother, but after her death, their father lost his mind from grief and spent his days drinking and borrowing more money from the Shibas to buy alcohol. After twelve years, their father took his own life, leaving the two siblings to fend for themselves. Yuri frowned and lightly shook her head as if to shake away her thoughts.

A rustle in the woods caused her to snap her eyes open and look ahead in the direction of the noise, which was on the other side of the lake. It was late, and no one knew this place except for Izana, who wasn't even home. She hoped it was just a rabbit, but when she saw a large silhouette, she became alarmed. A man stumbled into view, hunched over with his hand pressed on his side. He leaned against a tree to keep his balance, breathing heavily. She could hear him curse in frustration before collapsing to his knees and groaning in pain.

Yuri held her breath and tried not to draw attention to herself, but it was pointless because the moment he looked up, their eyes met, causing her to stifle a gasp. They stared at each other, his eyes wide with confusion, and when he fell on his side, she flinched. She got up and moved slowly towards him. She kept a safe distance between them and gasped as she noticed blood oozing from the hand he had pressed against his side. Without hesitation, she was by his side.

"Are you okay!?" she asked softly, trying not to raise her voice.

Seeing the concern on her face and the way she trembled, he realized she was not a threat, and he turned on his back. "I'm fine," he said with a hint of sarcasm.

She looked at him and then back at the wound, he removed his hand, and her eyes widened in horror; it was a deep stab wound. He needed to be treated right away; otherwise, he might die. She took his hand and pressed hers against his to stop the bleeding.

"Can you stand up? My house is that way," she pointed to the other side of the lake. "I can treat your wound properly."

The man decided to take her offer; he knew that the wound was fatal, and he didn't want to die yet. He needed to teach the men who had attempted to murder him a lesson.

"I'll try," he said, attempting to sit up, and she assisted him by placing her hand on the back of his head. He inhaled sharply as searing, hot pain washed over him, and she pressed harder as fresh, warm blood seeped out.

She bit her lip anxiously. "It's okay; you're going to be okay." That was all she could do to comfort him. By the time he finally sat up, he was breathing heavily and sweating profusely. "There we go," she said, waiting for him to catch his breath.

The young woman noticed that his hair was messy and some of it was stuck to his face, so she gently brushed it back with her fingers. 'So soft...' she thought, a visible smile on her face.

The man observed her actions, and his heart skipped a beat. His eyes widened slightly, and he blamed it on the pain.

After a few moments, she moved to his other side and took his hand in her own, wrapping her arm around his back. "Now, let's get you up."

He nodded and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the impending pain. She helped lift him, using all of her strength to get him to stand. It took a few minutes for him to stand, and she sighed in relief when he reached his full height.

Yuri panicked a bit as he towered over her; even when he was not standing upright, he was huge. She stood next to him, silently offering him to lean on her. When he looked at her, he noticed that his vision was blurring; standing and remaining conscious required all of his energy. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she put her arm around his back.

"Good," she said with a reassuring smile. "You're going to get better, I promise."

He could only nod and try not to lean too heavily on her, or they would both fall. He grunted when they started moving, and he tried to soothe his pain by taking deep breaths.

"I'm Yuri," she said after a brief pause. She reasoned that talking to him might distract him from his discomfort. "What's your name?"

He looked down at her strangely and raised an eyebrow. "Do you not know who I am?"

She looked up at him, trying to recall if she had seen him before. He was a tall, muscular man, implying that he was a martial artist, and the quality of the kimono he was wearing indicated that he came from a wealthy family. He had shoulder-length black hair that was swept back. His face was attractive, with distinct features and a chiseled jawline. His eyes were narrowed, and their dragon shape gave them a dangerous appearance, but it was his eyes' color that caught her attention; they were golden. She had never seen anyone with such a beautiful color before. When she realized that she had been staring for too long, she blushed and quickly averted her gaze. The young lady shook her head, "No, I don't think I've seen you before. Are you from this village?"

The young man was speechless as he stared at her. He chuckled when he realized that she really didn't know who he was. "Unbelievable," he mumbled, and she raised an eyebrow. Shaking his head, he said, "Yes, I'm from here... My name is Taiju." He waited for her reaction upon hearing his name, but he was surprised when she smiled.

"Taiju..." she tried out his name in her mouth. She thought that the name was perfect for him.

Despite taking small steps, they were already halfway to their destination. "We're almost there, Taiju. I live with my younger brother, but he's not home tonight. He's staying with a friend."

Taiju grunted to indicate that he had heard her. He was grateful for her efforts to distract him from the pain, and so far it was working; however, he was still surprised by the fact that she had no idea who he was. His name alone brought terror to the villagers, but she smiled when she heard it. He didn't know how to feel about that. Taiju glanced at her from the corner of his eyes, taking in her features. When he looked at her, he thought she was incredibly beautiful. She was petite in comparison to his well-built frame; her face reached his chest. Her brown hair flowed down to her lower back. Her skin was fair and soft, with full cheeks, a small nose, and rosy, full lips. Her eyes were gentle; they reflected her personality. She felt his gaze on her and looked up; now that their faces were close, he could see her eyes clearly. Her eyes were lilac. Taiju thought that it was the most lovely thing he had ever seen. His heart skipped another beat when she blushed and turned away.

She cleared her throat before asking, "So, uh... who did this to you?"

He looked ahead. "An assassin from the nearby village," he said quietly, once he found his voice.

Her eyes widened in surprise, knowing that attacking a man with such a high profile as Taiju could spark a war. She bit her lower lip as his weight grew heavier on her; he had reached his limit.

Her house came into view, and she smiled, "We're here."

They stepped out of the woods and walked across the small garden to the back door. As she slid the door open, they both stumbled in and kicked their slippers off at the entrance.

"Sorry for intruding..." The man whispered, and she smiled at his politeness.

They stood in silence, save for Taiju's ragged breathing, as she debated whether to take him to her or Izana's room. Knowing that her brother was particular about keeping his room clean, she reasoned that bringing a man soaked in his blood to his room might give Izana a heart attack. So her room was the best option.

"This way," she said as she led him down the corridor and slid open the shoji door.

The room smelled like her, like flowers, and Taiju decided it was his new favorite scent.

She guided him to her futon and carefully assisted him in lying on his back. He let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and closed his tired eyes. He heard her gasp and mutter to herself about how pale he had become due to blood loss. She pressed her hand against his forehead and frowned. "You're burning," she mumbled under her breath.

She stood up and rushed out of the room to bring whatever she needed to treat him.

'What a crazy night...' he sighed heavily as he reflected on the events of that evening. What was supposed to be a peaceful night stroll turned into a bloodbath. He killed the assassin after obtaining information from him and learning who hired him. And since Taiju was vulnerable, he decided to walk back to the estate through the woods. It was a stupid decision that could have ended badly if it hadn't been for her.

He opened his eyes as he heard her footsteps approaching. She was carrying a bowl of water with a cloth soaking in it. She took towels from the laundry she had folded earlier. She set them beside him and went to Izana's room to retrieve gauze and bandages.

As soon as she sat, she took out the washcloth from the bowl, and after squeezing the excess water, she placed it on his forehead. He sighed in relief as the cool sensation against his warm face felt good.

"Excuse me," she said as she began to remove his haori. She untied his hakama straps to reveal his well-defined upper body beneath his kimono.

'Oh Lord...' she thought, her face heating up. His body was perfect.

Yuri frowned, mentally chastising herself for getting distracted.

The stab wound on his lower left side had stopped bleeding, indicating that he hadn't been stabbed in a vital organ.

After soaking a towel in the bowl and then wrenching it, she used it to gently clean the dry blood around the wound. After that came the hard part, which was cleaning the wound itself, and she felt sorry for him whenever he hissed or gasped in pain. She could only reassure him now and then that it would be over soon.

Taiju tried not to pass out from the pain; instead, he started thinking of ways to torture the ones who had done this to him. He was certain that his family had noticed his absence and that a search party was now looking for him, which could cause a commotion in the village. He needed to return to the estate as soon as possible.

"I'm almost done," she said softly, and he looked at her. He felt guilty when he saw that his blood had stained her white and purple yukata. Her hair, which he had just noticed was in a bun secured with a hairpin, began to come loose. Without realizing it, he reached with his hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she stopped to look at him, her eyes slightly wide and a blush dusting her cheeks. When he realized what he had done, he froze and placed his hand next to him. He tried to remain calm by looking up at the ceiling. He was relieved that his face was already flushed because of the fever.

She tried to suppress a smile and returned to her work. She applied gauze to the wound and wrapped a bandage around his torso. Taiju arched his back slightly to allow her to properly wrap the bandage around his waist.

She finished with a bright smile.

"All done," the young woman said, closing his kimono and then turning her attention to the washcloth he still had on his forehead. She soaked it in water once more before wiping his face. "A good night's sleep will help lower the fever." She placed the damp cloth on his forehead and continued, "Thankfully, the wound is not infected so it will heal in a few days."

He nodded and smiled, which was a rare sight for someone like him. "You have my gratitude," he said, looking deeply into her eyes. "I owe you my life."

Taiju noticed the dimple on her left cheek as she smiled warmly. "I'm happy that I was able to help." She pulled the covers out of the closet and wrapped them around him. She picked up the blood-stained towels and his haori to wash. "Rest now; you must be exhausted. If you need anything, just call me; I'll be in that room." She pointed to her brother's room, which was across from hers.

His exhaustion caught up with him as the adrenaline left his system, and the warmth of her futon made him drowsy. He was struggling to keep his eyes open by this point and said quietly, "I will, thank you, Yuri..." his voice drifting off as he finally gave in to sleep.

She smiled when she heard him say her name, and then quietly exited the room. Standing in the corridor, she gave him one last look before whispering, "Good night, Taiju," and then closing the door.

[applesandbannas747]

Got the prompts 🎨 👀 ✅ 🤲 from @seijis-epee!

🎨 How do you feel about fan art of your stories?

I mean is there any way to feel about it otHER than feral and overwhelmed?? People caring about/connecting with my stuff enough to create art is such a profoundly amazing thing that is always a bright point in my life. Like if you looked at a timeline of my life, each piece of art is a bright star on it <3

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

hmmm there's a couple but I'll choose one that's actually coming up soon instead of years down the road XD Got a Halloween fic finally capitalizing on ghost romance (i LOVE ghost romance jsdhfa its such a dumb trope and so impractical, but something about it always haw me going owo). The starting point of the concept and the original title of the document it's kept in is 'spiritbox sexting' so be ready for that (and it is a partner project with the incredible @thestarminstrel just so you know to be excited uwu)

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

We all know me tbh kisses against the wall and thigh kisses sure are in most my heavier kissing fics XD

Seiji being a monsterfucker hilariously snuck into so many projects that eventually i had to take a step back and realize that I really do just believe in my heart of hearts that he's a monster fucker XD

And the specific trope of Jesse pouring drinks on boys when they've offended him has just snuck in so many places because it fits too well lmfaoo

there's lots of shit also that intentionally gets carried over between fics

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

Remember my "Stuck With You" soulmate au series? I promise I do:

Seiji’s hand jerked away from the drawer as he jumped, not registering what had startled him until he was slipping on some piece of miscellanea Nicholas had managed to drop on his side of the room, staring at the flung-open door to his room as he began to fall backward.

Right into the wide-open eyes of his awful roommate.

Seiji could see in Nicholas’s eyes what he intended to do even before he lunged. 

“No!” Seiji shouted. He’d rather fall. He’d rather fall than have Nicholas all over him. 

But Nicholas was too fast. Seiji was already captured before he’d finished his cry. 

“Are you okay?” Nicholas asked. 

“Get off me!” 

Seiji shoved at Nicholas, but the arm around his back held tight no matter how hard Seiji pushed against his chest. At least the hand half cupping his ass, half gripping his thigh let go. 

“Sorry—,”

“What makes you think you have the right to touch me?”

“You were falling!”

“And I’d have rather fallen. Let go!”

“I—fuck, Seiji, I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? Just take your grubby hands off me!”

Seiji gave up on pushing at Nicholas. He tried to pull away instead. Only, he couldn’t. His palms, splayed flat against Nicholas’s chest, wouldn’t move, and Nicholas’s arm around his waist and hand gripping his side were similarly unbreakable in their hold. 

“No,” Seiji said, struggling harder. “No, I’m not doing this—especially not like this!” he finished shrilly, panicking at all the skin pressed up against his, warm and soft. 

It was no use. 

Miserably, Seiji gave up the futile war against their joined bodies and hid from the entire situation the only way he could. By shoving his face into the crook of Nicholas’s neck. 

“Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” he asked in quiet horror, fully putting together for the first time why exactly there was so much of Nicholas’s skin against his own.  

“Why are you in your underwear?” Nicholas shot back. 

[livesinyesterday]

Post-Halloween Thoughts on Why Dressing Up as a Skeleton Means so Much to Me as a Person with One Eye [CW: Discussion of Eyes/Artificial Eyes]

So for a good many years my favorite costume has been painting my face either wholly or partially in skeleton makeup. Not cute colorful sugar skull makeup, I mean simple straightforward your-flesh-is-gone-you-are-bones skeleton makeup. There’s a few reasons for this: 

1. I love painting my face (which is ironic given I hate wearing any form of makeup)  2. It’s one of the only times I ever get to be intimidating haha.  and 

3. It satisfies something in me that desperately wants to incorporate my one-eyedness into a costume. 

Now, I don’t have a clean or simple way of explaining why and for people who weren’t born with a missing eye and an empty left socket, a lot of this may just be out of reach, but let me give it a shot.

For the whole of my life I have had immediate access to my own empty eye socket. I had the ability to remove my prosthetic eye and see what was behind it, and as a result I’ve always been highly aware of the structure and presence of my skull/my bone structure. This was further enhanced by the fact that I was born with a crooked jaw that needed surgery in my early teens and an uncooperative spine. My bones and I have a deep intimate and complicated relationship haha. But another element of this was a lack of trauma or feelings of horror or shame around my artificial eye. I don’t want to oversimplify the experiences of others with ocular prosthetics, but many people who have prosthetic eyes have them as a result of deeply upsetting experiences. Injuries, accidents, illness, etc. and as a result they have a wide range of feelings about their prosthetics that I have often found are very different from my own. Because I was born with a missing eye and a fully formed socket, this is all I’ve ever known. It is my default. True when I was a small child I would often hide my face in photos because I was embarrassed by the fact that my eyes never looked in the same direction and my smile was crooked, but that was something I became aware of because other people (often my parents) would point it out to me and so I became self conscious. But that feeling wasn’t actually connected to my eye itself, I wasn’t ashamed or upset that I had a fake eye to begin with, instead it was the same kind of image insecurities most people go through as a young person realizing they look different from the person next to them.

As I grew older, however, and my self-confidence really bloomed, I found myself delighting in the fact that I had this part of myself that was different/unique/a piece of art/and an amazing source for so many wonderful eye-based jokes. But almost every time any media showed a character with one eye it was almost always tied to trauma or villainy. Think Mad-Eye Moody from Harry Potter, think Subaru Sumeragi from X/1999, Chichiri from Fushigi Yugi, Xander from Buffy, etc etc etc. and I just never saw depictions of one-eyed folks who seemed to reflect my own attitude towards the whole situation.

With two exceptions who stepped onto the scene during very formative years of my childhood:

Ragetti from Pirates of the Caribbean

and Bonejangles from The Corpse Bride

A couple of one-eyed, adventure having, joke making, kindhearted, mischievous, not-defined-by-the-trauma-of-losing-their-eye bone bros. These were characters I enjoyed. Who I wanted to relate to as a kid who was always more interested in being a wise cracking sidekick than a protagonist. And who, at least for me, removed the grotesque and frightening from the image of the skeleton and made them something capable of being cheeky or delightful, silly or eccentric.

And ever since, for me at least, painting my face like a skeleton on Halloween makes me feel like I’m part of my own elaborate joke. Something that finds delight and humor in parts of me that people often immediately associate with tragedy or misfortune,

 And I love it. It absolutely frustrates my mother who wishes I would “be something pretty for halloween” but dammit I am just having too much fun.

[writerscraftartblog]

Art Evolution Talk

Getting to a point where you are satisfied with your art is a long, grueling process. In fact, I think it's impossible. As artists, we strive for perfection and our expectations for ourselves are always impossible to reach.

However, I feel like I've gotten close to being happy with my art.

For years, I have struggled with inconsistency in my art and never being happy with anything I create. My art just didn't feel like ME. That's the only way I can describe it.

But over time, I started recognizing the traits of my art that I just couldn't let go of; the ones that appeared the most, no matter how far I drifted from my typical style. When I realized this, I also realized that if I stopped trying to stray from what I like about my own art (and what I see in others' art that inspires me), I would probably feel a little more confident about my art.

(VERY) Wide-set eyes

Round faces

Sketchy lines

Soft shading

Yellow/Green colours/lighting

Here's some art that showcases these traits. You may have to look a little closely for some.

Some people may dislike my art style or find it odd. I've gotten a lot of comments about the eyes being too far apart. But... I can finally say that I like my art. And that makes me feel proud. Being an artist is hell sometimes. It often feels like nothing you do will ever be good enough. But, I'm beginning to view my art in a different light which is very exciting!

When comparing this to art that I've done for others (like commissions) or art where I tried out a different style, I just never felt satisfied with those drawings. One notable thing is that I have a really hard time drawing cutesy characters. It just doesn't suit me, and whenever I do draw something like that, I hate it. I hate the process of drawing it, and I hate the aftermath.

You're probably wondering, then why did you? And the reason is that I was trying to expand my art in new directions. However, looking back, I think I was going in the completely wrong direction. Maybe I'll try doing some more creepy horror stuff instead, since that's more my style!

[prometheusinitiative]

[3/3] Interim Domain | IT WILL TEAR ME (US) APART

Michiya's mania was overwhelming him. His anger, his jealousy, his frustration that everyone was being forced to become cryptics when he needed to become one was ruining him!

With one last angry stomp, Michiya shatters the glass that protected him from the Broken Heart. Tearing off his gloves, he knelt down and reached for it. The last time he had held the Broken Heart it burned his skin, but now he holds it without struggle.

He slowly rises to his feet, holding the source of so much pain and potential in between his finger and thumb. His grin widens as energy now pulses out from it in waves. His coat flaps around him as he stares into it, thinking of every possibility. He laughs, almost bitterly, and continues to speak. 

"Detrital is chaos. It's the breaking of pieces and finding the meaning amongst the rubble. What needs to be broken before it's fully realized? What needs to die.... so something may be reborn?"

He looks a little sadly to a few faces in the crowd before pulling the Broken Heart closer to his face. 

"I told myself I would never play the game the way they want us to. That's just not my thing. So here I am, Michiya Usokami, announcing to all of you that I'm willing to leap off the edge into the unknown! For science, for myself, for the world! I'll tear myself to pieces and look between the spaces to find the truth that was right there before me all along!"

(Art by Michael)

He lets out a soft chuckle.

"You all said it looked tasty. So.... Bon Appetit." 

Michiya opens his mouth wide, and shoves the orb into his mouth. As he takes it in, and swallows hard, he begins to clutch his neck. As the orb is swallowed, bright lines begin to expand out of his body, all from a very clean and defined line of light bisecting his body.

The energy comes off of him in waves as he tries desperately to contain it. But detrital was never meant to be contained. He needed a lithic to do that. Michiya yells out in pain as blood begins to seep from the orifices on his face. He looks to the crowd, keeping a confident smile on his face. 

"Doooon't wo-rry! This i-is paa-art of the pla-a-an-”

“You promised!” 

Eden’s voice rings out over the chaos, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The others might have been watching in fear, or horror, or surprise as Michiya begins to light up in front of them. Eden sees it for what it really is.

It’s a turning point—the spinning of dice already cast, and the tipping of scales before they settle with the weight of newfound consequences. It’s the briefest of moments, suspended on the precipice of what’s already passed and what will come next. It’s an end. It’s a beginning. 

It’s an opportunity. 

—to be left behind again. His eyes shine bright with a hurt far deeper than Michiya could cause on his own. This is something familiar. Something he can change this time, if he hurries. It’s an opportunity—

—to finally get what he was after. This time, he can make sure he isn’t left behind. He can make sure that he goes with them. The determined look that crosses his face is the only warning given before Eden darts out from the crowd. He closes the distance between them in a blink, standing before his friend with a simple, unspoken request. It’s an opportunity—

—to prove that Michiya had meant what he’d said. Eden still has the words ringing in his ears as he reaches out to Michiya, too full of hope to consider what would come next if he were pushed away again. He won’t consider it. He can’t.

He doesn’t need to consider anything. As Eden approaches Michiya as the other slowly begins to corrode from the inside, Michiya opens his arms to embrace the smaller man. He promised him that he would never leave him. That he would die with him. That Eden wouldn’t have to fear being lost as long as Michiya was there.

(Art by Michael)

Slowly, he feels the energy build up in his chest, more energy emanating off of him. The glowing lines in him grow heavier and deeper as he squeezes Eden tightly. He turns his head to press his lips against the other’s forehead… 

Michiya then explodes, the energy being too much for the man to handle, and he takes Eden with him. The pair are eviscerated by a bright light, knocking everyone back against the walls of the tower as they begin to crumble around them. 

In the aftermath of the destruction, the silhouette of a large vulpine shape takes form, almost like an aura. Like a ghost. With an echoed laughter that speaks in both ears like surround sound, the walls and floors of the tower break away, revealing a twisted amalgamation of a neon bright amusement park with the cool and clean walls and floors of a research facility. The floors move and shift as the domain is built before you, separating three groups of you, forcing you to fend for yourselves. 

Welcome to the Domain of Fission

[yanderechuu]

do any of the teachers ever notice the things happening to y/n? (i headcannon Mic and Midnight as yanderes that would give advice to 1A lol)

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[2.1K]

Summary: Aizawa is the first one you approached in regards to your certain predicament.

Warning: nonconsensual recording

│

Aizawa suspected something wasn’t quite right by the moment he saw you entering the class a minute before the bell rang, all haggard and teary-eyed, though you tried your best to obscure your disposition. He always knew you to often be in a state of discomfort whenever you were compelled to socialize, especially with your classmates, but now - you looked as if you reached your limit of holding the weight of the world on your shoulders, crashing down all at once as depicted on your crestfallen expression. 

And when you showed up in front of the faculty room, timidly soliciting his presence, his suspicions were only further verified. Even with a pending question regarding subject matters in your mind, you weren’t one to approach a teacher to inquire about it, and if you did it was because the teacher was the one who would ask your attendance; never the other way around.

Present Mic was the first one to acknowledge you. He stood up from his office chair, waving at you comically. “Yo, (l/n)! Having trouble with English again?”

You never had a problem with his subject; he only insisted that you’d come to him in regards to that. “N-no, not really. May I speak to Aizawa-sensei?”

“Talk with me instead!” He enthusiastically spoke and headed over to you. “Come on, what’s the matter?”

“It isn’t your place to ask that when I’m here.” Aizawa interceded, clearly unimpressed by Mic’s antics. He failed to see the latter’s displeased countenance. “(L/n), what is it?”

You avoided eye contact with him, averting your view to the ground - that was alright. You were always like this, and he didn’t mind. Nothing out of place except for the fact that it looked as if you were about to cry any moment now.

“Can we- can we, um, talk somewhere more private?” You asked quietly.

His brows raised in wonder at your request. Nevertheless, he didn’t decline you, only nodding lackadaisically before heading towards the teacher’s lounge, where you followed him suit. He flicked the door tag to ‘occupied’ and entered the room after you, when he told you sit on the three-person sofa situated not quite on the farthest left of the space. Then, he settled himself on the chair across you.

“Well?” He asked, expectantly.

But you had once again your head above a thick cloud of anxiety. You knew that after the event with Momo in the girls’ locker room - where you had injured her against your will because she had been violating your personal space - your homeroom teacher kept a cautious eye on you in case you’d re-enact that incident. And it wasn’t just that incident that made him look at you like you were a criminal on the loose, either. Your classmates found and did a lot of ways to place you in Aizawa’s naughty list just so you wouldn’t snitch on their abusive (they’d call it affectionate) behavior on you.

That didn’t erase the fact that you were nevertheless his student; he cared for you no less than he cared for his other pupils, yet you were just too ignorant in figuring that out. All that mattered to you was that you’d voice out your current concern to him, but with your insecurities holding you down it seemed it would be more difficult than you had primarily foreseen it to be.

“I-I,” you stammered out, fiddling with something inside your pocket, “u-um, you see, t-there’s this, I mean, I can’t-”

He grew increasingly frustrated with your constant stuttering, and although he did understand your shy nature which largely affected your conversational habits, he only had so much patience to deal with it.

“I don’t have all day.” He stated, glowering at your form in mild irritation. “If you’re going to keep doing that, talk to the wall.”

You abruptly halted in speaking after that, only looking down on your lap, staring wide-eyed, grief-stricken at the revelation that perhaps he really did not want to heed any of your words because you were just that bad of a student that he had decided you were not worth much the effort to concern himself with. And maybe he was right - that your words didn’t matter because you didn’t matter; that there were more affairs he better be tending to than yours; that you were only making a big deal out of this when it truthfully wasn’t.

Oh god, you felt like vomiting. Self-deprecation was getting the better of you.

He stood up and sauntered to the exit, not bothering to spare you a glance. “Come back to me when you actually know what you want to say.”

It was a matter of seconds when you ran to him, pulling him back rather harshly by the grip you had on his sleeve. He turned around due to the force to see your head still hung low, avoiding his gaze as always - only, your shoulders were quivering sporadically, and occasional sniffs were heard from your person.

“P-please, sensei...” you voiced out, shaken and horrifyingly delicate. “I-I’m so scared. Please.”

While he looked at you with contracted irises, countenance now alert from your unexpected disposition, you pulled your trembling hand out of your skirt pocket, nervously disclosing to him from your palm a small, black device with a tiny yet prominent lens.

“M-my room,” you heaved, “I-I saw this i-in my room, m-my closet, while- while I was dressing up, and I don’t know how long it had been in there but it probably already caught me bare and-”

You broke down in a flurry misery and shame, allowing yourself to fall to the ground but you didn’t - Aizawa seized you in his arms, his gentle, fatherly arms that could only do so much to console you from the horror of your reality. And he held your head as you cried on his chest, one little thing he could do after ignoring your situation and letting you think that your significance was less than the rest of his other students. At that moment, you were just so little, so fragile, so naïve he’d keep you in his pocket if he could. Why would someone do something as debauched as illegally recording your innocent self?

“I’m sor-sorry,” you sobbed, “I’m really telling the truth, p-please-”

“Shh, it’s okay. I don’t doubt you.” He reassured. Why were you apologizing? Were you that insecure of being a nuisance? No, no, you never were. Not to him. He reached for your hand to take the cursed device. “Since when did you find out?”

“J-just this morning.” You responded.

“Alright. Do you want to rest? This must have taken a huge toll on you.”

But you still had classes ongoing. Then again, you didn’t feel like looking at the faces of the prime suspects who possibly did you dirty, even when you knew that you’d have to eventually interact with them to get notes of your missed lessons. You were so tired from summoning the lot of your courage to confront your teacher regarding your problem, so you probably wouldn’t have the energy to listen to class discussion. Aizawa finalized your decision by pulling you up and guiding you towards the office of Recovery Girl who, after being briefed of your predicament by your homeroom teacher, welcomed you with a warm smile, telling you to make yourself comfortable in one of the beds in the infirmary.

He then made his way to 1A classroom, a newfound swelling of rage and disappointment in his chest, both forwarded to his class and to himself because only now did he realize that perhaps you were often so restless and apprehensive in the presence of your classmates because they did things that made you bury yourself in the deepest parts of your shell as a last attempt to revel in a sense of safety. Your timidity was not entirely derived from your own nature; it was also due to the maltreatment you were receiving from your classmates. Halting his steps by the classroom door, he looked through the glass window, seeing the class focusing on Midnight’s lecture.

Well, not quite. He could tell that your classmates were visibly affected by the lack of your presence, glancing at your desk from time to time as quiz papers were being passed behind - so they were in the middle of a test, he guessed. But that wasn’t his concern.

In impudent manner, he walked in amid Midnight’s talking, disregarding her face’s sudden morphing into vexation as the students gave him a look of confusion.

“Eraser, what are you-” she was rudely interrupted as Aizawa took the test reference papers from her hands. Something about Modern Hero Art History, he read. He faced his class with disdain, stating,

“Until someone confesses their crime of hiding a spy camera on (l/n)’s dorm room, all of you are receiving failing marks on this test.”

Quite suddenly, the class burst into violent upheaval, gasping, perking, some allowing the dreadful news of your situation to sink in, others letting out noises of complaint before actually taking consideration to the main point of Aizawa’s statement. Midnight stared at him in disbelief, but did nothing to stop his measures.

Momo abruptly stood. “I-is (y/n) okay? We should go check on her!”

“No, you shouldn’t.” Aizawa said. “All of you are suspects. You’ve no right to see her.”

“She probably just made that up get back on us for whatever fucking reason!” Yelled Bakugou.

“Yeah?” The male pro-hero disingenuously mused. He then picked up the spy camera and held it for everyone to see, before setting it down the teacher’s podium. “This was found on her closet. Would she risk recording herself naked just to prove that point?”

Noise died down thereafter, setting their sights solemnly at the device, the class collectively having the same thought in regards to the spy camera.

(Why hadn’t they thought of that? It could have been easier to check on you that way, since you almost always confined yourself in the privacy of your own room.)

“So? No one wants to speak up?” Aizawa asked, though expected the silence.

“Aizawa, have them approach you after classes. It’s embarrassing this way.” Midnight intervened.

“Well that’s the point. Get them exposed to the entire class, so everyone could realize how much of a perverted bastard one of these to-be heroes are. Good values, my ass.” He replied, not bothering to filter rather colorful vocabulary. “Where’s your dignity?”

He let a minute or two pass for the perpetrator to reveal themselves, but soon it became apparent that whomever they were refused to admit to their crime, willing to sacrifice the grades of the class for the sake of anonymity. That would be deemed useless, anyway, because Aizawa was already set on figuring out whom they were, no matter the extent he’d go to in order for that to happen. He’d expel them at once.

But he didn’t have the power to expel someone outside of his class.

“I guess that’s it for your test.” He sighed, disgruntled, picking up the small camera and sauntering his way out of the classroom after giving Midnight a look that he was dead serious with marking all of them a failing score. She stared at him in uncertainty, nonetheless abided by his decisions, albeit hesitantly.

Upon ascertaining his absence, Midnight turned to Class 1A, amusement and humor dancing on her seductive countenance.

“Naïve, hormonal teenagers,” she mused, “the closet, really? Couldn’t you have chosen somewhere less conspicuous?”

None of them bothered to tell her that they were truthfully unaware of the incident.

===

Hagakure Toru, stealth hero, entered your room silently in the nude, the only proof of her movements being a tinier, different spy camera she’d brought along with her. No, not the closet, you might find it again. It looked so painfully obvious on the desk, too, and neither in the bathroom due to its pale white interior. 

But on the pencil holder situated atop your nightstand would do. You barely moved it, anyway, only having its purpose served as a decoration; something to fill the vacancy of the bedside table. After a few adjustments in camouflaging the device with the environment and making sure the lens displayed the area of your space, Hagakure checked its concealment one more time, before mechanically heading outside and back to her own dorm. 

Her body collided almost violently with her room’s door, snapping her out of her trance. 

“H-huh!? Weird... how’d I end up in my room?” She asked, receiving no answer from particularly anyone.

But Shinso Hitoshi could provide her one, if only he weren’t outside, staring at your terrace from five stories down your room, a gratifying smirk donned on his features. Now, the only thing he had to do was dismantle and relocate the gadgets wirelessly connected with the camera Aizawa had confiscated.

[rcksmith]

Dream a little of me — Kaz Brekker

Resume: One bed and two hearts.

Requests :”Hello, darling! Could I request sleeping with kaz? Imagine or general headcanons, as you like. No nsfw (no need of touching tho, do what you like with it!), just sleeping in the same bed - maybe for the first time. Also bonus points if one of them will have a nightmare👀Have a good night/day, hun!🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️🧚‍♀️✨✨✨💗💗💗”

“My heart asks for all the angst of touch starved reader falling for Kaz Brekker... 😭😭😭 - 🐕‍🦺”

Couple: Kaz Brekker/ Grisha Fem!Reader

Warnings: swearing, mention of post-traumatic stress, angst, fluff.

Word count: 3k.

A/N: Thank you💖 I hope you guys like.

Normal Rules.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake. Requests are open. Love you❤️

— — — — —

The rain was pouring down in torrents, in a fierce storm that roared into the shadowy forest like a hideous, unearthly animal. Platinum lightning’s streaked the midnight sky and thunder rumbled like as giants footsteps crashing into the ground and shaking the earth. Everything had been orchestrated to work. But nothing could have gone more wrong.

Unfortunately, not even Kaz Brekker's millions of tricks and plans could defeat the force of nature. And even you, an Infernal Entherealki, hadn't mastered the art of controlling fire or keeping warm while under a torrent of icy, biting cold water.

Your teeth started chattering, your lips turned purple, and you wondered if you could run another inch. Your muscles felt like stones and for someone who had lived with the heat of the flames his whole life, being under freezing water was extremely painful. But Kaz wouldn't let you stop. And you, as excruciating as the pain was, didn't want to stop either. The pain was strong but the desire not to let him down was more.

The two of you part of the plan that night was to go through the forest with the diamonds in pockets and find the rest of the Crows on the other side. You two would have to spend the night in that place. But all of Brekker's machinations were washed away by the treacherous and atrocious rain.

The only alternative was to run. Run to the direction where there was a small civilization and pray to find an inn or not die of hypothermia.

The angry drops of icy water were enough to steal Kaz's breath. Not because the cold was unbearable, but because his own demons, his past, were ghosts that gripped his ankles like monsters from horror stories. He didn't feel the rain, didn't feel the biting wind, Kaz just felt the sensation of the freezing, oppressive ocean drowning him. And for a second, when he looked at the small strip of fur on he wrist that wasn't hidden by his glove and coat, he swore he saw Jordie's dead skin in place of his.

He had to get out of there. But when the storm started, and Kaz run his eyes at you, your face wet from the rain, your skin constantly whipped by the cold droplets, and your cheeks extremely red from the cold, it made him gasp in a very different way. Blood pooled in your cheeks. Pulsing. Alive. He had to get you out of there.

Finding hiding places was one of his specialties, and he focused his mind entirely on it. When an inn came into view, a small relief rumbled in both of you. And Kaz looked in your direction to make sure you were okay. Alive.

As the receptionist gave the key from the last spare room to the two of you, Kaz couldn't help but feel that there was no longer any heat pulsing in your body. That made him feel miserable.

The night was cold. Unusually cool for the time of year.

"I don't think it's a good idea to carry out a robbery like that in these climatic temperatures." Inej said, walking down the stairs after Kaz "One of the Dregs caught a serious cold too while you were away."

Kaz had to be away for two days to sort out some matters of his own. Check some ship ports and finding out the weaknesses of some new merchants. And as much as he ordered his thoughts to focus solely on that purpose, he found himself daydreaming at certain times about…

"It got very serious after a few hours." Inej completed.

Kaz felt a trickle of worry trace his veins, tighten his throat But it wasn't for some bruteman of his Dregs. His source of concern was more serious, deeper, and for someone he didn't want to think about too much. Even though he told himself to keep every nerve in his body under control, in the end he was Kaz Brekker, he couldn't help but notice he picked up his pace to get faster to the live room that was strictly reserved for the Crows.

And when he walked in, following by Inej, the tree branches hit the windows, blown by the wind, tinkling. The cold was oppressive and biting, but not enough to stop Jesper from playing cards with Wylan, nor enough for Nina not to eat her candy and listen to Matthias tell of his people's legends. But the eyes of Kaz, that treacherous and treacherous organ, ran to you first. Magnetically, inevitably.

And he felt like he could breathe again.

The sight of you sitting on the black velvet sofa, with a book in your hands and your legs stretched out on the padded stool in front of you, calmed Kaz's heartbeat as nothing had ever done.

As much as he denies, in those two days his mind has swarmed over you more often than he thought wise. Brekker liked to justify that action with the fact that you were part of the gang. As close and important as Jesper or Inej. It was normal for him to be worried about the Dregs.

But why did he only see you? Why did the questions about your well-being and comfort stood out so much from any other concerns with others?

It was you. Always late at night, when Brekker was a sigh away from sleep. You were what someone he was thinking.

"Who is alive always appears." Nina announced he arrival and Kaz was pulled out of his reverie.

"Did you kill anyone these two days?" Jesper placed a letter on the table and Inej sat beside Nina.

Kaz left his hat on one of the dark marble tables. “Does it matter?"

There were other seats available in the room. A leather armchair next to the burning fireplace - Brekker were sure that you was controlling the temperature - an extra chair around the table where Jesper and Wylan were play, and a small divan beside Matthias. But Kaz sat beside you on the couch.

You marked the page with your finger, lowering the book gently. He didn't need to see the cover to know what it was. It was a romance clichéd eighteenth-century. He had given it to you before he left.

"Everything worked?" You smiled and Kaz had the feeling that he wanted to memorize that smile in a painting to always appreciate it.

"And doesn't always do?"

Even with the biting cold that wasn't stopped by the fireplace, Brekker could feel the heat from your body emanating, like a delicious temptation. You were always so hot. Bathed in the sun's rays. He didn't know if infernal grisha like you gave off so much heat too, because it was impossible for that to be human. Were so intense...delicious. Even with multiple layers of clothing, if Kaz approached you he could feel the warmth of a tropical pirate island.

Was that why he always unconsciously sat beside you? Why did you radiate so much causticity that it made Kaz forget about the ocean's cold? Why were you like a piece of life and Kaz felt dead for a long time?

Or was it because, heat or not, you were the only thing worth being around?

All the questions were too disturbing. And Kaz Brekker didn't want to know the answer.

Now, even climbing the stairs to the room beside you, Kaz couldn't feel anything radiating from you body. Just the cold. And he hated it with every force of his being.

You're not made to take the rain, felling deadly cold, or turn your lips a bluish hue.You were not made to be cold as a corpse, with muscles stiff and sore like a dead. You were not made to look like Jordie. You were meant to be alive. To look alive. Exhale the heat of the most ardent fire and heat a room just with your presence. You were meant to scare off Kaz's winter with your summer.

For a second, Kaz wanted to hug you to give you the warmth of his own body.

You felt exhausted. The remnants of what you once day were. Every inch of your body protested, aching and tearing at muscles. The cold, sharp water did you no good. You didn't know if it was were something of your species or a trait unique to you. But it didn't do any good to you. You hated looking so miserable in that appearance, especially in front of the one man you always wanted to look beautiful to. But at that moment you were in too much pain to worry so much about it.

As soon as Kaz had put the key in the doorknob, his gloved fingers stiff from the cold, what you expected to find was a cozy room, promising a heat shower and a good, well-deserved night's sleep. But that wasn't it. You stared at the wide double bed with white sheets, perplexed. Shock competed with your pain and put your brain to work, and all your breath lurked in throat as your realized the situation.

Oh my fucking God.

You didn't have to look at Kaz to feel his entire body be rigid, in a way far more potent than the effects the rain had caused. As if the prospect of sleeping next to you was more whorse than dying of hypothermia.

You closed your expression. Half because your mood was already bad and half because the rejection was brutal. You didn't expect your passionate feelings for Kaz to be returned, nor did you expect him to feel the same longing to be close to you as you felt for him. But no woman wanted to see that a man would rather die of hypothermia than share a bed with her. Even more if he was a man she was in love with.

You entered in room first, the pain in your body clouding your thoughts.

"Do you mind if I shower first?"

Your voice was weak, and you didn't have the heart to look at Kaz. He hissed a “no” that hung in the air, and that was the last thing you heard before closing yourself in the bathroom.

His heart was beating eerily fast in his chest. As loud as the thunder outside and as unsettling as the chill of rain. His breath began to burn heavily in his throat, and suddenly his entire body was fully aware of the situation.

One bed.

Even when he took the diamonds out of his pocket and placed them on a small table, even when you came out of the bathroom and he walked in, even as he basked in the hot water, his heart still pounded wildly. Like a generator.

Kaz Brekker liked puzzles, challenges. Of things he could unravel and understand. Piece by piece. He played to win and to cheat, and the world knelt at his feet before the insight of his mind. Still, he didn't know what to do. You were like a fascinating and maddening riddle. The one thing that, no matter how hard Kaz tried, could never unravel yours mysteries. Or maybe, just, what he would never be able to do was unravel what he felling whenever he was by your side.

His heartbeat grew stronger.

Brekker remembered every deck of cards, every card played. He could keep up with the distribution of up to five decks, unlock any lock, and devise the most insane plans. But he couldn't stop the way his soul trembled whenever he laid eyes on you.

In those moments, when you looked at Kaz like he was someone much better than he actually was, Kaz wanted to be good. He wanted to be born again to become a damn decent man. For you. He wished he didn't have his demons and erase his past. Because that way, when the sun's rays hit your face and you were close enough for your scent of happiness to flood his senses, Kaz wouldn't back down. He would lean down and seal his lips in yours with the promise of a glorious future.

His heart beat faster.

Why did he feel that his whole life was always suspended whenever he were away from you? And why did he have the feeling his life could change forever if he walked out that door?

Kaz turned off the shower. The heart running like a horse. He fished out the towel and wrapped it around his waist, finding a small hamper that held neat, folded pajamas for guests. He was surprised he didn't notice you in those pajamas. You made him lose focus.

As soon as he dressed and walked out of the bathroom, his eyes immediately went to your figure. Sitting on the bed, your legs under the covers, your hands clasped together in a cupped shape with a small, flare of fire burning in the center.

You looked up at Kaz. “I managed to do something to warm you up.”

The phrase was: No for warm me up. No for warm us up. For warm you up.

Kaz lost his breath and his soul trembled. The air felt different since he stepped out of the shower, not just from the recent gust of heat. But there was something else, something lyrical, pink and lush. Something...beautiful. He did not say anything. First because he didn't trust his own words and second because he didn't know what to say. He sat beside you, a considerable distance away, but this time his fear was that you would hear the loud, racing beat of his heart.

You turned gently towards him, reaching out your hands towards him, not noticing how his hands trembled as they stretched under the hot flame. Kaz swallowed hard.

He knew how weak and drained you were, but he also knew you were aware that he loathed cold. Hated icy water. You didn't know the depth of his traumas, but the fact that you cared to the point that you were willing to use your last shred of strength to end his torment was something that reverberated in his soul.

You two didn't say anything else after that. After Kaz removed his hands from the flame, you understood that as the end of your two interactions. You two shared a mutual answer that neither would sleep on the floor. You two were adults and in no condition to be lashed by any colder.

The night moon bathed the dark room with lights in distilled silver, almost flickering through the windswept tree branches. You were back-to-back, blankets pulled up to your shoulders, breathing gently quickened. As exhausted as you two were, neither of you could sleep.

Suddenly, the whole atmosphere in room seemed to change. Like a private, enchanted piece of the world. The wind howled softly, on a calm note. The rain was still falling in torrents, but now it seemed to be adopted in a passionate tone. As if it had fulfilled its purpose and now hovered in the world with a romantic veil of water. Stars shining bright above the bedroom window, glittering like hundreds of tiny diamonds, accompanied by moonlight. Although the light was dim, it seemed to capture the lyrical essence, seem to whisper “Dream a little dream of me.”

Everything felt different, like the two of you had entered a rift in the world. A part inhabited romance, pure magic, love.

Your soul shivered, and as much as you could never prove it, you felt that Kaz's soul shivered too. Your breath hitched, burning in lungs, your body seized by a caustic tingle that snaked through every inch.

You didn't know why, but your body shifted gently on the bed, turning slightly towards the ceiling. The racing pulse in your veins. A second felt like an eternity. Kaz's body moved too, and you knew, just knew, that he was looking at the ceiling too.

Two hearts beating in the same time. Synchronized. And, by some magic or deity, you two knew that your heartbeat would never again beat another way. Always connected.

Your body moved a little more, now on belly up. And Kaz's seemed to do the same move, even without seeing you or your movements. His chest rising and falling with intensity. The rain calmed outside, turning the symphony of droplets hitting the roof into mysterious, passionate music. As if the world were plotting a whispering favor for you two.

Kaz could feel your body heat radiating once more, grazing his skin with rays of sunlight. Everything in that bedroom became poignant and intense and lyrical, inflicting sensations on him that Kaz never thought existed before. Later, it would be a shock for him to see that he was at the mercy of his own passions. Overcome by sensations that robbed him of control of his body. Later he would think about it. Later.

His soul tingled, sending gusts of heat from the inside out. The feeling was that, after 28 years of deep sleep, he had awakened. Awake. Alive.

His body moved once more, now completely on belly up. Kaz didn't have to look at you to know that you too had placed yourself in the same position. It was as if he felt the movements of your soul. His pulse was racing now, hot and boiling in his blood. And Kaz wondered if all the money in the world would bring half the sensations he was feeling right now.

What was he so afraid all this time? That question echoed through all the corridors of his soul. And Brekker feared for the answer. What kept him from having everything he craved?

Money? Pekka? Jordie's ghost and the cold ocean? Kaz feared never touching you any more than he feared his demons? Was that why he always walked away from you? Why was wanting to slide his fingers into your hot skin and not being able to fell you, be worse than any sensation he'd ever felt? Because, maybe, admitting it can change everything?

His breath hitched.

Would it be worse to be alone for the rest of his life? Doomed and cursing to a fate of revenge, death and red hate? Or, even worse for his heart, finding a girl with lovely eyes, sunny smiles and the smell of happiness? A girl that made him laugh, come out of his hiding. You. What do he will do with that? What if you open up the door that he can't close it? And If when you hold he and his heart is set in motion?

Would that be so bad? No.

His body became very aware of the approximation it was on to your. Your heat radiating into his. For some reason, Kaz was sure you was in the same condition as he was. Sharing the same feelings. The same passion hidden for so long.

Kaz should have thought of his brother, of revenge against Pekka Rollins, of the cold of the ocean. He should have weighed of his own traumas. Instead, he thought: What if I get a little closer?

The result of this was his fingertips brushing yours. And he knew the exact moment your heart sped up even more. Because his followed the same beat. Maybe following yours for the rest of his life.

You brought your eyes to him, calmly, as if that moment might disintegrate. and the world seemed suspended in that moment. Kaz slid his eyes to you as well, sharing sensations and emotions that didn't need to be put into words. It was all there, in the gaze.

His fingers crept higher, going to your hand, and plunging his touch - and his soul - into that contact. All your heat was too strong. Too intense. Doing Kaz wouldn't be able to think or feel, for the first few minutes, about anything but light, heat, summer and…happiness.

That's when you gave him a shaky, emotional smile. I would do anything for you. That's what that smile said. And Kaz answered, his hand tight with yours before letting go. Me too.

- -

As the sun's rays, shy and buttery, flooded the bedroom in soft color, Kaz's eyelids fluttered. The sound of birds reached his ears, and the scent of flowers and happiness invaded his nose.

It was nothing like waking up in Ketterdam.

That thought back him to reality. A reality in which he had stolen many diamonds, taken the rain and had to share the calm. A reality where Kaz Brekker touched you.

You.

Kaz opened his eyes immediately, his heart racing again. He looked frantically around the room, past the simple furniture, the closed bathroom door, the window where the light came in, and then looked to his side on the bed. That's when he realized what position he was in.

His soul heated up.

You had your back to him, your hair spread out on the white pillow, your back showing by your pajama top, your shoulder rising and falling softly with your resonant breathing. You were close. Very close. And Kaz finds, perplexed, that he is facing you. One arm rests around your waist, over the thick blankets, in an intimate and…romantic gesture.

He lost his breath. His warm, hope-shining soul whispered to him: what if it was like this every day? What if he woke up with you by his side forever? What if in time he learned to be a decent man? Trying to be normal?

Would Kaz do this for you?

You shifted in bed, turning onto his side, front for him, snuggling deeper under his touch and moving closer, as if Kaz were your oasis in the desert. No skin was actually touching, your breath hit his warm chest, and if Kaz lowered his lips even further, he could feel your lips on his.

Yes. He would.

[lonely-lost-soul]

Let Me Worship You

(C!Technoblade X Gn!Reader)

Request 9: Could I perhaps request a c!techno x gn!reader where maybe the reader is good friends with Dadza and meets Techno one day and they fall for each other? Bonus if the reader is maybe a great builder like dadza but too shy to actually meet anyone so they just build things quietly and then move on and no one but dadza really knows them? Soft! and/or protective! Techno would be cute but not needed!! 😊😊😊

Requested By: 🍀 Anon

I hope you don't mind the shameless art I made for this lol.

At this point in his life, Technoblade had known Phil for centuries, they started their own brief empire together and he watched him raise Wilbur the best a single father could. It was about five years ago when you started following Phil around, the first time Technoblade met you was entirely by accident. He just needed to drop off some building supplies to Phil and Wilbur when he saw you trifling through Phil’s stuff, you had gorgeous white wings and when the sun hit them just right he saw flecks of gold peek through. His piglin side was immediately enamored with the gold wanted to reach out and run a delicate hand through the feathers. Technoblade set his jaw and summoned his ax to his side, you turned around (e/c) eyes widening with shock and fear. Technoblade couldn’t help but feel pure satisfaction rush through his veins seeing your fright. You held up your hands and everything you were holding tumbled to the ground, wings puffing up with shock and horror. Hearing the noise Phil wandered into the room and was quick to diffuse the situation, you hid behind the taller male and Techno gave a grunt of an apology in your direction.

From that moment forward you were as much of a staple in his life as Phil was, Phil had explained Wilbur had found you half dead a little ways away from his home. You had wings like his and Phil couldn’t let you die without answers, his crows would never let him live it down. After he got what he needed from you, Phil noticed just how handy you were around the house especially when you were building things so he kept you around. Technoblade never really interacted with you unless Phil was there to interpret, you weren’t much of a talker and Technoblade was never one for long-drawn-out conversation anyway. However, when Phil had killed Wilbur and he and Technoblade had to move north you inevitably followed the birdman. That’s when Technoblade really began to understand and get to know you and your little quirks. He noticed that when you concentrated on blueprints to a certain build you’d stick your tongue out all cute like, or the soft songs you’d hum when you thought no one was listening.

But Technoblade always listens.

He also noticed that since you and Phil had moved in there was an abundance of not only Phil’s crows flying around but a few stray morning doves pecking at the snow as well.

With the encouragement of the voices, Technoblade had gathered up enough courage to attempt to hold onto a conversation with you. As he walked up to you he noticed the soft coo of a dove was heard, catching your attention. You turned around and your eyes locked with his own, he watched your shoulders tense and face flush a little as he approached you.

Off to a rocky start already. Great.

“Ugh. Hey?” Technoblade grunted hands crossing over his chest,

‘Hey? HEY? is that the best you can do? Look at them they’re cowering. Good, they should be, which means we’re well known.’

Technoblade cleared his throat a little as you held up a hand with a shy wave, “hello.” You greeted, your voice was soft and sweet like honey in his ears. The exact opposite of Wilbur and Tommy’s, he found himself enjoying the tone. “So um...did I do something wrong?” Your wings folded back and he watched you methodically run your fingers through the feathers.

‘Look at the gold flecks! I want them! I wanna pet them they’re so cute! So small and helpless like a little worm. Worm? Really? What it’s an analogy! A bad one! Shut up she’s giving us a look!’

“No? Did you do something I should be concerned about?”

“No!” You sputtered out in panic, dropping the bricks in your hand stumbling back so they wouldn’t crush your toes.

You had fast reflexes, that’s good.

The morning dove around you cooed in distress fluttering up to your shoulder, nesting there like it was its home. “I’m alright,” You whispered eyes going soft as you scratched under the bird’s chin, Technoblade watched with interest. Technoblade gathered why Phil really liked you, you were almost an exact replica of the mild manner builder, other than the anarchist tendencies.

“Didn’t mean to make you drop your stuff,” Technoblade clicked his tongue softly bending down to gather your materials. “Where do you want them?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I asked you a question kid.” Your mouth snapped shut and your lips pressed into a thin tense line. Technoblade observed as your eyebrow twitched, oh you were annoyed. You didn’t voice your annoyance he couldn’t help but mentally comment how cute that look was on you. A huff spilled past your lips and you directed him where to place the bricks in their proper locations. The both of you fell into light conversation after that, he caused you to laugh a few times and it made him feel oddly warm inside. He didn’t even realize that the sun began to set until you pointed it out, Technoblade rubbed the stubble on his chin glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You were staring up at the sunset, the orange and red colors shone through the gaps in your feathers, your eyes were alight with wonder. You looked like an old Greek statue, an angel carved out of the finest marble and gemstones.

He flushed when you turned to face him, embarrassed to have been caught staring at you so blatantly. You smiled the tips of your pointing ears turning pink, “You should stay the night.” Technoblade spoke without really thinking about the consequences, “there’s plenty of room.”

“Alright. I think I will. It’s not safe flying at night anyway.” Your smile only growing in size at his offer, he made the right decision then, he led you and your little dove through the snow and into his cabin.

Spring rolled around and there was a little house set up right next to Technoblade’s home. It fit his aesthetic nicely, made out of wood, and always had its lanterns lit, it was your home. However, you began to spend most of your time at Technoblade’s home talking with the retired Blood God. You and Phil also had begun molting which was Technoblade’s least favorite time of the year mostly because of all the feathers. However, this year in particular he was particularly enamored with your shiny golden feathers he would find around his home. Maybe he collected them and kept them in his ender chest, it wasn’t creepy he was cleaning. At least that’s what Technoblade told himself, not because he found your feathers beautiful or anything and was enamored by the shine.

“Hey Kid,” Technoblade asked from his seat across from you in his sitting room, you picked your head up and tilted it to the side in a questioning manner. Your wings were ruffled, messy and you looked uncomfortable to be interrupted from your grooming. “Need some help?” He watched your entire face turn bright red in the process, “look you can say no. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable!” You argued, “just caught off guard a little Tech. I never thought it’d be something you were interested in.” Standing up from the chair you spread your wings wide, pulled over a stool, and flopped in front of Technoblade. He was a little shocked at how quickly you agreed, they must’ve really been bothering you.

“Do I...just stick my hands in there or…”

You tossed your head back and let out a roaring laugh,

“heh? What’s so funny huh? I don’t wanna hurt you.” Technoblade snapped at you with an embarrassed huff, your laughter slowly dyed down after a few more seconds.

“Sorry I just. Is that what you say to the ladies too?” Technoblade choked and blanked never once have you said something so dirty before, he didn’t even know you were capable of making jokes like that.

“I say that to everyone actually, I don’t discriminate to just women- I’m not helping my case am I? I should stop talking.” It only served to send you into another set of loud giggles, Technoblade was red in the face and stuck his hands into the little feathers by your back. He felt you tense up for a moment before relaxing into his touch, you let out a soft sound of pleasure. Technoblade chose to ignore the sound even if it sent the voices into a frenzy, to mark and claim, and...he was absolutely not going to finish that thought. You both sat there for about an hour and thirty minutes, fixing up your feathers making you preen at the touches. You were smiling like an idiot by the time he was done and you spread your feathers wide, almost like you were showing them off. Technoblade couldn’t help but feel proud that you liked the work he did so much,

“They’re so soft! Thank you Techno!” You turned towards him, eyes practically glowing with adoration. His face turned red, you were stunning, he kissed you that night and by wintertime, the both of you were an official couple.

Phil was quick to catch onto the change in demeanor between the couple, he clapped Techno on the back as congratulations. You were out on another building project, making a little farm because you knew how much Technoblade loved potatoes, you really were attentive. Surprising Technoblade, Phil had also threatened his first cannon life if he ever hurt you in any way, shape, or form. Techno was a little surprised Phil would go as far as to threaten him, but he promised his old friend he wouldn’t let any man, woman, or creature lay their hands on you, including himself.

It was the dead of winter and temperatures had dropped drastically, Technoblade had made both you and Phil warm clothes for the occasion that matched with his own winter gear. He had given you a friendship emerald and in return, you made him a necklace with one of your golden feathers on it.

Technoblade cherished the gift with his entire being. On occasion, while he was out on a long journey he’d press gentle kisses to it when he missed you, and he swore sometimes he swore it moved on its own. He walked into the cabin to see you spread across his couch, a book on your lap, wings curled in tight against your body. He smiled softly dropping the wood he gathered by the door, he snuck over to you and pressed a kiss against your cheek.

“Hi, sunshine,” You greeted turning your head to look at him, his face burned and his chest filled with warmth. Technoblade moved to sit in your lap with a smirk, he plucked the book from your hands to look at the cover. You frowned in his direction, “You lose my spot and I’m hitting you over the head with it.”

“Violent.” He tutted softly bopping you on the head with said book, you shot him a cold look.

“Hypocrite.”

“Nerd.” He responded casually, you let out a little huff, wings ruffling in frustration.

There’s that look, he loved that look. God, you were so cute.

You slapped your hands on his cheeks, and it shocked him back to attention. He felt your fingers spread across his cheeks and your thumbs brush against the apples of his face. Technoblade’s eyes softened and he snuggled into your open palms, he saw you smile and his eyes dropped to a content close. Technoblade did something he hadn’t done in years, he felt the rumble in his throat before it happened, he purred.

His eyes snapped open with fear and embarrassment, but the way your eyes were sparkling quelled the feelings immediately.

“Did you just purr?”

“So what if I did?” He grumbled another purr mixing with a growl,

“That’s the cutest thing in the entire world Mr. Big Bad anarchist. You only purr for me?” The light teasing in your voice sent him aflame, “Aw you do!” You cooed rubbing his cheeks with your thumbs again, he buried his face in your chest as more purrs spilled from his mouth without him wanting them to. “No need to hide it, keep them purrs coming.” Technoblade’s entire face was red as you reached forward to pluck his glasses from his nose. You placed them on the end table and grabbed a blanket wrapping you both inside a cocoon of warmth.

“You tell anyone about this and we’re breaking up.”

“Deal. Your secrets safe with me.” You hummed quietly running his hands through his pink locks melting against your touch. He finally relaxed completely resting the side of his head against your chest to listen to your heartbeat. Technoblade purred and you could feel the rumbles of his chest against your own. The ferocious Blade was akin to a cat, grumpy on the outside but a big softie who wanted attention on the inside. Leaning forward you kissed his forehead, another louder purr was pulled from the man and pressed his forehead back against your lips. “Good boy.~” You teased scratching under his chin he sent you a tired look but the redness in his cheeks gave away how much he enjoyed the praise.

“Shut up. You’re being cringe.” He growled with no real bite or fire,

“Take a nap big guy. You deserve one. You’re safe with me.” Technoblade yawned loudly at your words, his jaw unhinging a little, only proving to show how tired he really was. “I’ll protect you, always.” Technoblade smiled sheepishly and allowed himself to let his guard down just this once to fall asleep in his lover’s arms.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Deuce, Idia: Full Throttle Ahead!!

I don’t usually think Deuce is hot, but that Groovy art sure is making me feel some type of way 😷

Since Idia is the interviewer this time around, I purposefully wrote this piece to make it feel like Idia is the “center”, since he’s very... introverted and stuck in his own mind space. What truly shines here is Deuce’s determination, which does eventually manage to pierce Idia’s stubbornness. 

***Chapter 6 main story and Wish Upon a Star spoilers!***

Imagine this...

“I’m more brawn than brains, so I want to go to a dorm where I can work on that weakness.” Deuce beamed, clenching a fist. “My goal’s to be an honors student, so... I’ve got to study hard, and I feel like Scarabia’s the place for me to do that.”

Working on a weakness, huh...

With inquisitive eyes and upturned brows, Idia peered at the birthday boy.

I... kind of get it. It’s like when you’re trying to build a balanced character in a MMORPG, but you overinvest your skill points in Strength instead of distributing it evenly between Strength and Intelligence... and then you wind up down the class and the skill tree you don’t want, but you’re too late into the game to restart, and it’s all one big, hot mess...!!

“Th-That... sounds like too much trouble...” Idia mumbled. “A-At that point, you might as well just work with what you already have instead of wasting even more time and energy trying to rework your character...”

A-And it’s not like eating a ridiculous amount of eggs in your cup ramen will do anything for you!! Those nutrients are... All for your muscle!! None for your brain!! But I guess you’d be too dumb to realize that... With all the eggs you chug down, you’d think you’d be an EGGhead too, but no!! At this rate, your build’s just going to end up looking like Coach Vargas’s...!!

“You think so?” Though Deuce’s face shone with keen earnest, his mouth folded into a slight frown. “With all due respect, Shroud-senpai... I don’t agree!”

“H-Huh?” Idia jolted at the rebuttal.

What kind of a shounen protagonist line is that?! These meathead jocks really are way too perky for me to deal with...

“I’m not satisfied with the way I am, so I want to change.” The peacock green of Deuce’s eyes was serious. “Rosehearts-senpai, Schoenheit-senpai... Lots of the people I look up to are doing the same. We all want to be better, so we’re putting forth our own efforts--even if it’s hard, even if it takes a lot out of us!”

Tch. There he goes again, mouthing off like he knows better. This is just like that time he dragged me out of my room to do that stupid Star Sending! It’s a rerun of an anime episode that no one liked!! Must be nice to be so blindly optimistic...

Idia’s face scrunched up in revulsion. Expelling a sigh, he groaned, “Y-Yeah, I get it, I get it... Y-You don’t need to--”

“Shroud-senpai!!” Deuce suddenly cried, seizing his upperclassman by his clammy, pale hands.

“E-Eeeeh?!” Idia’s fiery hair flared in surprise, sending a wave of heat through the party venue. “Wh-What is it?!”

Keep me OUT of your peppy happy-go-lucky ‘you can do it if you really try’ speech, PLEASE!!!

“I know you can do it too!” Deuce declared enthusiastically.

Y-You’re crushing my hands, Deuce-shi!! I need them to gaaaaame!!

Idia’s internal wailing projected outward as a frozen look of horror. Eyes wide, fingers shaking.

“Do you remember the Star Sending?” Deuce continued, totally oblivious to his upperclassman’s distress. “I couldn’t dance to save my life. But!! I was passable at the ceremony, because I practiced until my feet felt like they were going to fall off.

“And you, senpai...! You and Ortho saved the show! You made everyone’s wishes come true. I know you can do that again.”

Deuce grinned, at last releasing his grip on Idia. “Both of us! We can definitely improve ourselves together!”

Improve? Together? Idia shivered at the though. Who would... willingly do such a hopeless thing?

The night, deep and vast and speckled with constellations, flashed through his mind. Streaking stars twinkling as they descended upon the world. The audience quietly gasping in the darkness, pointing up at the sky.

Ortho amid it all, playing among the lights, his laughter just as bright as any star.

“Mission cleared. Hehe, are you proud of me, Nii-san? I punched through that cloud like it was nothing, thanks to your Stargazing Gear!”

“You’re the one that’s amazing, Ortho. You’ve...”

A new image of his brother laid over that vision--the royal blue of Ignihyde, its crest emblazoned upon Ortho’s arm. The pure joy in his eyes, metal coattails flaring out behind him.

His College Gear.

... grown up so much.

Idia softened.

That’s right. Ortho has changed a lot. Then... maybe, just maybe... I can change, too... One step at a time.

He slowly reached out a trembling hand, curling it into a fist.

The birthday boy stared at it. “Shroud-senpai?”

“D-Deuce-shi...” Idia hesitated. Pride, swallowed. Courage, summoned--like a magic spell.  “........................... Y-You can... do it... b-becoming an honors student, I mean...”

There was a skip in the conversation, a moment of shocked silence.

Then...

“Senpai!..!”

Deuce’s fist connected with Idia’s--a solid knock between their knuckles. His shining eyes met Idia’s, an unspoken but resolute promise forged between the two of them.

“I’ll make you proud!!”

“Hihihi... G-Get back to me when you can ace your exams.”

“Will do!!”

Deuce’s smile was so wide that Idia feared his face would tear in half. Thankfully, it didn’t--instead, Deuce turned serious, placing his hands on Idia’s shoulders.

“Wh-What is it now?!”

“Shroud-senpai... Will you do me the honor of pieing me with all your might?!”

“W-With all my might?! Are you crazy?!”

"Nope! Just really excited!!” Deuce replied, smashing a fist into an open palm. “You should come at me full throttle!! It’ll be the first step for both of us toward our goals! For me, that’s being an honors student. For you... that’d be opening up a little more, right?”

Idia’s mouth opened and shut like that of a dazed goldfish. So astonished, his words couldn’t properly form.

“This is the start of something new!” Deuce insisted, slipping a paper plate of whipped cream into his interviewer’s hands. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll take you on!”

Idia reluctantly stared down at the pie. His stomach seized, anxiety twisting his intestines into uncomfortable shapes and angles. He had never backpedaled so far in his life than in that very instant.

M-Maybe I can’t understand normies after all!! It was a mistake, a mistaaaaaake!!!

“C’mon, Shroud-senpai!! PIE ME!!”

“AAAAAAAH, WHATEVER!! I’ll get it over with already!!” With a frustrated shout, Idia took ahold of the pie and wound up his throw.

“H-Happy b-day, Deuce-shi!!”

SPLAT!!

[kingsuckjin]

Season of the Witch- TEASER

☾ Pairing: love triangle Taehyung x jimin x reader

☾ Genre: yandere, smut, horror, thriller

☾ Rating: 18+

☾ Warnings: STALKER SHIT, Tae is insane and has really dark and obsessive thoughts about Jimin, there’s some sexy stuff in here too, hints towards make oral sex and just sex, violent themes I guess and hits of murder.

☾ Summary: all Taehyung ever wanted was Jimin, and he had always done whatever it took to stop whatever or whoever got in his way, you were going to be no different. Surely Jimin didn’t love you as much as Taehyung loved him… right?

"So," Jimin sucked in a deep breath from across the table of the diner and nervously adjusted in his seat before looking across the table at his best friend. He wondered why he was so nervous, why he was dragging this out, why he thought Taehyung wouldn't understand.

"So, you brought me here to talk about something?" Taehyung cleared his voice, doing his best to try to hide his own nervousness and butterflies mixing in his stomach as he played with a little pink packet of sugar on the table.

"Since you're my best friend and I want you to know what's going on in my life..." Jimin's eyes flickered to his melting vanilla milkshake he no longer cared about. He felt like he needed to look at anything but Taehyung, just in case he had the same reaction as last time, although that was years ago when… Jimin refused to let his mind go back to it.

Taehyung bit at his lip and put down the sugar packet he had been playing with upon hearing Jimin's words. He looked down at the little chipped places in the diner table, chipped at by time itself. He knew now what was coming, and it wasn’t what he had wanted to hear… it wasn't going to be anything close to "I love you". He braced himself for the impact, heart ready to shatter into his ribcage and start sobbing in front of Jimin.

"I've- I've met this girl…" Jimin floundered at first, but the rest just slipped out of his mouth naturally as if he had been born to say these words "she's the one, Tae."

Jimin's sentence had come out in slow motion for Taehyung, as if the world wanted to drag this out just to hurt him more. Although Taehyung knew it had been coming seeing as Jimin had been quite distant recently, just like before, it still left Taehyung swallowing down the pain. A sad whimper too high and soft to be his own partially escaped his throat before Taehyung caught it, cut it off, and drowned it out by clearing his throat. He could feel how wide his eyes were, he felt his pulse quicken and blood heat to an uncomfortable level under his skin. He wanted to crawl out of his own outter flesh and slink away unnoticed by the man sitting across from him. He didn't know what to do, but he had to say something, so said the only thing he could think to say.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure." Jimin confirmed with a nod "you- you aren't going to say what you said last time?" Jimin furrowed his brows with worry.

Taehyung had been through so much with Jimin last time he had uttered these words to him. Jimin should've known better than to go and do this again, Taehyung shouldn't have to warn him again, Jimin should be scared, he should be too scarred to do this to Taehyung again. But would Taehyung say all of this to his friend? No. Warning him of the future heartbreak didn't work last time, it only made Jimin push Tae away and he wasn't about to make that mistake again… he didn't have to, this time around he was prepared, it would be easier now.

"Of course not." Taehyung sat up straighter in the diner booth and watched Jimin's surprised reaction. "It was wrong of me to say all of that last time, especially after what happened."

Jimin's face fell into a pout for a moment as he remembered but pushed it out of his mind. It still hurt him, but now at least he had you.

"You deserve to be happy and you deserve someone." Taehyung forced the best smile he could as he wished that someone was him. He had always wished that someone was him, ever since the both of them had been in high school. Taehyung said a silent prayer every night that one day Jimin would just come to his senses. Taehyung's mind drifted away to the time where he thought Jimin was almost his, the night it was so close he could taste it, he did taste it, he could still taste Jimin's sticky smooth peach schnapps flavored lips and tongue on his.

"-she's such a good dancer too. I can't wait for you to meet her." Taehyung had only caught the tail end of Jimin's rambling. Jimin's smile and enthusiasm when talking about someone that wasn’t him made that warmth in his veins turn into a fire in his stomach, Taehyung was angry. The muscles in hands clenched to try to hold himself together. His hands had felt so tight that they ripped the packet of sugar he had open that he hadn’t realized he had picked back up off the table.

Taehyung looked down at the little pile of sparkling sugar on the table that Jimin ignored as he went for a drink of his milkshake. He watched as his friend's lips wrap around the straw and thought about how perfect they would look and feel if they were wrapped around his-

Taehyung let his eyes fall back to the sugar on the table but that was no help either. He now thought about Jimin's lips coated in the tiny crystals, kissing him, tasting sweeter than the night they almost- Taehyung was sure he'd have a breakdown right here in this diner if he didn’t stop thinking about that night.

"How's the art stuff coming along?" Jimin decided to ask, he hadn't heard Taehyung talk about painting in a while now. He knew it had been Tae's favorite hobby since they were teenagaers, and he was good at it too.

Art stuff. Taehyung knew he didn't care about it, he didn’t even pretend to. Jimin didn't come to the first and last art show his paintings had been featured in. It was a disappointing blow to Taehyung, so disappointing that he gave it up.

"Yeah, I've been exploring other hobbies lately and haven't had time for it. Work and stuff too has been keeping me busy." It wasn't a lie, it was the truth, however Tae wasn't about to start naming his new "hobbies" Thankfully he didn't have too, Jimin's phone went off.

"Oh! Oh man, It doesn't feel like we were here that long does it? I've got to be at the dance studio in fifteen minutes." Jimin couldn’t help but smile as he said it, anytime he mentioned or thought of the dance studio at all now he couldn’t help but smile.

Jimin quickly held his hand up to flag down a waitress but Taehyung stopped him.

"I've got it, you're in a rush." Taehyung urged.

"Are you sure?" Jimin questioned "I'm the only one who ordered anyt-"

"It was just a milkshake. Just head out." Taehyung urged once again, forcing a boxy smile.

Jimin thanked his best friend with a cheerful crescent moon eyed smile that Taehyung would die to see everyday.

Once Jimin had left Taehyung grabbed a napkin from the napkin holder and in the blink of an eye, had stolen the straw from Jimin's half finished milkshake. Under the table, he wiped the excess milkshake from the straw, careful not to touch the end Jimin had put his lips on, and tucked it into his small bag he had brought along with him before flagging down a waitress and paying the bill.

Once Taehyung had gotten out to his car, what Jimin had told him began to catch up with him and really sink in past his bones and into his soul.

Jimin now had a girlfriend.

"Fuck." Taehyung muttered to himself and let his head fall onto the steering wheel. Was this it? Was it all too late? Taehyung should’ve been faster about making Jimin love him.

"FUCK FUCK FUCK!" He let out as he slammed his head against the wheel a couple of times, anger and disappointment radiated through his body.

This wasn't supposed to happen, it wasn't supposed to be like this ever again. Taehyung thought he had taught Jimin a lesson, that lesson being he shouldn't love anyone but him.

Taehyung was protecting Jimin. He was protecting him from his own self, not just from the heartbreak. He knew Jimin's heart was filled with warmth and love that he wanted to share, but why couldn't he just share it with Taehyung? Taehyung, the best friend who was always there for him. Taehyung, the man who strived to be everything Jimin wanted. Taehyung, who would, has and will kill for the man he loves.

Taehyung didn't know what you looked like yet, but he imagined the satisfaction of taking you down just like the girl before you.

He felt a smile grow and spread across his face.

He knew shouldn't be worried, it would be easier this time now that he's getting the hang of this black magic thing. It could be as easy as stomping an ant.

A laugh sounded throughout the quiet car and only grew louder and heavier the more he thought about your death.

Taehyung knew that in the end all you were would be another lesson, another reason for Jimin to never get close to anyone ever again, only him. It would always only be Taehyung, and he figured Jimin would have to learn that eventually.

[joshslater]

Cross Contamination

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

I'm fucking furious. To most people Jack Wilson is a hockey hotshot, but to me he is just my wife's ex that can't let go. She said they had another encounter, but wouldn't go into details, saying it wasn't just his fault. She couldn't help herself, she said. Knowing how much she loathes him I suspect she was afraid of him turning violent. He is a star athlete after all, known to have punched more than a few players on the ice.

I know he's training at the stadium right now. That's how bad it has gotten, that I even know his schedule. I'm probably speeding getting there, but nothing else is important right now. I park the car in the huge, but almost empty parking. Neverending slabs of concrete to allow for the cars of thousands of cheering fans during game day. Well, I'm certainly not a fan. Still fuming as I exit the car and heading towards the arena I see him and a few others from his team running towards the same building from across the car park. They must be out for cardio or something. I stop and shout towards them "Hey! Jack!"

I can see them slow down a little, Jack saying something to them, and then breaking apart jogging in my direction while they continue at speed towards the stadium building. I remain still, just glaring at him as he closes in on me. He slows down quite a bit away and saunters towards me, still panting. He has an aura of smug superiority. He's good looking, despite his matted, sweaty hair and week-old beard. It's not just because he's in top shape, but he has that classic athlete chin cut, and mesmerizing eyes to go with it too. He's quite a bit shorter than me, and way denser and muscled, but I would bet my weekly martial arts practice can match him if needed. "Hey, cocksucker! You managed to find your way here," he yells back at me.

"I want you to know..." "Shut up"

I don't know why, but I can't look away from his intense eyes. It's like they can see into me, see every part of me. I'm frozen in place just watching him getting closer. "I said hey cocksucker. What are you waiting for? Go ahead and suck my cock." He says this as calmly as he can, never breaking eye contact. I don't think he blinks. I don't think I blink. I slowly go down on my knees,  grabbing the hem of his sweatpants, and pull down. I still keep eye contact, so I have to feel my way for the waistband of his underwear to pull it down too. I can feel the heat radiate from his steaming body. There's a smell of sweat, not the stale, musky kind, but from someone who showers every day and uses fresh clothes for each workout. He's professional and they got staff. I can hear his heavy breath as he is still recovering from the sprint. And I can feel a rather large cock in front of me that is erect, or at least a good way there. I grab it in my hands and guide the tip to my lips and begin to lick it. It doesn't really taste of much. I open my mouth and get more and more of his compression shirt wrapped abs and pecs in my view as I stare into his deep eyes, and take his big cock deeper and deeper into my mouth.

The tip reaches some point at the back of my mouth and I start to gag, making horrendous gurgling noises. I move back from him. "All the way. I want to be balls deep down your throat, cocksucker." I do as he commands, and push it in again, further. It's somehow much easier this time and my lips are tickled by his moist bush of pubes. I then start to work it, in and out, in and out. The noise I'm making is still horrendous. A wet, sloshy sound, and I hate it. "Yeah, you like that, cocksucker. Now, faster." I grab him by the hip and increase the pace. I get lost in the actions, like nothing matters but his cock, the noise, and his eyes.

I don't know for how long I was in a trance, but I feel him tensing up, pulling me tight to him, and shooting a big load of his cum down my throat. Suddenly the gaze that had held me like a vice breaks and he looks at my face rather than into my eyes. The spell is broken. I'm kneeling in a parking lot with Jack Wilson's cock down my throat, and my nose nuzzled into his pubes. His eyes suddenly widen, and his face turns into horror, like he is looking at a monster. Everything is going like in slow motion. I begin to push him away, to get his disgusting cock out of my mouth as he shoots his second load. Somehow in shock I manage to breathe in his cum. He pulls away from me as well, and his third load ends up just next to me on the concrete. "Fuck!" he says, visibly upset. "It's still in the bloodstream. Spit it out! Spit it out!"

I'm not sure I even have any in my mouth to spit out. It just went straight into my belly and into my lungs. Lungs that are desperately trying to cough up his spunky goo in phlegm-filled, deep whoops. "Fuck!" he shouts one last time, pulls up his sweatpants, and runs towards the Stadium building with one hand holding the pants up. I'm just folded over on my knees coughing and coughing while my mind is racing to make sense of what just happened. My chest is burning and I feel nauseated. There is the salty, bitter taste of cum in my mouth and a stench of athlete sweat as I gasp for air in between the coughs. I keep coughing, but less and less of substance is coming up. I spit out specks of Jack's spunk on the concrete in front of me, and realize what she had meant when she said she couldn't help herself. Did he fuck her? After what just happened I wouldn't put anything past Jack, and there is literally nothing I wouldn't forgive her for having done. She would have been helpless to stop.

I can feel my whole body burning as I get up from the concrete. I'm very aware how my clothes rubs against my body, like my senses have just gone into overdrive. Everything, every single muscle in my body feels sore. My head is spinning. Still coughing I stagger towards my car and get in behind the wheels. As I close the door the world goes silent. I can only hear my own exhausted panting. I'm confused about what is happening and feel sick as shit, but at least the world isn't spinning anymore. Somehow I must have been poisoned. What did he mean with "in the bloodstream?"

I start the car and carefully drive from the parking lot and out in the direction of home. Perhaps I shouldn't be driving at all. Crashing while driving is worse than crashing while sitting in a parking lot, but I really don't want to have to call anyone for help. Not after what I've just been through. I so sympathize with the movie cliché of a girl sobbing in the shower. I only want to cleanse myself in any way possible. To get rid of Jack from me. Even now I can feel the smell of athletic sweat, like it was clinging on to me.

There is a big pop accompanied by one of the chest buttons on my shirt shooting off in the car. The pop isn't so much heard as felt, as a reverberation in my body like someone just punched me in the chest, with dull spikes of pain in the joints. I swerve dangerously close to the side of the road. It feels like my shoulders pops into their sockets, like my chest just suddenly expands and the rest of my body catches up. There is no mirror I can look in, but I can clearly see something is off just by looking down at my body. What little movement I can make while driving the car feels different.

There is another big shift. Knees and hip joints this time, I think. I'm a little more prepared to handle that one without swerving, but this time I'm instead missing the brake pedal like the seat is set wrong. I scoot forward on the seat and reach the pedal. Now I'm getting real nervous what is happening. I'm almost home though, but I can feel my thigh muscles involuntarily flexing, my feet are hurting, and my stomach is gurgling like bad plumbing.

Her car is not home yet, thank God. I park mine as calmly as I can, screaming inside that I need to get inside and see what the fuck is going on. As I step out of the car I get a first inkling about the enormity of the changes. I almost trip stepping out of the car, and sit down again on the edge of the seat. The fabric on the trousers are straining, and I realize that my feet are probably hurting because they have swollen up inside the shoes. I try to kick off one of the sneakers, but it's stuck enough that I have to untie them. My movements feel off. It's not that it is hard to move. The opposite in fact, but different somehow. Me feet thanks me in relief as they are freed,

With the shoes off I awkwardly make my way into the house and step into the nearest bathroom. It's me in the mirror, of course, but me 5-10 years younger. I'm touching my face in disbelief. But this isn't just me regressed a decade in time. I was way taller than this then. Curious I unbutton the remaining buttons on my shirt and throw it on the floor. The chest and abs are not me 5-10 years ago. I've never looked this buff before. For one I've never had washboard abs, and the pecs and shoulders are wide and meaty. The arms more slender, though still muscular, and the core is built more for function than aesthetics. A bit too dense for the show off V shape. Dense, with a low center of gravity.

It's the body of a hockey player.

I rip off the straining trousers and the socks. Sure enough, massive leg muscles, big thighs, big ass, big feet. Jack the fucking cheater is a fraud in all areas. Whatever the fuck he is taking must have concentrated in his balls, shot into my lungs, and from there gone straight into my bloodstream to do whatever the fuck it's done to me. And there is nothing I can do to hurt him with it. Who would believe me? This is so far from any science I've heard of.

I take a closer look in the mirror again. Perhaps it isn't all bad after all.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Fifteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: NSFW!!😈😈 please disregard colorado window tinting laws for this chapter

***

Cassian has yet to regret getting Nesta that personalized record, despite the fact that she plays it everyday on repeat with a near obsession. Is this what true love is? Letting your girlfriend blast the same songs through your home again and again, and never tiring of it? Never tiring of her?

He doesn’t get to ponder on it, because while Nesta spends the week lazing pantsless around the house (“I’m getting ready for the party,” she states while he rubs her feet. “Spiritually and all that.”), Cassian has to figure out how to turn the cabin into an inviting space for forty wealthy guests.

All of Nesta’s shit gets shoved in the back of his bedroom closet. Personal items and framed pictures of the two of them are swiped off any surfaces. Lights go up around the house. Catering is secured.

By the time it’s all finished, the cabin has been stripped of all warmth and familiarity and turned into something chic and upscale, suitable for a small gala. Nesta stares around at the space when it’s done, her face revealing nothing.

Cassian points to the small sitting area on the second floor, directly above the open living room, that leads outside to the wraparound balcony. “We’ll be able to see fireworks from there,” he says. He turns to see Nesta’s face is still carefully blank, the way it is when she’s thinking too many things at once. “You sure you want to do this?” he asks. “It’s not too late to cancel the whole thing.”

She looks at him in horror. “It most certainly is. The party’s tomorrow.”

“Still not too late.” Cassian might not have that much power in the overall Night Court hierarchy, but for Nesta he could figure it out.

She smiles wanly but shakes her head. “We’re doing this, and we’re not letting it go to hell like last time.”

***

Nesta knows her sisters are aware that she’s on the guest list for the party (though she can’t imagine what Cassian’s explanation for that one was), but she still stiffens when she enters the cabin through the open door. Her eyes fall on various men and women that she’s never seen in her life, all glammed up and dripping self-importance, until recognizing Feyre and her boyfriend laughing with an older couple in a corner. The only thing that brings Nesta a little peace is that the snide woman, Amren, isn’t here tonight, having chosen to spend New Year’s with her boyfriend in California instead.

Nesta eases up when nobody takes notice of her, though a few nearby guests throw appreciative glances in her direction. She looks like a disco ball in her sequined wrap dress, and a freezing one at that. She shuts the door behind her, sealing the winter air out, but quickly pulls her hand away from the knob. It feels like the door isn’t hers to touch. She realizes that even though the cabin is her home, no one here except Cassian knows that.

Speaking of Cassian, she needs to find him. Nesta is not such an advanced creature that she knows how to survive in a room full of strangers on her own, and she no longer cares if anyone finds her clinging to Cassian weird.

She makes it three feet before she’s accosted by Morrigan, carrying her usual champagne glass like it’s an extension of her.

“Nesta!” she exclaims, loud and bright as ever. She smiles broadly, with too many teeth. “You’re here.”

Nesta blinks in response. She doesn’t understand how Morrigan benefits from this exaggerated excitement. Is it supposed to be insulting or polite?

“By the way,” Morrigan adds when Nesta doesn’t reply, “what exactly are you doing here?”

A heavy arm slides around Nesta’s shoulders, pulling her close. “I invited her,” says Cassian with a smile. “Because she’s my friend, and this place is practically hers.”

“Oh, I think that’s an exaggeration,” Nesta says sharply, trying to step away from Cassian.

He holds her closer. “No it’s not. We were roomies for over two months, remember?”

Morrigan winces, looking between the two of them. “Right,” she says slowly. “I keep forgetting that. Cassian is like this with everybody,” she says apologetically to Nesta. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

Nesta nods solemnly, wanting this conversation to be over. “I won’t.”

Her exit is made clear when the doorbell rings. “I’ll get it,” she says quickly, escaping from under Cassian’s arm.

Hurrying to the door, she swings it open.

Eris Vanserra stands looking irritated on the other side. He freezes when he sees Nesta, and then his face lifts into a smug grin. “Oh, this is too good.”

“So Cassian Madani was your sugar daddy all along?” Eris asks her later.

“Say sugar daddy one more time. I dare you.” Nesta stands near the stairs with her arms crossed, trying to pretend she isn’t associated with Eris. Which is more than a bit difficult when he keeps badgering her with questions, and Cassian is giving the two of them odd looks from across the room.

“I mean, what are the odds?” he laughs.

“My sister is dating his CEO brother.”

Eris throws her a look of surprise, but Nesta says, “How do you even know him?”

Eris sticks an hors d'oeuvre from a nearby platter in his mouth. “He manages security and logistics at every event Night Court is involved in. Can be a real pain in the ass to work with when I’m trying to get shit done for my dad’s company.”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she retorts.

They’re interrupted by Feyre and Rhys appearing before them, Feyre with her hostess smile and Rhysand with an inquisitive look on his face. Nesta can’t tell which one of them is more attached to the hip of the other.

“Eris,” Rhysand greets smoothly.

“I see you’re already acquainted with my sister,” Feyre says. Her tone is tense, either because she’s still pissed at Nesta or—even worse—she feels protective of her.

“We’re classmates,” Nesta says tightly. “Does it matter?”

Feyre tries not to look hurt. “No—I just didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do.”

“Ladies,” a new voice says warningly. Cassian’s left whatever droll conversation he was stuck in and made his way over to them.

“Is the entire party congregating here?” Eris looks around himself.

“No, we are not,” Cassian says, all his usual friendliness gone around Eris. “I just came to ask Feyre to talk to the representatives from Spellbreaker before they pull all their money out of our latest operation.”

Feyre’s eyes go wide and her tattooed hand goes to her chest. “That’s not really my job—”

“Oh, come on, darling.” Rhysand slides a hand around her waist. “I’ll go with you; the art of negotiating is easier than it looks.”

Nesta nearly pukes in her mouth, but she maintains a careful blank face until Feyre and Rhysand are successfully out of sight. Cassian turns to Eris with a stony look. “You’re still here?”

Nesta sighs internally; this man has never hidden his feelings in his life.

Eris shares an amused glance with Nesta as if he’s thinking the same thing. “Is there anywhere else I should be right now?” he replies.

“Maybe in hell.”

Nesta claps a hand on Cassian’s shoulder and fakes a smile at Eris. “Tell your brother hi for me,” she says while pulling Cassian away. “I miss talking to a sensible redhead.”

“That’s because you have awful taste,” Eris calls after her. Nesta drags Cassian deep into the hallway, where no one lingers.

She releases him without flourish. “Are you doing okay? Because it seems like you’re having a harder time with this than I am.”

“I’m fine,” Cassian defends. “I was just hit with a terrible memory back there.”

“Like what?”

“That you’re friends with Eris.”

Nesta rolls her eyes. Friends is a very liberal term, but she won’t correct Cassian while he’s acting like this. “Thank you for helping with Feyre and Mor,” she says instead. “I didn’t need it, but I still appreciate it.” It’s a hard thing to admit, but she wants him to hear it.

“I was just trying to get you alone,” he says, leaning against the bathroom door. “I’ve been trying to get you alone all night.”

Nesta looks him up and down, from his white dress shirt and tied back hair to his uncharacteristically polished shoes. “For what?” she says warily. “If this is about a sex thing, don’t bother. There’s nowhere in this house for us to go without raising suspicion.”

Cassian pushes off the door with a dark look. “I wasn’t going to suggest staying in the house.” He holds a bronzed hand out toward her. “Wanna get out of here?”

***

Cassian doesn’t remember how he ever managed to fit all six-four of himself into the cramped backseat of his truck when he was fucking girls in college, but for Nesta he figures it out somehow.

Her pretty little dress is shoved down to her midriff, baring her arms and flushed breasts, and her skirt is bunched up high enough that Cassian can watch as he moves his fingers inside her. The glow of lights from the cabin lands on her perfect face as she throws her head back in pleasure, and he can only watch her in awe.

He laughs lowly when she whimpers and eases a third finger into her wet heat, in no rush to return to the party anytime soon. Let them all wonder where he and Nesta wandered off to.

But Nesta has far less patience than him; she pulls him in for a frenzied kiss and uses the distraction to slide her hand into his boxer briefs, palming his cock. He groans into her mouth as she pulls out the length of him from his unzipped pants, and it’s at that very moment that two voices interrupt their panting.

“Thanks,” a muffled female voice says from outside the truck. Cassian looks up through the dark tinted windows to find—Jesus Christ—Mor accepting a cigarette from Rhys. The two of them stand some feet away from the truck, unaware that anyone is occupying it.

“Some way to end the year,” Rhys is saying, watching the clear night sky. Nesta’s gone completely still beneath Cassian, not needing to get up and look to know who stands in the driveway. “Would have been even better without Nesta terrorizing Feyre at every turn.”

Sickness turns Cassian’s stomach at hearing such ugly words about Nesta come from his brother, but that sickness is quickly replaced by rage as Mor huffs a laugh. “She’s not that bad,” Mor says, taking a pull from her cigarette. “Though I could do without the attitude at every damn gathering.”

Rhys clicks his tongue. “She’s always been like that, even when the sisters were kids. It kills Feyre.”

Cassian glances down at Nesta, terrified of what he’s going to find on her face. But Nesta doesn’t look hurt or enraged like he expects. Instead, she’s listening closely with her brows furrowed, studiously intrigued.

Noticing Cassian’s attention on her, she meets his eyes and her breath hitches. A blush takes over her cheeks, and she clenches involuntarily around the fingers still deep inside her. Cassian realizes that his fury is written all over his face. And she likes it.

His anger at his friends flickers—or rather, transforms. Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of Nesta. He sits up a bit straighter and kneels properly on the backseat, earning a curious look from her. Hunching so his head doesn’t hit the truck ceiling, he wraps his hands around her thighs and maneuvers her legs up, up until they’re hooked over his shoulders. She nearly chokes at the new position.

He adjusts them so his cock is pressed right up against her sex, and looks out the window again, where Rhys and Mor are still talking. It’s all idle gossip, he knows, but... “What do you think, baby?” He slides his length over her slick folds. “Should I go out there and defend your honor?”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta gasps, shaking her head.

“And it’s like when she’s not quiet as a brick, she’s being rude,” Mor rants outside, flicking her cigarette. “I know Cass is friendly with everybody, but I have no idea what he was thinking inviting her here.”

“Oh, she’s not so quiet when I have my head between her legs,” Cassian murmurs at Mor. He glances down at Nesta with a knowing smirk. “She’s not so rude when I give her the right incentive, either.” He pats her bottom lip with his thumb, the bright red lipstick smearing. “Isn’t that right, Nes?”

“Bastard.” Nesta squirms, trying to line up her entrance with the head of Cassian’s cock. She’s not even listening to the conversation outside anymore.

“I think he likes her,” Rhys says, his breath clouding in the freezing night air. If only he knew. “We don’t always use reason when it comes to people we like.”

“Maybe,” Mor ponders. “But I can’t imagine it going anywhere. They’re too different.”

“I disagree,” Cassian mutters. He finally gives in to Nesta’s efforts and pushes inside her, sliding to the hilt in one thrust. She claps a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“There are plenty of things we have in common, don’t you think, Nesta?” He sets a steady rhythm with his hips, pumping in and out of her. “Like how well we fit together.” Her head bumps the car door with every thrust.

“You—you’re gonna rock the truck,” Nesta tries to whisper. Cassian hides his smile in the crook of her knee at the rare use of informal contraction. She’s adorable.

“We wouldn’t want that to happen,” he teases, leaning forward to take a pert nipple into his mouth. A whimper slips past her lips; she’s nearly bent in half beneath him. With this new, deeper angle, Cassian moves slow enough that Nesta feels every solid inch of him.

His loose hair falls around his face as he drops his head to the center of Nesta’s chest. It takes every bit of restraint he knows not to suckle at the space between her breasts, not to leave reddened marks there that everyone will be able to see when they go back inside. But damn if this position isn’t driving him crazy.

Mor, Rhys, everything beyond the haven of the truck falls away. He doesn’t know if anybody is still outside, or if people have noticed his and Nesta’s absence from the party. He doesn’t care, not as he swears and thrusts particularly deep into her tight warmth.

Even her hand can’t contain the sound she makes at that.

Cassian moves one of his own hands to the crown of Nesta’s head, creating a barrier between her and the car door. With his other arm, he locks her thighs into place against his chest, and begins slamming relentlessly into her.

“CassianCassianCassian—”

He silences her with a searing kiss, and flicks her clit with a calloused thumb. Nesta scrabbles at his arms, at the seat upholstery, as her orgasm crashes into her. Her walls milk his cock almost painfully, and with a few more thrusts he’s coming, too.

As he rides out his climax, he intertwines their fingers together and presses them to the freezing window. Outside, there is no one to see the handprint they leave on the fogged up glass.

***

Nesta needs a moment to catch her breath while Cassian zips himself up. Leaning against the hard truck door, she achingly fits one arm back into the sleeve of her dress, then the other. “I think I have a bruise from where that seatbelt buckle stabbed me in the ribs,” she mutters.

“Where?” Cassian looks her over, but she waves him away and reaches over to dig in the back pocket of the driver’s seat, finding a packet of makeup wipes she left there some weeks ago. She plucks out a wipe for herself and tosses the rest of the packet at Cassian’s chest, which is covered in her lipstick marks.

He accepts the wipes with a “thanks” and begins rubbing at his reddened mouth and neck. Nesta watches him instead of wiping at her own lipstick, taking in whatever the light of the moon highlights: his unbuttoned shirt, his loose hair that fell forward into her face while they fucked, his skin peppered with her marks.

He notices her stare. “What?” he says, smiling.

“Have you ever done that before?” She nods outside to where Mor and Rhys were standing ten minutes ago. It wasn’t exhibitionism since nobody had seen them, but it still felt... dirty.

Cassian snorts, starting to button up his shirt. “I’ve done far worse.” He meets her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever gotten off to the sound of other people shit-talking my girl, though, so that’s new.”

Nesta blushes, and pretends to look around for her shoes to hide the reaction. She’s always known her bedroom experience was pathetically limited, but she’s just now starting to realize how much of that was Tomas’s fault. Not only was he boring when it came to sex, but he left her too hurt and untrusting to try anything with other men until Cassian came along.

Cassian nudges Nesta’s knee, and she finds him already holding her heels. Instead of letting her take them, he takes her feet and starts putting them on for her. “Clean yourself up,” he directs as he buckles a silver strap into place. “It’s almost an hour to midnight.”

Right. Cassian tosses her her panties, and she uses them to clean up the mess between her thighs before discarding them on the floor. “Don’t—” he tries to protest, but sighs and gives up. “You’re filthy.”

“You love it.” She picks up her forgotten makeup wipe to scrub at her smeared makeup. “Do I look okay?” She turns her face to him after a moment so he can check.

“You missed a spot.” He takes the wipe and rubs at her chin. “There,” he says softly, gazing more intimately at her than usual. “Beautiful.”

She most certainly doesn’t look beautiful right now, with the mess that’s been made of her face and hair. But he seems to believe it all the same.

I love you. The thought comes to her suddenly, unexpectedly.

“What?” Shock turns Cassian’s face.

Nesta blinks, realizing the words weren’t only in her head. “What?”

“You said—”

“I said ‘Let’s get out of here’,” she says quickly, swinging her legs down from the seat and reaching for the door handle. “Let’s go!”

She shoves out of the truck without waiting for Cassian and foots it for the cabin, breathing harshly like she just fell from a great height.

***

Nesta goes straight to the master bedroom to redo her makeup and pick up a new pair of underwear. She knows it’s cowardly to leave Cassian downstairs, stuck chatting with wealthy donors and unable to follow her, but she won’t let him confront her about the confession that spilled back in the truck. Not yet.

When she finally finds the courage to stick her head out of the room, she nearly jumps at the sight of Azriel leaning against the hallway wall.

“What are you doing in my brother’s room?” he says, as if he was waiting for her to come out.

The best lies are half-truths. “Avoiding people,” she answers vaguely, exiting the room fully and shutting the door behind her. She clears her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“Snooping.” He pushes off the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. “It’s interesting; I don’t think I’ve seen you all night, and now I find you in Cassian’s bedroom of all places.”

What is this, an interrogation? “I’m good at blending in,” Nesta says. “Few people ever notice me.”

“And I’m good at observing,” Azriel retorts, dark amusement gleaming in his gaze. “Where did you run off to earlier?”

Nesta looks him up and down, too bored to bother answering him. “I’m going to go now.” She shoves past his shoulder and walks away, leaving him too stunned to follow.

She comes across Elain near the top of the stairs.

“Nesta,” her sister says in surprise. Her brown eyes flicker past Nesta’s shoulder, to where Azriel still lurks in the hallway. She looks back to Nesta. “I wasn’t sure if you actually came tonight. I haven’t seen you at all.”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging around.” Nesta waves a dismissive hand. It’s like Christmas Eve never happened between them. That’s the wonderful and terrible thing about sisters, Nesta supposes: there are no apologies, only moving on and moving past.

“Well, you look like you’re doing good.” Elain seems distracted. “I wish we could talk more, but I don’t have time for a fight tonight.”

“That won’t be a problem,” Azriel says, who’s snuck up behind Nesta. “If it’s me you’re worried about, I was just about to leave.” He’s addressing Elain, but won’t quite look her in the eyes. He turns to Nesta instead. “Happy New Year.” And then he’s gone down the stairs.

Elain stands there looking torn, wondering if she should go after him or not, but then Nesta says, “Why do you assume I would start a fight?”

“I—”

“Because if I remember correctly, our last fight was started by you.” She crosses her arms.

Elain sighs. “I just said I don’t have time for this.”

“I’m asking a question in response to a comment you made unprovoked.” When Nesta is calm, she can talk circles around Elain all night.

Elain throws her hands up. “It was just a stupid comment! I said it because we argue all the time. I can’t remember the last time we talked without arguing.”

“September twenty-eighth,” Nesta snaps.

Elain’s mouth drops open. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. You got the loan for your flower shop approved and you called me to celebrate. I was happy for you.”

Elain shakes her head, but Nesta can’t read what she’s feeling. “You remember the most inconsequential things.”

It doesn’t sound like an insult, so Nesta shrugs. “Don’t bother me and I won’t bother you.” She turns to go on her way. Of course, Elain doesn’t stop her. She’s never been one to get in the last word.

***

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Cassian still hasn’t been able to get a hold of Nesta since she ran from the truck. He doesn’t know why she’s running from such a simple truth, but he doesn’t plan on giving her much more time to hide. He has so much he needs to say to her—

A hand comes down on his shoulder as he’s about to slip away upstairs to find Nesta. Cassian turns to find Rhysand there, wearing the serious face he only uses for work-related business. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Cassian is not in the mood. He already had to repress the urge to find Mor and Rhys and tear into them when he returned to the party, and now he’s not sure if he can manage a conversation with his brother without snapping. Without spilling everything he’s worked so hard to hide.

“Not now,” Cassian says, trying to act chill. “It’s almost midnight and I’m trying to catch the...” He trails off as his eyes catch on Nesta, who’s appeared at the second floor sitting area with Eris.

“...fireworks,” he finishes. He turns to Rhys. “Let’s go upstairs to watch.” Half the guests, including the rest of his friends, are probably already outside for the countdown.

He keeps his eyes on Nesta as he climbs the stairs. Watching as she takes notice of him and quickly turns away, smiling at Eris instead. She lets the dickhead place his hand on her back to guide her out to the balcony.

Rage and disbelief take Cassian by the throat. Hiding in another man’s arms to avoid him? Coward fucking move, Archeron.

She steps outside with Eris, and before Cassian can follow he’s stopped once again by Rhys grabbing his arm. “Cass, will you slow down and listen to me for a minute?”

“What is it?” he snaps impatiently. They’re stopped at the top of the stairs, and other guests flow past them as they head for the balcony doors.

Rhys inhales, getting visibly irritated. He says, “I got a call from one of our overseas partners the other day—”

“Rhys!” Feyre calls from the balcony doors, waving her arms at him. “Get your ass over here, it’s almost midnight!”

Rhys turns to his girlfriend, his face lightening. “Be right there, darling.” He gives Cassian a sharp look. “We’ll finish this later.”

Cassian only nods and whirls on his heel, nearly shoving people out of his way to get outside. To get to Nesta.

Up on the wraparound balcony and down below on the frosty ground, guests are lined up with their partners, wrapped up in coats and eagerly awaiting midnight. He barely feels the cold, but he knows Nesta must. He should have grabbed a coat for her.

“Thirty seconds to midnight!” someone announces, answered by loud cheers.

Spotting shining red hair, Cassian grabs Eris by the suit jacket and whirls him around. “Where’s Nesta?” he demands over the loud chatter.

Eris makes a face like he’s been manhandled by a filthy dog. “Clearly not with me,” he retorts, shoving Cassian’s hand off him. “She got all pissy and went that way.” He gestures at a faraway section of balcony where most of the guests are crowding, hoping for an optimal view of the fireworks.

“TEN!” Someone starts the countdown. Others quickly catch on.

“NINE!” Cassian heads in the direction Eris pointed, searching through the sea of glitter and gold for a glimpse of Nesta.

“EIGHT!” He hears his friends calling after him distantly, asking where he’s going.

“SEVEN!” He catches sight of Nesta.

“SIX!” He doesn’t know what he’s thinking as he navigates through the crowd, reaching for her. But he knows she’s shining brighter than the moon right now. He knows he’s been fooling himself since the moment she stepped into his cabin this past September.

“FIVE!”

He closes in on her, her back turned to him.

“FOUR!”

Let’s not go out of our way to hide this anymore, they agreed after Christmas Eve. Let’s just be ourselves around our friends and family, and they’ll find out when they find out.

“THREE!”

In Cassian’s defense, he’s simply being himself in this moment.

“TWO!”

He takes Nesta by the elbow and spins her around. She meets his eyes in surprise. “Cassian. I was looking for you—”

“ONE!”

He pulls her into his arms and kisses her.

***

a/n: punk 57 was a shit book but i gotta give it credit for the truck scene

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

This is the Beat of My Heart

happy very early birthday to @jaskierswolf​! have some soulmates.

new soulmate mechanic: you can hear your beloved’s heartbeat whenever you feel frightened

art by the always-talented @mawbwehownets​

tw: mentions of the Trials, canon typical violence but it’s just the cave scene from Posada/Four Marks, minor emotional Geralt whump (self loathing witcher feelings), hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending

---

Geralt’s fingers curl painfully into the tops of his legs. He’s trying to hold himself down against the rough-hewn seat of the tavern bench with all his mighty strength; there’s an irritating sound filling the small room that has activated his fight or flight response, and he can’t do either without drawing suspicion from the already antsy villagers. The haunting rhythm echoes through him, a soft but insistent thud thud thud that floods his senses and soothes his aching head. The sound is more familiar to the witcher than his own gruff voice. More familiar than his brothers’ voices, or Vesemir’s. This staccato beat has marked out every terrifying moment in the witcher’s long life.

The sound that pounds against Geralt’s ears is his soulmate’s heartbeat.

The poor, ignorant fool he’s meant to match in every way is wandering around this shit-hole tavern in Posada, totally unaware of the sad, unsavory fate that Destiny has bestowed upon them. Geralt never thought this day would come, really. Being bound to a witcher was bad enough but being in the same room with one, feeling the subtle pull of forces far beyond your control meddling with your life… drawing you towards danger and death...

It will be better for both of us if I leave as soon as possible, Geralt thinks to himself. He takes a quick inventory of his purse and swords and finds them all accounted for. At least I can spare them the tragic end they’d no doubt meet at a witcher’s side. They would likely hate me if I ever sought them out.

They must be terrified of him, whichever one of these people Destiny has saddled with the other half of Geralt’s soul. They’ve heard his heartbeat, too, in their moments of fear. As well as Geralt knows his soulmate’s giddy, fluttering pulse pattern, they have lived with his slow mutant heartbeat in return. Were they even more frightened when they heard how slow it was? Did the connection serve its purpose, calming them down and reassuring them of his presence, or had it made things worse, elevated their level of terror? How cruel it was for Destiny to chain this person to a living firebrand, to create them to be the perfect other half for someone who’s no more than a monster.

That heartbeat, vibrant and steadfast, is what had kept Geralt alive and fighting for survival during the worst of his Trials. When the poisons and tinctures and potions had crawled through his veins, turning them from black to red to black again and twisting his body into something other, that glorious beating had been there for him. The sound of his soulmate’s fragile mortal heart had measured out the seconds, giving him something to cling onto. That heartbeat had given Geralt something to love. To hope for in his worst moments. When they had dragged him back into those dark, musty rooms, seventeen and screaming with what little was left of his voice, all Geralt could do was pray for his future soulmate’s heartbeat to return to him. To comfort him.

In the relentless pain and terror of those added experiments, Geralt had kept that sound buried deep within his very being, like a candle in the center of a pitch-black room. Even when they said the Trials would take his emotions from him, that the additional testing would obliterate his humanity entirely, the sound of a stranger’s heartbeat never failed to stir the strongest feelings of love and safety he’d ever known.

Can ever know, perhaps.

Regardless of what might have been in another lifetime, Geralt keeps his fingers clenched and his muscles taut. He focuses all his energy on keeping himself sitting. He would have been content to stay there in the corner, his eyes trained on the grain of the worn wooden table before him, ignoring Destiny’s desires entirely… except…

Except for the damned bard. The novice bard swans his way over to the witcher’s corner table, lashes fluttering and face flushed. Geralt catches a faint whiff of arousal and writes it off as a boyish reaction to the rush of performing. The young brunette opens his mouth and the sweetest voice Geralt has ever heard playfully says: “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone,” the witcher grunts. He can practically feel his fingernails biting through the leather of his gloves. The heartbeat is louder now, closer, and it’s driving Geralt mad.

“Good,” the bard nods, still leaning against a support beam. “Yeah, good. Nobody else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance except-” he takes a slow step forward “-for you.”

The bard is probably barely old enough to order his own vodka, and the bright, sparkling blue of his eyes makes the deeper blue of his doublet look incredibly washed out. Geralt tries to keep his face impassive, rolling his eyes and remaining silent. He’s still thinking about his soulmate… trying to block out the rapid thrumming of their all-too-human heart.

“C’mon,” the brunette urges. “You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me; three words or less!”

Geralt hears his soulmate’s heartbeat growing louder, more irregular and more excited, regardless of his efforts to ignore the hurried drumming. The scent of happiness grows thick and hazy in the air as the bard continues to grin and Geralt realizes, with a tiny jolt of horror, that the origin of the life-altering sound is sitting directly across from him. Geralt matches the rabbit-quick jumps at the junctures of the bard’s wrists to the soft rhythm thumping at the back of his head and finds them to be a perfect match.

It’s you, the witcher thinks, eyes widening slightly against his will. He takes a moment to tamp down his more obvious emotions, trying desperately keeping his expression neutral and under control. The bard is the one whose heartbeat kept me breathing in my very worst moments. Kept me fighting. Kept me…

Geralt suddenly remembers that he needs to answer a question: “They don’t exist.”

“What don’t exist?” the bard asks, eyebrows furrowing. The expression is halfway between a pout and an offended grimace, which infuriatingly verges on being adorable. Geralt’s heart lurches traitorously in his chest. He has never known such horrible yearning in all his many decades on the Path.

“The creatures in your song.”

“Why would you know?” the bard scoffs. Geralt prepares to stand, finally releasing his death-grip on his own legs. His fingers and palms are cramped and tight from holding himself still for so long; the bard is really testing his patience. The witcher is less than two seconds away from revealing the big secret and ruining both of their lives when the young man continues, eyes shining, “Ooooh, fun! White hair, big old loner, two very very scary looking swords…”

Geralt stands from the table and collects his purse.

The bard glances up at him, blue eyes wondrously wide and cheeks flushed pink.

“I know who you are,” he practically breathes. He stands, following Geralt halfway out the door. “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia!”

Geralt’s fists clench again. The retraction of his muscles keeps him from grabbing the foolish human by the collar and dragging him from the room for a proper chat about manners and soulmates. Thankfully. As the disoriented witcher hurries from the tavern’s main room, he hears the bard shouting after him: “Called it!”

---

Geralt snaps back into consciousness with a grunt. As frustration and fear weave themselves into a web of anxiety at the center of his chest, that soft thud thud thudding fills his ears. It soothes him and helps him focus; he is in a cave, it is midday or a little past, and the bard, Jaskier apparently, has been bound against him, back-to-back. He tugs at the ropes that bind their wrists again but it does no good. Behind him, the bard says quietly: “This is the part where we escape.”

Geralt fears for his soulmate’s wellbeing more than his own. He’s technically responsible for this stupid, fragile person who refused to stay behind despite his warnings. He lowers his voice, “This is the part where they kill us.”

“Unfortunate,” the bard sighs. The witcher listens, confused and a bit shocked, as Jaskier slowly starts to even out his breathing by matching his inhales and exhales to Geralt’s slow, methodical heartbeat.

“How can you hear it?” he asks without thinking.

“Hear what?” Jaskier replies, whispering.

“Your breathing,” Geralt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re matching it to my… to my heartbeat. You don’t have a witcher’s enhanced hearing so how are you matching the rhythm so perfectly?”

“I was matching it to-”

Their conversation ends abruptly as an angry elven woman storms into the cave. She kicks at them furiously, spitting in the Elder tongue, “Beast!”

“Quick, Geralt!” the bard urges, “Do your witchering!”

“Shut up!”

“No!”

The woman doles out more swift kicks to the chest. One for Geralt and one for Jaskier. More muttering in Elder, insults that even the bard manages to understand and toss around. Geralt grimaces as he’s beaten by Toruviel and hears the thudding even louder than before. The witcher smiles when he notices that he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat against his back, pulsing through the thin material of the bard’s light woolen doublet. It’s so much more intense, close up like this.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard.”

He’s so much more than that, Geralt’s own thoughts remind him. He’s everything to you.

A wave of urgent protectiveness swells within him and Geralt diverts the attention of the Elf King away from the foolish human, whose mouth has run away with him. Eventually Filavandrel tires of their chatter and pulls his short blade. The Silvan rushes forward, arms outstretched to stop his sovereign, “Wait!”

“Torque! Stand aside!”

“The witcher could have killed me,” Torque rushes to explain. “But he didn’t. He’s different, like us!”

Geralt watches with mild trepidation as the battle-hardened King pushes his subject aside, fury blazing in his clear blue eyes. He understands that this may be his final day alive. He wishes that Jaskier would have listened before and stayed at the tavern below. He wishes, with what may be his final moments alive, that Jaskier were safe and not bound to him this way. Literally and figuratively.

“If you must kill me, I am ready,” Geralt intones. “But the Sylvan is right… don’t call me human.”

The witcher tilts his head back, eyes open but unseeing, his entire being focused on the feeling of Jaskier’s racing heartbeat thudding against the back of his leather armor. The killing blow never comes. Instead, Filavandrel cuts the ropes that bind their wrists; Geralt ignores his initial instinct to check Jaskier for injuries and instead ushers the bard onto his feet and towards the mouth of the cave. “Wait!”

The witcher freezes in his tracks and glances back over his shoulder. Filavandrel holds out a gorgeously crafted lute with a beautiful gold design painted across the front. “My apologies for the loss of your instrument.”

“Your Majesty,” Jaskier gasps. “I couldn’t. You’ve already lost so much.”

“Then promise me to do right by him,” the elf nods at Geralt. “And consider it payment.”

“I swear it,” Jaskier nods, tone serious and face grim. Filavandrel lets his eyes flicker between the two unlikely companions and Geralt prays that the Elf won’t say anything out loud, if he indeed understands the bond between them.

“Be on your way, then, before I change my mind.”

Filavandrel winks conspiratorially and disappears back into the shadow of the caves. Jaskier pulls the lute strap over his shoulder and beckons for Geralt to follow him. “Your horse is probably worried.”

---

It takes nearly six months for Geralt to break down and tell Jaskier the truth about their seemingly uncanny partnership. If it weren’t for the rapid approach of harsher winter weather, he probably never would have said anything at all.

But on one particularly frosty evening, two weeks after Samhain, the witcher sits Jaskier down beside their fire and tries to remember how to speak from his heart. The bard is patient, warming his hands over the flames and waiting for Geralt to gather his words. Jaskier has never rushed him, and for that Geralt is eternally grateful. Taking a hint from his companion’s hunched shoulders, Jaskier speaks first. “What’s on your mind, my dearest White Wolf?”

“I… I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to be angry.”

“Did you spill ink on my new doublet?” Jaskier teases. “Because if you have, I promise to be very cross with you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt half-smiles. He’s terrified, and he can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat surrounding him from all sides. “No, I’m afraid it’s more complicated than replacing a doublet.”

“Oh, is this about us being soulmates?”

Geralt’s eyes snap up to meet Jaskier’s and his mouth drops open. “Wha-? When did you- When di-”

“You said it in your sleep maybe two weeks after we first met,” Jaskier explains quietly, like he’s the one who’s been holding back a secret all this time. He blushes furiously as he tries to apologize and extrapolate all at once, “I thought you were just muttering to yourself, really, or I would have woken you up! I swear! You were just…”

Now it’s Geralt’s turn to wait as Jaskier fumbles to speak.

“You hadn’t been resting well and I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so happy and content that night, with your hair all loose and the moon so bright…” he shakes his head and giggles nervously, “Anyway, not important. You rolled over and reached for me. You chuckled a little between snores and said A bard for a soulmate, how lovely. It sounded happy, when you said it like that.”

“Was that… the only time?”

“No,” Jaskier smiles. He pulls his knees against his chest and rests his chin atop them, “You reach for me all the time in your dreams. Sometimes you say my name or call me soulmate or beloved. It’s rather sweet and I-” tears brim in his eyes and Geralt’s heart skips a beat “-I know that witchers don’t feel things the same way humans do. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and then-”

“I love you,” Geralt says. He takes Jaskier by the hands before he can stop himself and pulls the pale knuckles against his lips for a soft kiss. “You… You have saved my life so many times.”

“Geralt!”

“I mean it,” the witcher nods. “I know that the Path is treacherous, and I wouldn’t ask you to join me on it and risk your life, but I do love you and care about you. Ever since I was young I have marked my steps by the beat of your heart. I would be happy continuing to do so, whether or not you accept me in return.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sob-laughs, flinging himself into the witcher’s embrace. Geralt falls backward, shocked, his arms full of emotional bard. His face is peppered with kisses between hurried words: “I love you, too! I thought you didn’t want me that way. I thought it was just… a witcher mutation thing.”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter, Julek. You can learn more about my kind; you can meet my brothers and the old swordmaster for the Wolf School, my adopted father of sorts. We’ll protect you and I-” Geralt clears his throat. “I will hold you every night in my arms, if you so desire.”

“I would like it very much if you were to hold me,” Jaskier grins. “And of course I'll come with you to your witchery keep for the cold months, dear heart. I’ll never part from your side again.”

Geralt presses a firm kiss to Jaskier's forehead, their heartbeats echoing faintly in the witcher's trained ears. Something in his chest settles into place, contented at last. He presses another, even gentler kiss to the bard's chapped lips and feels his heart swell when Jaskier smiles into it. He breathes out his promise as they pull apart, "Never."