#I have at least four stories going on in my brain right now

[nereidprinc3ss]

andromeda | (dybmn? bonus)

a bonus vignette from spencer's POV. we find out how he really feels about reader. takes place the day before the argument at the bar.

note: this is not part six! takes place between parts four and five.

series masterlist

18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, semi-graphic descriptions of sexual fantasies, some angst, you're not actually present, mention of alcohol, very vague discussions of murdery stuff bc he's supposed to be working, sassy spencer makes an appearance a/n: for all my angels who said they wanted a snippet of spencer's POV! i'm sorry if i'm overdoing it with this story or clogging the spencer tags, i'm just having a lot of fun! i hope you enjoy or that this may be clears some things up for you, pls lmk your thoughts:) ily!!!

Spencer is incessantly drumming the particle board table underneath his fingers.

The polymer veneer is one of his least favorite textures—he hates the grain of it and if he were to accidentally scratch the table with his nails he knows it would make the hair on the back of his neck stand up. 

But of all the things he’s worried about, that ranks very low on the list. 

He’s got a lot of mental tabs open all the time—and the tabs, he can deal with. It’s when he starts trying to operate with multiple windows that he begins to struggle. His brain, while it is a very fine tuned sort of computer, only has one monitor. Unfortunately, no human (except for the ones who’ve had their brain hemispheres surgically split) is immune to the inevitable pitfalls of multitasking. By dividing his mental energy between you and his job, he’s really fucking up his job. But he also thinks he really fucked up with you on that phone call the other night and for being as logical as he is he can’t seem to make that feel unimportant—even though he’s disgusted with himself for it because there are literally people dying. 

Someone knocks on the open conference room door—he looks up, skimming his lips over his fist. 

“What’s up?” he says too quickly upon seeing Emily’s mildly concerned face peering in on him. 

Her mouth bridges into a sort of nonchalant frown and her brows kick up. 

“Just… checking in. Haven’t heard from you all morning.”

“Yeah, the, uh—the geo-profile. I’m still… I’m still working it out.”

It’s not like he’s ever been phenomenal with his syntax in a social sense, but Spencer is certainly aware he’s doing even worse than usual right now. 

“Okay. Uh… is there anything in particular stumping you, or…?”

“Nope. Just not enough information. But I’m—I’m going to keep trying.”

“Alright. Got your phone handy?”

It’s an odd question—of course he has his phone handy. He’s been doing this job longer than Emily has. How else would he communicate with the rest of the team? He bristles. 

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

Emily shakes her head. She’s always been particularly good at reading his moods.

“You’re not under attack, Reid. I was just asking.”

Just as he’s about to say, why would you assume I’m not prepared for my job, he manages to swerve away and stifle the words with his fist. Instead he looks back down at his copy of the map and nods. In reality, he truly isn’t prepared for his job today. The reason he has his phone so close, fully charged and at top volume is because he’s worried he’ll miss a call from you. 

Emily says something else, and he hums in response, and then she’s gone. 

He shouldn’t be reading into your reticence this much. It’s not like you just sit by the phone all day, eagerly awaiting a call or text from him (like he does you). You have a life. You’re busy. And even if you are intentionally dodging his texts, he can’t entirely fault you for it. Spencer knows he’s clingy. He knows he’s overbearing. It’s part of why he panicked the other night and told you the whole humiliating story about Elle. Because he can’t ever just be cool and he felt the need to explain himself. 

But the problem was, and is, that he doesn’t know how much longer he can go without saying those three words that fucked him over all those years ago.

So he’d danced around them. Applied them to someone else to try and avoid outright professing his all-consuming love for you over the phone. However you feel, Spencer has to assume he feels more. Spencer always has to assume he feels more because he usually does and it’s gotten him into trouble before. And now he’s pretty sure he was exactly right, as often is the case, because you didn’t tell him he was mistaken and you’d clammed up and you haven’t talked to him since and he’s not supposed to be reading into it this much. 

Three victims killed and dumped within a 6 mile radius of the first victim plus one victim killed and dumped 23.8 miles away. That doesn’t make any fucking sense. Fuck this guy. 

Spencer decides the problem is that he needs more caffeine. 

Or possibly, if he were a different kind of man—copious amounts of alcohol. 

So he stows his phone in a pocket and asks the first person he sees where the coffee machine is. 

“Looks like you found it earlier,” the woman says, glancing pointedly down at his mostly empty mug. A playful smirk tugs at pinkish-brownish lips. She’s pretty, he realizes distantly. But he registers it the same way he’d take note of the model of a car, or the species of a bird, or the kind of shoes someone is wearing. It doesn’t actually interest him. It’s just part of processing his environment. “I can show you to it?”

He doesn’t have the heart or energy to explain that someone else brought him his cup earlier and he’s not flirting with her. 

“If you could just point me in the right direction…?”

She laughs, short and dry, before she’s pointing down a hall. 

“Kitchenette down there and to the left.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, already walking away without sparing her a second glance. 

She’s the kind of woman he would have paid a lot more attention to before you came along. Not that he’d ever sleep with someone on the job (not since he was 25, anyway), but if he’d met her under any other circumstances he probably would have cared more about the way her pupils dilated and her eyes had widened slightly and she’d adjusted her posture and all the other small things people do when they’re attracted to someone else. 30 year old Spencer might have slept with her. 27 year old Spencer definitely would have slept with her. Current Spencer obsessively pines for a woman who is already his girlfriend and whom he has yet to sleep with at all far too much to think about other women like that. 

But god, does he think about you like that. 

His feet carry him down the dim, carpeted hallway but really it took barely a nudge and he’s thinking about you like that. At work. As he’s pouring himself coffee. 

Spencer is confident in the fact that if anyone were to look at him right now, they’d never guess he’s running clips of you in his mind like a dirty supercut. Because he’s just pouring coffee. That’s one good thing about having all those tabs open all the time. He can toggle between them quickly. He has enough going on in the background that people look at him and all they can tell is that he’s thinking hard about lots of things. Some of them just happen to be the way you look when you’re naked on his bed, skin shining and glazed eyes sleepy, parted lips higher in color than usual and catching your breath. Some of them happen to be your hair brushing his stomach before he gathers it back for you. Some of them happen to be the way your thighs feel on either side of his face, or how you stretch around his fingers, or how you might feel when you stretch around his—

He hisses as hot coffee overflows from the mug and burns his hand. 

Maybe he’s not as calm and collected as he thought. 

But on top of all the other things he’s dealing with, having been so close to actually sleeping with you the other night is really fucking with his head. Even if he tells himself he wouldn't have done it, he knows himself better than that. He's too familiar with the effect you have on his judgement.

“Found it okay?” 

Spencer looks down, surprised to see the woman from earlier sitting at her desk and watching him as he quickly passes by on his way back to the conference room. Her legs are crossed. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and a flouncy sort of blouse which seems impractical for working in an FBI field office. Maybe she notices his eye catching on her figure and misguidedly swivels her chair to give him a better look. But all he’s noticing is that it doesn’t look like yours. Now he’s picturing the curve of your hip dripping in silk after that first night at Rossi’s. How your waist and your stomach feel when he slides his hands over you. This woman—she might as well not even be here for all he’s actually seeing her. 

“Yeah. Thanks again.”

Then he’s gone. Very briefly he acknowledges that he should feel sorry for so obviously brushing her off, but he doesn’t care even close to enough. He sets the coffee down on the table and rounds to the board where one of several maps is taped. On autopilot he draws lines between dump sites because one of the background tabs had deduced, while he was busy watching you like porn, that the distance between dump sites form the beginnings of the constellation Orion with some mathematical precision that’s too exacting to be coincidental. Orion’s Belt plus the most recent victim. Betelgeuse. 

There are ten formally named stars that make up Orion. He marks all of them, but circles the transposed coordinates of Bellatrix, Saiph, Rigel and Meissa as the next most likely dump sites. Most probably it will be Orion’s head. They’re all in wooded areas. He calls Garcia. Garcia will call Emily, wherever she is. If the unsub sticks to pattern, which they always do, they have until midnight. It’s trite, really. Predictable, like people always are. Far too quickly he drinks half the cup of scalding coffee and retraces his steps through the office to find the bathroom. 

It’s empty. The fluorescent lights hum. Spencer washes his hands with cold water and presses still wet fingers to his eyes. You’re waiting for him behind the black of his lids.

At first you would whine, and he would kiss you and you’d moan into his mouth and say his name when he opened you up as far as you would go. The air would be thick and warm with sex and vanilla perfume. Afterwards he’d take care of you and buy new sheets for his bed in your favorite color even if they didn’t match the walls and there would be nothing you’d want for that he couldn’t give to you ever again. 

But. 

That’s all contingent. 

No matter how often he fantasizes about it, no matter in how much detail, and regardless of how often those details change wildly, one thing always stays the same. 

The shape of your lips, swollen from kissing, bending around five or six vowels and only two consonants (it seems odd that there are only two consonants in I love you), sometimes before you start, sometimes in the middle or right at the peak—but always there, always moving in slow motion—and always silent.

In real life, they’d be aloud. It’s why his fantasies aren’t good enough. It’s why he can’t stop fantasizing about it. That’s the only part that really matters to him. The rest varies. 

Not because having sex with you doesn’t matter—it matters so much he almost shatters his molars whenever he starts picturing it around other people. But because Spencer can’t have sex with you until you love him. 

And he worries that you can’t love him until you have sex with him. 

The last time he thought that about a person, it didn’t turn out well.

Maybe there is some magic number. Some amount of times you need to have sex with someone before they’ll love you back. 

If there is, he knows for a fact it’s more than 32.

And he also knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot have loveless sex with you thirty three times while he waits to find out. 

Not again. 

But he's going to hold out as long as he possibly can until you say it because he so badly wants you to love him back. He'll let the weight of every ignored text, every reminder that you don't feel that way about him, hang from his shoulders until he collapses. And then he'll probably try to get back up.

Recycled paper towels scratch against his skin. He dries his face and hands and throws them crumpled into the trash can. 

Outside the restroom, he pulls out his phone. For safety reasons and paranoia disguised as professionalism, you’re not his lock screen. It’s a photo of the Andromeda Galaxy. Whatever distance lies between you and Spencer, it could always be greater. No matter where you are in the world, you will always be the same 2.537 million light years away from Andromeda that he is. 

It makes Orion feel much closer. You, too. 

He sends you a text—the third message in a row. 

The distance between blue bubbles feels like light years. 

I’ll be home tomorrow. I miss you. 

[flamingpudding]

Sorry but I have returned with a part 3 of Klarion is Dan

So Danny is still having you know conversations with the entire RedRobin Young Justice team

When Tim sneaks away to go talk to the Justice League outside he's holding a few kryptonite cookies in his pockets then starts explaining to the Main Justice League on how yeah Klarion bought our trust with gifts so we can pretend to be his friend so he could make his mom happy Klarion's Mom he's is the nice creepy person I have ever meet so can y'all just got to play along

Clues the main Justice League playing along with Klarion being their sidekicks friend after a while Danny finds a way to pull up his scrapbook too also Danny and Clark have started speaking country to each other it's hilarious amazing

Batman in the end like a party pooper reveal that is Klarion is one of the enemy of the Young Justice it makes Young Justice along with Klarion sad for two different reasons for the Young Justice because Klarion's mom is really cool and Klarion cuz he feels like he is disappointing his mom

Danny after a while had a feeling that Klarion made friends like himself back when he was a teenager

A bit late but I finally had the time to write this down, without work stress or a migraine / headache torturing my brain! Hope i didn't make you wait to long! Either way I love this, sooo lets go! Part 3! Here we come!

Also thanks so much for the ask! This was inspiring since I have been struggling with writing the past weeks.

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

Danny was really enjoying his time an conversations with the children. He liked them, even if one of them was a speedster. And he could see that they were good for Dan, now Klarion. Danny had always been worried about his time clone / son. Klarion had no longer been as connected to Sam and Tucker as Danny was. Sure Jazz, Ellie and him, as well as Vlad had been there for him. But Danny knew himself and through that he also knew Dan in a way only Vlad could understand. They had been worried. But when Dan got deaged and choose to go by Klarion Danny's worries had become lighter. Especially when Klarion started to tell stories from the Dimension he had chosen to live in when he wasn't at home. One that was unlike their own home dimension but still similar enough so he wouldn't have troubles adjusting.

Danny smiled like any proud mother would as he watched the four heroes interact with his son. He could see it, Klarion had recreated friendships for himself outside of who he used to be in a different timeline. That alone lifted so many of Danny's worries for the boy. A chuckle escaped him as he once again watched Klarion snatch a green glowing cookie from Red Robin, glaring daggers before he jumped across the table in an attempt to tackle Impulse who was now also reaching for the green cookies. The speedster as expected easily dodged him.

He knew something was going on. Klarion has created a barrier right as Impulse had returned earlier from his 'bathroom break' and he could feel presence outside of his son's front door. One of them feeling funnily similar to one of many the soul contracts that had been laying on his desk for months now, ignored on purpose. But Danny choose to ignore it for the moment. If the kids were up to something than he was the least adult to stop them. So instead he when he saw his boy so distracted, Danny smiled towards Wonder Girl, reaching into a quickly opened portal next to him. "So about the picture you wanted to see earlier."

Danny smiled mischievously like any parent would at a chance to embarrass their child. But also noticing how Red Robin used the chance of Klarion chasing after Impulse and the Kryptonite Cookies in his hands to stuff a couple of the green cookies into his own pockets as well as one into his mouth. Danny suppressed a laugh, as he kept conversation with Wonder Girl flowing.

Superboy was right by Red Robins side as the boy pounded his fist against his own chest in surprise, but also refused to spit the cookie out. Once he swallowed the kid stuck out his tongue a look of wonder. "Have you ever tasted something that felt like sugar coated in love and care sprinkled with calming emotions but had a weird but not bad after taste of sewer water?! I will never be able to look at the Lazarus Pits the same anymore!" the caped teenage hero whined towards his Kryptonian friend and Danny couldn't help it any longer as he burst out laughing.

"That's a Description I have never heard before! Sam likes to say their taste like actual Rainbow puke and Tucker is still trying to convince me that they taste like he was dared to lick a motherboard but one was coated in the finest meats!" Klarion instantly froze in his chase after Impulse and pointed glaring at Red Robin as both Wonder Girl and Impulse now appeared very tempted to actually try the Kryptonite cookies too. "You didn't!"

"I did." Red Robin grinned fearless, the way Tucker used to when he had hacked into the GIWs servers when they were kids.

"DO YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH?!" Red Robin yelped as Klarion jumped at him over the couch table to wrestle with the other boy as if to make him spit out any green glowing cookie reminds that could be there. "You mortals are idiots!"

Danny blinked and laughed as a little Chaos (Ha! His sons favorite past time) broke out with Wonder Girl, Superboy and Impulse trying to help Red Robin against Klarion only for them to get pulled into the little wrestling match too. With Klarion occupied with the other three as well as trying to stop Impulse from also shoving a green glowing cookie into his mouth he noticed from the corner of his eyes how Red Robin snuck away.

Batman looked ready to strangle John Constantine as he glared at the Justice League Dark member currently working on removing the barrier. This was taking to long in his opinion. Their kids were in there with a highly dangerous being and one of their enemies. This wasn't a situation to take lightly. He growled and Superman patted his shoulder trying to calm him down.

"We will get in there Batman. Just calm down for now. I am sure they are doing all they can to remove the barrier." The Kryptonian said in a calming tone sharing a look with Wonder Woman and the Flash, who by now had rounded the apartment three times to see if there was a possible entry way not covered by a barrier. Batman only grunted again as the door to the appartement suddenly opened, their heads snapped instantly towards it to see Red Robin standing behind the barrier.

"Red Robin Report!" Batman instantly snapped marching forward but frowned as the barrier was blocking him from reaching the teen.

"Klarion's mother is a multidimensional being under the impression that Klarion is working with the Heroes in this impression and not against them. He is also known as the Ghost King ruler of the Infinite Reams. I am sure you are already updated on what the Infinite Realms are." The teen stated in a reporting tone the adult heroes were familiar with. "So far The Ghost King has not shown any hostility towards us or our dimension unprompted. He is rather nice and a good parent by all means. To not disappoint his mother Klarion abducted us so we could pretend to be his friends, in other words Klarion is in need of our help to keep his mother under the belief that he is working and friends with us."

Batman nodded, letting the information sink in. "Anything else?"

"Well, I would suggest to not become hostile ourselves and to play along for the time being." Red Robin offered his solution hoping that with his report their mentors were more willing to play along than with the way Impulse probably slammed the door in their faces. For one, they would get to have a longer time of a break and two, as long as they don't piss off Klarions mom they won't have to face an eldritch being probably ready to tear them appear to protect his child.

"You believe that to be the best course of action? What about the others?" Superman asked instead and the teens head turned a little to look at the Kryptonian. "We are all in agreement. We are also additionally in a position with this to fish for more information about Klarion."

He could see their mentors thinking as they were exchanging looks weighing the pros and cons of his suggestion.

"Constantine? You said that the Ghost King is a dangerous being that could destroy our dimension, correct?" Wonder Woman spoke up turning towards the magician.

"A Bloody fucking Tyrann that can rip us all a new one, mate." the Brite muttered annoyed with the situation.

"Then I guess keeping the Ghost King happy by humouring Klarion should be the best and most peaceful option we have at the moment." Flash added crossing his arms as he looked at the other JL members as they came to a silent agreement.

Hocked, Lined and Sinker. Red Robin thought for a brief moment with relief as the adults agreed to his suggestion. "That means no using spells behind our backs against the Ghost King too." The teen hero added though as he narrowed his eyes under his mask on John Constantine that was cursing under his breath but nodded.

"Great then I can tell Klarion-"

"Red Robin what are you doing out here?" Batman stiffened as white gloved hands rested on the teen hero's shoulders and they saw a white haired man, wearing a royal cape and a floating crown on his head, appearing by the door behind the teen.

"Oh I was just greeting our mentors, they came to check on us." Red Robin lied easily, not even flinching as the man had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Batman had narrowed his eyes as he exchanged looks with Superman. They hadn't even noticed the man's approach.

"I see, please come in instead of standing out here." John Constantin gabbed as with the flick of his finger the man removed the magic barrier as if it was nothing and they heard a loud whine from inside the apartment of. "MOM IT FEELS WEIRD WHEN YOU DO THAT!"

"Sorry Klarion, baby!"

At that moment the adults realized that the man before them was the Ghost King.

The man lead them inside introducing himself as Danny as he guided Red Robin by his shoulders back to the couch to join the other teens again. The adult heroes where greeted by the image of Wonder Girl sitting on Impulse who was monopolising a photo book and Klarion being lifted into the air lion king style by Superboy flailing around. The teens and mentors blinked at each other several times before the teens continued like they weren't there, Red Robin joining them wanting in on getting to see the photo book that apparently contained 'baby' photos of Klarion.

"How about we leave the kids to themselves and have some coffee and cake by the dinner table?" The Ghost King, Danny, suggested and the adults mutely followed. They blinked as Danny opened a portal, Batman grunted as seeing similarities to something else in it, and reached into it. Danny heard his sisters distinctive "HEY!" Through it when he pulled out a cake from it to place on the table. The heroes couldn't help but sweat dropped, the cake was clearly not finished, it was only half way coated in cream and decorated.

"It's nice to meet the mentors of the friends my boy made in this dimension." Danny started to make small talk serving them coffee and each of them a slice of cake. "It's also nice to finally meet the guy that has sold his soul into so many pieces that I have an entire stack of paper work on my desk."

Constantine flinched, as he refused to make eye contact with the Ghost King who only chuckled. "Relax, I don't care about all these contracts. Most of them were even made before I took over as the King and the previous Ghost King... well lets just say he slept through all of his paperwork."

"Wait previous King?" The magician looked up now. "Mate are you telling me you aren't the bloody fucking Tyrann Ghost King?"

They watched as Danny rubbed his neck embarrassed. "Oh looks like the news didn't get to your Dimension yet, yea I dethroned that guy on accident and took over once I became an adult. Pops did say that it might take some time for all Dimensions to get updated on these kinda news..."

The four heroes looked stunned as they heard the Brite groan loudly thumping his head against the table muttering a "I need a whiskey."

"Oh its also nice to sort of meet my... Cousin or Niece from this Dimension whatever you would prefer more." Danny said to change the subject, looking towards Wonder Woman who blinked at him. "Cousin or Niece?"

"Yes I was Ghost Adopted by Clockwork, also known as Cronus, and Pandora. They speak a lot of praises about you, well every version of you." Danny smiled. There was an awkward moment of silence that Flash broke looking stunned at Wonder Woman. "You never told us you were related to the literal King of all Dimensions!"

"I didn't know!" / "Not all Dimensions."

Both Wonder Woman and Danny spoke at the same time. This finally seemed to break the eyes among the adults as most of them started to chat idly while the teens were fighting over a photo book in the back ground. Well all but one Batman sat among them listening to the other Heroes talk with the Ghost King, grunting every now and then to signal that he was listening. His eye twitch a little as both Superman and Danny suddenly started to talk in a weirdly with niceties filled way of talking.

Of course everything good and nice couldn't last forever and when a triumphant shout in the background from Red Robin resounded who was holding up the photo book with Klarion pinned to the ground by Impulse and Superboy, Batman had to be the one to finally put his foot in his mouth causing everyone to freeze. The bite of cake Superman was about to eat dropped back onto the plate and resounded like a pin needle dropping by the silence caused by one simple, in Batman's mind, question.

"As his mother, are you aware of your son's villainous actions against us heroes?"

A dramatic "No!" Resounded from the teens mostly caused by Impulse dramatically falling to his knees in a pleading motion towards the adults. Klarion on the other hand looked like his entire world was just shattered as he sat up on the ground from his previously pinned position, his eyes glued to his mother. Both Wonder Woman and Superman eyes looked to and fro between Batman and the Ghost King with worry while Flash, apparently decided to get himself another slice of cake as quick as possible before the Ghost King would inevitably kick them all out because of Batman.

Danny stared at the dark knight for a long moment not reacting until he let out a sigh. "Figured as much."

There was another kind of silence, a stunned one, as they all blinked at the Ghost King who was starting to chuckle a little at the faces they were making.

"Mom?"

"Oh please Klarion." Danny waved his son off. "We both know that neither you nor I ever made friends the normal way. Of course you would make friends by being a little shit, just like I did with all my rogues when I was a teen and are now part of the council. It was unavaidable for you to do the same. Ancients even Vlad made friends like this or did you forget how many times he tried to kill my dad, Jack?"

There was silence for a third time, this time it got broken my Wonder Girl bumping her shoulder into Klarions.

"What kind of crazy family do you have?!"

"You have no idea.... you haven't even met my older sister yet...."

[willowser]

now i wake up by your side—

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 2.8k+

tags: u.a. college au, canon-compliant, reader has a telekinesis/telepathic quirk, references (and potential spoilers) for the current arc in the manga, angst, a lot of secret hidden feelies

tysm to @alrightberries for giving me the opportunity to bring this lil thought of yours to life 🥺 your patience and understanding during the time it took me to write this is so appreciated it, and tbh you're the reason i'm even still here right now LOL you're so sweet, and i hold your kindness so close to my heart. i wish i could convey how much it means to me. i hope i did this even a lil justice !! happy birthday dear !!!! 🥺🩷✨️

Sero dreams of watching the sunrise on top of the Roppongi Observatory.

It’s a beautiful sight, one you’ve never seen with your own eyes, but you soak in the warmth flushing across his cheeks and the anticipated break of morning through the clouds. When he takes in a hefty breath, you feel the spring chill sting inside his chest, crisp and clear, like it’s you breathing instead of him, and it’s almost comforting enough to lull you to sleep, too.

But a clay pot shattering against a nearby bench has your eyes springing open, ripped from the haven you’d been lost to. 

You have to blink several times in order to fight through the exhaustion wearing you thin, but the evening returns to you in small, bleary doses. It’s the middle of the night—or at least it was when you’d first wandered out to the training field, and you can’t be sure how many hours have passed since then. Across the yard, you’ve successfully managed to carry four pots from the garden plot near the entrance all the way to your feet with your Quirk— but number five sits in pieces in the grass.

You’ll have to clean that up by morning or Eraser will make you run laps until you puke. Again.

Kirishima flits through your mind in a suit and tie: not as a Hero, but a spy of some kind, chasing down men with masks covering their faces and wielding a gun that looks odd in his hands, even in his own dream. Despite being back in the dorms, stories up and near the end of the hall, you can see it—hear him yelling out at the criminal to stop, feel the thud of the ground under his feet. His own determination blares through you like a freight train, as strong and damning as he is, and you fight to force yourself back inside your own shoes as you try to carry another pot.

Recovery Girl used to tell you that you did this to yourself: all your worry about losing sleep psyching yourself out of it completely, chasing it away before it even had the chance. When everyone is getting ready for bed, heading out of the common room and hitting the showers, you can feel that suspense building; what will come across tonight while everyone dreams? Fantasies? Or nightmares?

During the day it’s easier to drown out the foot-traffic of everyone’s thoughts—you do it without trying, now—but your brain needs rest, too. Letting go of control for even a second, just to get some shut eye is—

Something frightening is outlined in your peripheral vision, the dash of a pale shape you aren’t able to discern before it’s gone. The air turns metallic and stale and you can hear water sloshing, though you’re nowhere near the pools. All your blood rushes in your ears and your fingers curl, like you’re gripping your seat—gripping the edge of the couch in the common room, where you’d been sitting beside Mina when Kaminari put on that horror movie. The one with the—

“The hell are you doin’?”

Your eyes snap open for the hundredth time that night—show over, credits rolling—and it’s Bakugou. Standing only feet away from the new set of clay shards of your failure, tangible and real and staring at you with an intensity not even your dreams could mimic.

You blink, eyes stinging and heavy. You must look insane. “Oh, hey,” the voice that comes out of you is far-away, chartered off to distant lands, and he notices immediately, focus razor-sharp despite how late it is. “What did you say?”

Bakugou wrinkles his nose, like he’s offended at having to repeat himself. “I said, what the hell are you doin’? It’s nearly 2 in the morning and you’re out here throwin’ shit around in your fuckin’ pajamas.”

Almost on cue, the breeze brushes past your legs, chilly enough to have you shivering, and you peek down at them as if you don’t know what they look like. The sweater you’re wearing is from second year and the U.A. logo is half-worn off, but it’s the comfiest thing you own and if you’re going to be plagued all night by the forced intimacy of your classmates’ dreams—you at least want to be cozy.

When you look back up at him, Bakugou is pointedly looking away, taking interest in something other than your wimpy state of dress. 

It dawns on you then that he’s out here, too, in sweats and a simple back sweatshirt, hair a messy, golden halo in the pale, buzzing field lights. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think his face was a little rosy, but—maybe you’re seeing things.

Still. Being out and away from everyone, alone with Bakugou, makes your stomach tighten horribly. Like you’ve done too many sit-ups.

You try to brush off your sudden bout of shyness, because you know he’ll clock that in no time, too. “Well, I could ask you the same thing.” At the raise of your eyebrows, he only tchs, and casts you a filthy look. “But I think maybe I’ll just mind my own business.”

The face he makes is so awful and hot-blooded that you laugh, truly and earnestly, enough that a headache pulses to life. You wince, and the stream of pain that shoots down the middle of your skull brings back that image of Kirishima’s action-thriller: blood and knives, the sound of skin on skin, a fist against cheekbones, the ugly snap of breaking—

“Oi.”

Bakugou is closer than before, when you’re grounded back inside yourself. At least no pots have been broken this time. Less to clean up.

“Sorry,” you shoot him an apologetic smile that you know he must hate. “It’s just so—” your hand feels like it’s made of lead, but you drag it up to massage slow circles into your temple, trying not to grit your teeth and worsen the pounding in your head. “So loud sometimes.”

He’s silent until the pain ebbs out, and when you can blink without flinching, you peek up to catch how intently he’s watching your face. In the night like this, his eyelashes seem darker, longer, a kind of haunting beauty you would dream about, if you could get some sleep.

Again, you think of Kaminari’s horror movie, legs pressed against Mina’s under the heavy comforter she’d brought down from her room. It’s warm, the kind of pink, fluffy thing you’d imagine a girl like her to have—but it didn’t stop you from shivering every time you chanced a glance at Bakugou and found him already staring back.

The heat in your cheeks spreads to the back of your neck, so immediate that you think you might start sweating. “Dreams and stuff,” you murmur, by way of an explanation, “nightmares, sometimes.”

Bakugou's frown deepens, the muscle in his jaw tightening once as he grits his teeth. “What, you can just…hear that shit all night?”

“Usually,” you shrug, “It just comes in, you know? And I—” you steal another glance at him, aware, then, of just how intrusive you might sound. The veil of privacy is thin between you and others, and they don't often like being reminded of that. “Not for you, though. I don't—I don't get anything from you.”

And it's true, frustratingly enough. Not that you are ever intentionally peeking into anyone's head, but things slip through, occasionally—sudden reactions, wild, loose trains of thought. 

Bakugou's face twists, regardless, and you're reminded of all the times you've been forced to spar together, at Eraser's behest. One of the smartest in your class, quick on his feet and never without a plan; every time you've managed to get a hand on Bakugou, there's been nothing but a sea-shore calm.

It's hard to do and, at this point in your life, you've seen a thousand people try it—but he's the only one that's ever succeeded in keeping you at bay.

Nothing in his expression changes, but all your nerves spread to your voice until it shakes. “You're—I don't look in there, of course, but it's—you've always been…” Bakugou is terrible at taking compliments, you know that, almost as bad as you are at giving them. “Pretty, I guess.”

Awful, at giving them.

Embarrassment floods him, suddenly stained pink as he curls into himself. “Piss off,” he barks, and though he’s scowling at you in what must be disgust—you can’t help but to smile at how aggressively bashful he is.

You almost get the guts to make matters worse, just because you can. Admit how handsome you’ve come to find him, after the last few years, until his face is steaming in the sweet nighttime chill; the kind of intimacy you wouldn’t mind dreaming about again and again.

The absence of his thoughts are a comfort for your tired mind, has all the harsh edges of night fading into something a little easier to swallow, to breathe in. You know he does it on purpose as a strictly defensive move, but you almost want to thank him. For the quiet.

You don’t know if it’s from you or him, but when you reach a hand up to hover near his temple, the air buzzes between you, gently. Charged with that same thing that had you unable to look away from him in the common room only days ago. “In here, I mean,” you murmur, and the smile you pull on feels lame, but it’s as genuine as ever. “I don’t know, I don’t know how you do it. But it’s…nice.”

You’ve seen him die a thousand times.

Mostly in Midoriya’s dreams, sometimes in Eraser’s when he nods off during last period, but that horror—like many others, from that day—stains you all. When dinner is put away and showers are finished and the lights go out and the flood gates open, someone almost always relives the ugliness of it all; you’re more familiar with that moment than you are with any of your own.

Here and now, you close your eyes and see Jirou staring back at you, face beautiful and full of hope. You see Kirishima’s torn suit jacket and the blood on his cheek and the empty gun in his hand, the most dedicated secret agent. Aoyama is dreaming of his mother, something warm that makes you feel like you’re dazzling, too.

And yet—Bakugou is silent. Even right in front of you. Even after everything.

If anyone deserves the peace and quiet, you suppose it ought to be him.

“When’s the last time you got any sleep?”

You blink until his blurry figure is clear, and it’s like you can physically feel whatever energy you had left seeping from your body at the mere mention of sleep. “Maybe a morning or two ago,” you tell him truthfully, “I usually pass out after a few rounds of ‘throwin’ shit around’.”

Bakugou only stares at you as he digests the words, and once he’s gotten them down, he shakes his head before looking out over the mess you’ve made of the training field. With his head turned like this, you can take in the full weight of his scar—the one that’s wide and still baby-pink across his cheek. 

You almost get the guts to tell him he’s handsome. Almost.

Frustration is evident on his face when he looks back at you, but his voice comes out softer than you expect, like he's struggling to get out any words at all. “Can’t keep doin’ this,” he chastises. “Can’t be a Hero if you’re half asleep all the time. Gotta figure this shit out.”

“I am,” you give a lazy wave to your pots, “What’s wrong with this solution?”

“It's ass.”

“Alright, you have any better ideas, pretty boy?”

He bristles, visibly enough to have you snickering, and—you’re not sure what you expect of him; to continue his griping or leave you to your own devices, building his walls up high as he always does. Ever the fighter, ever the protector; maybe it’s a good thing, you tell yourself, because you’re weak like this and one of you needs to be thinking straight.

Despite his flush, there’s a playfulness to his grouchy expression, his raspy tone—and it has you leaning too far into things you don’t know how to name.

You never know what to expect of him.

There’s the slightest brush of skin against the back of your hand, and when you drop your eyes to the slowly-dwindling space between you—the rough pads of his fingers are touching you, gently. Softly enough to be the breeze, if it weren’t so warm.

You’re afraid to look at him, suddenly, like it will break whatever spell the night is casting over both of you; instead you press your lips together to stop their wobbling and the smile fighting to give you away. You’re waiting for that sea-shore calm, that quiet comfort, whatever it is he’s trying to offer you, strangely enough, in this moment. When you turn your hand over to catch his, the air buzzes again and the blood rushes in your ears.

You focus and—all you can see is your own face staring back at you. In a flash, like he’s cycling through his cards in a hurry, trying to find the best one.

You, across the arena during the entrance exam. You, in the locker room before the Sport's Festival. You, sitting in the common room during Christmas. You, ruined with tears and your own blood and covered in grime, on the darkest day of your life.

You, now. On the field in the stale light, prettier than you think you must look, for being so exhausted, the lines of your smile deep as you grin up at him.

—And then there's nothing.

The absence of noise is louder than anything. A stark, white silence that cuts through; a different world trickling away. A single touch and a little focus is all it takes to take root inside someone’s head and that’s always felt like a weapon, but now it feels like coming inside from a snowstorm, relief shuddering down your spine. Everyone else's fears and nerves and heartaches dissolve until they’re only a bitter taste at the back of your throat. Something far, far behind you

There’s just Bakugou. A strong silence that feels impenetrable, invulnerable to the outside. The steady beat of his heart is comforting in a way you didn’t realize it would be, has that bloody, dead-eyed image of him shifting into something else: another moment in Midoriya’s memories, of his silhouette standing in the sun, tall and fierce and alive.

Returned. Here and now with you, after numerous, unforeseen turns of events. You wonder if the ease surrounding you is his own, something else he’s sharing—or if this is just how it feels to be with him after so long. Maybe in the past it was different—you know it was; during the entrance exam, during the Sport’s Festival—but now you feel more relaxed than you ever have. A reminder that, no matter how dark the nights get, the sun is only just beyond the horizon. 

Returned, comforting and quiet.

(You won't know this until much later, but your hand will go slack in Katsuki's and his fingers will tighten around your own because he's not ready to let go yet. When your knees buckle, he'll already be there, awkwardly holding you up against his shoulder as his face flames and his eyes dart around the empty field, checking for any shitty snoops.

Ears is always up damn late, too, and there's a decent chance he'd get caught trying to haul you back to your room on the third fuckin’ floor, so there's really no better option than to gently lower you both to the grass. After a couple of minutes with no movement, the field lights will shut off and only the distant glow of the stars will remain.)

(You won't know this until much later, but Katsuki will arrange the both of you so that your head isn't slumped on the hard ground, but resting on the plush of his bicep, an arm around your shoulders so that the warmth can be shared between you both. His heart will pound hard enough in his chest to be worrisome, and every time you shuffle and scoot closer to him and nudge your nose into his sweater—Katsuki will fight to stay open and true, only honest with you in this wordless way.)

(You won't know this until the sun rises high behind your lids and your bones ache and he’s shown you things he could never say, but it's the best sleep you think you've ever gotten. With him, under the stars, surrounded by his calm and his constant.)

(You won't remember this but in your dream—your real dream, born from with solace Katsuki offers you—the morning will rise and settle in and he'll walk you back to your room despite the stares and in the elevator when you're alone, his lips will touch yours and you'll feel his  heart in your chest and his nerves in your stomach and his fear and relief all in one.)

(And right away, when you wake up, you'll finally have a name for this thing that's been blooming between you both for as long as you can remember—and he will, too.)

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[white-sinner]

seven brothers and their boyfriends

first born Lucifer morning star and neko male reader

Smut

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️let's say that your relationship was very unexpected even Diavolo was surprised by it let's say…. you are totally opposites! but do opposites attract?

Lucifer is a very serious man and you are a very sweet neko boy who like make jokes but also very intelligent so I think the relationship between you two could work

your story starts with you just arrived as an exchange student from fairytale kingdom or rather NRC sorry i just started Twisted wonderland and i am loving it Lucifer at that time was neutral with you being that he was assigned as your protector but over time that feeling evolved and you eventually got together

it wasn't very difficult for you to get along with him being that however your Housewarden didn't have a very different character since you were in Heartslabyul for Lucifer he loved you with all his being even if he didn't show it in front of others because of his sin of pride but behind closed doors well he cuddles you he loves it of course there are times when you get on each other's nerves for example when he stays up at night because of paperwork so you sneak in thanks to your feline skills and throw him a spell then drag him to his room and you go complete his paperwork on the day

everyone at the RAD knew it was better not to joke about you already you with your spells were strong but nobody wanted to clash with Lucifer in other words it was literally touch my boyfriend and I will make you spit out your organs

and when you two fight well and that's when the other brothers run away lucifer always wants to be right and will never admit he was wrong but you on the other side are just as good you are always ready to fight but when the fights go too far and Lucifer makes you cry send your condolences just like cats you are touchy so Lucifer will have to work hard to make it up to you

the fact that you are always sleepy and love to play pranks are good splits to punish you~ now it can go two ways

SUB READER

this man is a fucking sadist. he will push you onto his bed tying you hands and feet so you cannot move and he will start pulling on your tail and ears just to see you cry this feeds his ego to see you cry under him totally vulnerable if he then has to punish you for some prank of yours well get ready to be spanked when he feels satisfied he will start fucking you so hard that you will feel it inside you for at least four days. among other things he loves giving you hickeys and a way to brand yourself and not bring the others closer and if you try to cover them? Lucifer and the fuck won't even allow you to turn around with a collar on with his name on it so this guy really enjoys punishing his boyfriend

TOP READER

one evening he made the fatal mistake of not wanting to come and cuddle you literally threw her on the desk undressed quickly with his tie tied his hands then you fucked him so hard and fast he couldn't speak anymore i literally reduced his brain to a pulp looks like you'll have to cuddle him afterwards

it seems to me that you two are a very good match have fun~

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[holdmytesseract]

moodboard by @chennqingg <3 | divider by @jiyaxedits <3

Through The Years

Jotun!King!Loki Laufeyson x fem!Æsir!Queen!Reader

Summary: This story takes you and Loki on a journey through the twins life. From their first steps all the way to their first time falling in love.

Warnings for this Chapter: thirst, very suggestive smut/light smut - a lot, nudity, weapons, fighting, fluff, cute family moments

Word Count: 4,1k

a/n: I love this chapter. It's probably one of my favourites. I hope you all will love it, too! 🩵

Tags: @lokisgoodgirl @lady-rose-moon @huntress-artemiss @muddyorbsblr @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @chennqingg @smolvenger @alexakeyloveloki @theaudacitytowrite @jennyggggrrr @stupidthoughtsinwriting @asgards-princess-of-mischief @eleniblue @vanilla-daydreaming @loz-3 @valencia-rou @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @fictive-sl0th @bunny24sstuff @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovingchoices14 @linaax @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @glitchquake @lokidbadguy @icytrickster17 @gruftiela @lulubelle814 @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @mandywholock1980 @simping-for-marvel @lou12346789 @aagn360 @lokiforever @anukulee @multifandom-worlds @hisredheadedgoddess28 (Continuing in the comments)

❄️ Chapter Two ❄️ Chapter Four ❄️

Ice Flower AU Masterlist ❄ Loki Masterlist ❄ Masterlist

Chapter Three - Sweet Sixteen

A dissatisfied sigh left your lips, as you felt the pillow underneath your head moving. Being still more than half asleep, you cuddled closer against the pillow again. The moment you got gently shoved off the warm underground which supported your head woke you up - just in time to see Loki standing up from where he sat on the edge of the bed.

The rising sun, which shone through the big windows illuminated his beautiful cerulean skin. His bare back; rippled with muscles almost seemed to glow - just like his gloriously naked butt and juicy thighs. Blinking, in order to get fully awake, you bit your lip. Sinful memories of the past night flooded your brain, and causing your core to throb deliciously.

Well... Since the princes had their own chambers by now, you and Loki were able to indulge way more into your love life than before; sharing some much-appreciated privacy and intimacy. Not that you and him made it work while the twins shared your chambers, but... Now it was easier.

"Where are you going, my king?" Your voice was barely above a whisper, still trying to escape the claws of sleep. "Come back to bed." You whined, reaching out your hands blindly. A low chuckle echoed through the room, as your husband appeared again in your field of view; but now fully dressed in his armour - much to your dismay. "Apologies, my love, but I promised our sons to see their development in fighting. I have to leave for the training grounds now. Unless I'll be late."

A grunt of disapproval left your lips. "They are training this early?" Loki nodded, chuckling. "As most of the time, darling. Our sons are very disciplined when it comes down to fighting. Well... At least one of them..." Loki mumbled the last sentence; voice barely audibly. "And I appreciate that, but... Can't you stay just a little longer and then leave for the training grounds?" You pouted and played with the soft duvet which was covering your naked body, causing another deep chuckle to rumble through your husband's chest. "I appreciate your eagerness, my queen, but I'm afraid not. Though, I promise to return by sunset and I shall quench your thirst." He stated, moving to hover above your upper body. The king's palms were firmly pressed in the mattress, left and right beside your arms to hold his body up. His biceps and abs bulged deliciously, causing a shiver to run down your spine. "Promised?" Loki's face was mere inches above yours now. Strands of raven hair tickling the side of your face. "Promised." His lips slotted over yours, kissing you with all the love and desire he held for you. It only managed to intoxicate you even further; making it even harder to let him go. So, you just decided to start a last try to convince him to stay.

You placed your palms on his abs, feeling the muscles flex beneath your hands, while you kept kissing him. You lingered there only for a few moments, before you let one hand wander lower. Your fingertips traced a line from his belly button, through the soft, silken hairs of his happy trail, to the hem of his ancient armour inspired loincloth. Just when you had slipped your fingers halfway underneath the garment, Loki's big hand was suddenly on yours; enveloping your wrist. His lips left yours with a pop. "Ah-ah, my queen," he tutted and gently pulled your hand away, before intertwining it with his. "As much as I'd love your hand down there... I really have to go." You huffed out a defeated breath and nodded. "Fine. Go, my king - as long as you keep your promise..." A cheeky, mischievous smirk darted over the Frost Giant's face. "Oh don't worry, my love. I want to keep this promise as much as you want me to." Loki whispered in a low voice and bestowed a last kiss on your lips - which you reciprocated hungrily.

Pulling away with a chuckle, your husband shook his head. "You are so insatiable recently, love... Merely letting me out of your sight - and bed." You just shrugged your shoulders; biting your lip. "Well... I just enjoy that we've got a bit more alone time and privacy at the moment. Happens not very often." "I agree - and I like it as well." With a wink, Loki let go of you and turned to walk to the door. "I'll see you tonight." You nodded, smiling. "I love you. Tell the boys I'm proud of them." "I love you even more. And yes, I shall do that."

Loki left the palace; greeting the guards, maids and other royal stuff on his way and headed for the training grounds. From afar, he already recognised his son's battle cries. Áki. Smiling, he leaned against one of the stone columns and watched him moving almost gracefully over the sandy underground, yielding his wooden training sword. Áki had a lot of potential to become a great warrior. He was even seen as the ideal warrior - by all the other fighters, Loki himself, Ymir (His mentor; named after the first Jotun.) and even his advisors. It caused proudness to flood the king's veins.

He admired his son for a few minutes, hidden by the column; watching his good work. But not just how hard and diligent he trained, no... It had Loki realising, that this wasn't his little boy anymore. Áki was slowly but surely growing into a man. His hair was longer now, almost reaching his shoulders. His muscles weren't anymore the muscles of a child, but a young man. Áki's shoulders became broader, his torso stronger. By the norns, Loki could even make out the subtle hints of a soft stubble on his chin. The king sighed, shaking his head. How fast time was flying by... They were just infants and now only a few months away from turning sixteen...

Crossing his arms over his muscular chest, Loki stepped out of the shadows, looking at Áki and Ymir, before scanning the area. Where was his other son? Váli was nowhere to be seen. "Dad!" Áki's voice urged to his ears, causing him to smile again. He walked over and placed a hand on his son's sweaty shoulder. Áki wasn't quite as tall as Loki - yet. "Hello, my son. I hope I'm not too late?" Áki smiled as well, shaking his head. "You're not. Just in time." Ymir gave Loki a nod, before bowing his head obediently. "My king."

Loki looked around once again, now frowning. "Where's your brother?" The young prince shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I haven't seen him since yesterday." The king's eyes then drifted over to the warrior. "I haven't seen him either, your highness. Since a long time, actually. The last time he visited the training grounds was, I believe... a few weeks ago. Perhaps even months." Loki nodded, still frowning.

The princes weren't forced to train, in order to sharpen their fighting skills, but it was highly expected. A prince who couldn't fight and defend himself? Almost scandalous. Yet, Loki would never force his sons to do anything - except it was tradition. The traditions had to be maintained. Fighting wasn't one of them - and yet it surprised Loki to hear that his son had skipped the lessons so often.

"I'll talk to Váli. But for now..." Loki pulled out his beautifully crafted sword. "Show me what you learned." Áki grinned, taking a fighting position. "With pleasure, dad. Get ready to lose." His words made Loki chuckle. "Quite confident, aren't we? Last time we fought, you were the one who lost, son." "That may be true; but I learned."

It was late in the morning, when you decided to finally leave your bed. It had been way too comfortable to stand up - although Loki was missing beside you. Also deciding to flee from quite a few trade documents, who wished to be read and possibly signed, you made your way down the halls towards the library. A book and perhaps a cup of tea was exactly what you wanted today. Just a day off; regaining your strength. So, you told one of the maids that you wished to not be disturbed. With a nod and a curtsy, she left again, telling it the other royal stuff members and especially the royal advisors.

Closing the doors to the library behind yourself, you sighed, smiling. Silence. How soothing for your ears.

You took your time in searching for a book you'd like to read. No stress; no hurry. After you made your choice, you were about to sit down onto one of the comfortable armchairs, when an idea crossed your mind... The secret reading spot. Nobody knew about it. Except you, Loki and your sons. Clapping the book shut again, you climbed the stairs and the little ladder, which led to the hatch - and the hatch led to a little, hidden room behind the countless shelves of books. Loki showed you - though he was almost too tall to fit through the passageway. The little room was cosy furnished by your family and made to escape the royal life for a while.

Oblivious, you closed the hatch behind yourself - and looked up; almost getting a heart attack at the pair of identical Y/E/C eyes looking at you. "By the norns, Váli!" You yelped; hand draped across your heaving chest. The teenager smiled bashfully. "A-Apologies, mum." You took deep breaths, sitting down beside him on the countless pillows, blankets and furs. "What in all the nine realms are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the training grounds with your brother and father?" The young man's cheeks reddened. "I-I should, yes, but..." Váli sighed, shutting the book he was reading. "I don't like the fighting, mum. I don't want to become a warrior like Áki. I'd rather spend my time here in the library, reading and learning new things." He paused, fumbling nervously with his fingers. "I know the basics of fighting. Áki and Ymir taught me - a-and I think that's enough. I must confess that I've been skipped the training already for weeks... I-I'm so sorry, mum, I-" The prince said almost panicky, causing you to jump in. You placed a hand on his tunic clad shoulder and smiled. "It's alright, sweetheart. I can understand. Even though I loved to fight when I was younger - like you know. Without it, I wouldn't have met your father; but I do. I really understand. This is who you are - who you want to be... And that is just fine…" You gazed lovingly into your son's eyes, witnessing his features soften and his lips twitching into a smile. The hand on his shoulder went to cup his cheek. "…as long as you know how to at least protect yourself, so I don't have to worry." Váli placed his big hand over yours, shaking his head; causing his short, blonde curls to bounce. "You won't ever have to worry, mum. I promise." You smiled and couldn't help yourself from hugging him. Something Váli gladly returned.

A few moments passed, until your son spoke up again. "So... I came here to flee from my training... From what or who are you fleeing?" A small sparkle of mischief glinted in his eyes. Váli may have been the more sensitive and sensible one of twins, but nevertheless... He was his father's child.

You giggled, shaking your head. "From my royal duties." The prince chuckled as well. "Yeah, thought so."

It was already late in the evening, when Loki returned to the palace with Áki. The father and son duo spent the whole day on the training grounds. While Loki was still up to the mark and not tired at all, Áki was lacking quite a bit stamina - yet. The teenager was worn out and tired and therefore retreated straight to his chambers - probably sleeping through.

"It has been a very successful day today. I'm proud of you, son. Of course, you still have to learn a lot of things, but... I have the feeling you are born for this. You're doing great. Keep it up - but don't forget the other important things in life." It was an allusion to the young prince's royal duties, which he liked to neglect from time to time. Áki smiled, blushing slightly, but nodded. "I will, dad, I promise. And thank you. I love to train with you. I hope we can do this more often." A chuckle rumbled through the Frost Giant's chest. "Is Ymir not satisfying enough, young warrior?" "No, no. Ymir is great, but... You are better. The greatest warrior Jotunheim has ever seen - and my dad." Loki nodded, understood what Áki meant and placed his hand on his shoulder. "I know what you mean. I promise you I'll take time to train with you. Being the king isn't an easy task and utterly busy, but... Family is way more important. Although, I can't always leave the duties to your mother. She's got enough of her own." "I understand." "I know you do." The king patted his son's shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night's rest." "Thanks, dad. You too - and... Greet mum, please. I haven't seen her all day..." "I will."

After saying goodbye to his one son, Loki marched straight to the chambers of his other son - which weren't far away. Just down the hallway. Knocking gently, he waited for an answer. A few moments later, he got one. "Come in!" Váli's voice urged to Loki's ears from behind the door. He stepped inside and found his son nestled in front of the fireplace, reading. The nights had started to become quite cold, indicating that autumn was on his way. Váli lifted his head, in order to see who the 'intruder' was. His eyes widened immediately, when they landed on his father. "O-Oh, hello, d-dad." He clapped the book shut, putting it aside. "C-Can I help you with something?" Váli was nervous and frankly a bit afraid, because he knew exactly what was going on.

Loki gave him a nod, before he crossed his arms over his chest, muscles bulging. "You weren't on the training grounds today... And Ymir told me that you missed his fighting lessons quite often... Why?" Loki could see how the teenager swallowed and started to play with his fingers nervously. The conversation for him like a déjà vu, since he had talked with you about it this morning as well.

"I-I am sorry, dad, it's just..." He sighed. "I, uh, I don't like the fighting. I don't want to become a warrior like Áki. I'd rather spent the whole day in the library. Reading books, learning things." Loki was quite a bit speechless. He knew, of course, how much his son loved his books, but he didn't expect that. "A-And I know that I have to be able to defend myself - which I understand! I do. I really do - and I am more than capable of doing so. I can defend myself if I have to. I learned the basics of fighting and that's enough." Váli paused, taking a deep breath, while his father still listened patiently to what he has to say. "I-I hope you understand that. Y-You once said that you wouldn't force us to do anything besides tradition, so please, dad... Please don't-" That was the moment Loki had to jump in.

"Váli..." He walked over to his son, laid his arm around his shoulder and guided him to sit down on the little fur clad sofa beside the fireplace. "Me, nor your mother would force you to do anything you don't want to. That's what I once said, yes... And it never changed. That point still stands. It always will. If you prefer reading than fighting, then by the norns, be it this way." The king smiled at the prince, who was visibly relieved. "Nevertheless, I'd like to test your skills. See if you really are able to defend yourself. It's important." Váli nodded. "Okay." "Okay. Let's say tomorrow?" Once again, a nod. "Tomorrow." "Good." Loki clapped his son gently on the back and stood up. "I'll leave you to your book now. I am sure your mother awaits me already." Váli smiled. "Thank you, dad." He gave him a nod, "Of course." and turned to leave. "I wish you a good night's rest."

After the important conversation with his son, Loki made his way quickly and full of anticipation to his and your shared chambers. After all, there was some... unfinished business between you and him. When he finally reached the door, he practically stormed in - only the find the chambers empty, except for a maid, who was currently cleaning up. The maid noticed him of course immediately and quickly curtsied. "Oh, good evening, your majesty." Loki gave her a nod. "Have you seen my wife? Do you know where she is?" "Yes, my king. She is having her supper." Oh... Too bad, Loki thought, but decided not to join you. He'd wait for you. "Thank you. Leave now, please. I wish to be alone." The maid curtsied again, "Of course, my king." and hurried to leave the royal chambers.

The king decided to take a bath; get rid of all the sweat, grime and dust, while he waited for you to return.

Putting your spoon aside, you stood up from the table. "Your majesty, have you had enough to eat? Can I bring you something else?" You shook your head and smiled at the young maid. "No, thank you. I'll retreat to the chambers for the night." The young female Jotun nodded and curtsied. "Very well, my queen." "Oh, do you know if my husband and son already returned?" She shook her head. "Unfortunately, not. No." "Alright, thank you. Good night." "Good night, your highness."

While the maids already hurried to clean everything up, you left the dining hall and made your way back towards your chambers.

Softly closing the door behind yourself, you decided to go to bed early today. A long, rough day of neglected work was coming your way, without a doubt. And since Loki hasn't returned yet either...

You stepped over to the bed you shared with the king. With a sigh, you reached behind yourself and started to undo the laces of the corset you wore. It was attached to a beautifully tailored skirt. The colours were a rich gold and a deep green, showing of course to whom your heart belonged. Loki. You may be living on Jotunheim now, surrounded by your folk, the Jotuns, but nevertheless... You were still an Æsir and also loved to wear Asgardian dresses. It was a part of who you were. A part of yourself.

Your hands worked blindly on unlacing the corset, causing you to highly concentrate on the difficult task ahead. You were so focused, that you didn't notice the calculated steps, coming your way. Loki was lurking behind you in the dark, like a predator was observing his prey. The moment you started to undress; his eyes never left your body for a second. Fixated on what was his. Now, he was standing right behind you; your intoxicating scent invading his system like a drug. He was never going to get tired of this. Never. His eyes trailed over your back; followed the sliver of skin, which peeked through the gap of the unlaced corset. Ruby orbs settled on your hands, as he watched them work. It was a feast for his eyes and probably selfish, but he couldn't help himself.

His fingers twitched; eager to touch you. Loki managed to control himself for quite a few moments, but at some point, he just couldn't take it anymore. Reaching out his arms, he enveloped your hands, causing you to flinch. But he leaned quickly forward, bestowing a sensual kiss on the skin where your neck met your shoulder, reassuring you. "Shh, it's me, my queen," the king whispered in your ear. A shiver ran down your spine at his deep, raspy voice. His hands gently removed yours, as he took the laces in his own hands, unlacing the corset for you. Once that was done, you felt his fingertips dancing over the sliver of freed skin, before he slipped both his hands inside your dress, in order to shove the expensive garment over your shoulders and down your arms; letting it fall to the ground. Now you stood in front of him almost naked. Your white undergarment was the last thing covering you. Although Loki made quick work of ridding you of those as well; leaving you now completely bare. You could feel his ruby eyes on you again; followed by his sinful touch. Palms coming to rest right above your hip bones; thumbs caressing the soft skin on your lower back. You shivered again; heartbeat increasing. Loki's touch never failed to overwhelm you in so many different ways. It had never changed. From the moment he touched you for the first time, through all the years and now.

His hands lingered there only for a few moments, before they started their journey. They travelled upwards, passing by your hips and waist, until they landed on your ribcage - mere inches underneath the swell of your breasts. Your breathing was already ragged; growing more and more unsteady the further up his hands travelled. But it failed you for a second, when they stopped so close in front of their destination. He was teasing you. "L-Loki," you breathed; already pleading him. He had you - without a doubt. Loki just had to snap his fingers and you were a chaotic, aroused mess for him.

A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Already begging me, darling? Isn't my touch enough?" He asked in a low, husky voice, tightening his grip. You whimpered - in desperation. Loki chuckled once more; hands starting to roam your body again - but missing the parts where you needed him the most. "My queen..." He whispered hoarsely. "You are divine. I swear, I will never tire of you. Still the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. A feast for the eyes." He was so close to you. So close, that you could feel his hot breath tickling the skin on your neck. "My eyes only, of course. You belong to me. You are mine." Loki pressed another feverish kiss on your neck. "Let me worship you." Kiss. "Let me make love to you." Kiss. "M-My king, I-I-" He grinded his hips against your back, causing you to cut off your own sentence; mouth forming a perfect 'o'. He was naked. Your eyelids fell shut; a ragged breath leaving your lips.

"Time to keep my promise," your husband growled into your ear, as he pushed you forward - walking you closer to the bed. Before your body could hit the sheets, he turned you around, so you were sitting on the edge of the bed - with Loki towering above you know. Finally, you could lay your eyes upon your handsome man. He had freshly bathed. You could tell by the wet strands of his raven hair. Small droplets of water were still running down his cerulean skin, making their way down his entire body. His ruby eyes were an even darker shade of red; clouded by lust. You took the few moments, in which you just shamelessly stared at him. Time to tease him a bit.

Loki was staring down at you as well. One hand was in his hair, smoothing back his wet hair, while the other was... Your eyes lowered, landing on his crotch. Oop. You smirked and reached out your hand, batting his away - which caused a low groan to escape his throat. Placing both your palms on his thick, muscular thighs, you rubbed them up and down his long femurs; not missing to dig your fingernails into the supple skin - causing Loki to hiss. Close. But not close enough. "My love..." He whined; abs clenching in pure, primal desperation. You smiled again, biting your lips. Just a bit more.

"Aren't you tired, my king? After a whole day of fighting? Don't you wish to go to bed immediately?" You teased him further. Loki shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. "My queen... You-" He groaned again, as you traced the inside of his thighs; muscles twitching, hips bucking. "You were saying, my king?" Loki swallowed hard, Adam's apple bobbing. "Y-You of all the p-people should know how much s-stamina I have." That was true. "Mhh, indeed." Your hands moved to his ass, urging him to step closer. "Then show me again how much stamina you got."

[esamastation]

Part fifty-one of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: forty, forty-one, forty-two, forty-three, forty-four, forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty

-

"Angeal Hewley speaking."

"Well, you sound chipper tonight. Is Wutai not treating you right?"

"Oh. Hello, Genesis. How are things in Midgar?"

"Things are… they are such as they are. The work of a hero never ends. And so forth."

"That good, huh?"

"Mmm. Now do tell me why you sound like someone gone trampling all over your honour."

"Heh, nothing so bad, I promise. Just, you know. Sephiroth."

"More of his glowing Alignment practice?"

"..."

"Oh, so it's something new now? Do tell! All of us in Midgar are dying to know how things are developing. How is the Healer of Worlds doing?"

"... I guess the Turks have already reported it. Well. For one, he's learned how to fly."

"... Come again?"

"Sephiroth learned to fly. Or, I guess, it's more like weightlessness? He can make himself feather-light and just jump on tree tops and glide around."

"... Angeal, my dear friend, this isn't time for jokes."

"Oh, I'm not joking, Genesis, I'm really not. He can fly now. It's really something. He didn't so much explain as he insinuated, but I think it's some kind of gravity or mass manipulation that he can now do. Because of his Alignment practice. Apparently it's bearing fruit."

"... Wonderful. Infinite in mystery is the gift of the Goddess. We seek it thus, and take to the sky. Some of us literally."

"Suppose that's one interpretation of it."

"Tch. And I suppose by now the Good Professor has been informed, and we will be hearing of these developments from him directly."

"Probably, yeah."

"Tch. Well, I suppose it would be nice to know how to fly. How many of us will end up with our wings clipped before such heights are achieved, forever…"

"Genesis…"

"They still don't admit that there have been deaths. Janson was supposedly killed in action, but he wasn't even on a mission at the time. The others have been cadets, but it's only a matter of time."

"I'm sorry. I wish I was there."

"No you don't. Be glad you aren't - though, as G type SOLDIERs, you and I aren't compatible with these new methods anyway. Such fortune we have, such graces we have been granted."

"We all signed up for this. We all volunteered, in order to enter the program."

"Yes, and not a single one of us knew what that meant. Well, except perhaps for Sephiroth. Not that he ever truly signed up. You know, I have been looking into his history, I've dug out his medical records, trying to figure out what they are after -"

"Genesis, that's a breach of trust -"

"The lives of my men matter to me more than Sephiroth's secrets and pride. Not that the files were any help - the story they paint is more a horror story than anything. Whatever Hojo is trying to recreate, if it takes as many experiments as Sephiroth has gone through…"

"I thought they already nailed down the cause. The overdose, right?"

"That's the prevalent theory, yes. But after the first few cases of Mako Poisoning and death, they rather gave up on recreating that particular experiment at least."

"They gave up? But, aren't they still calling SOLDIERs in for extra doses?"

"They are, but there's not as much Mako in it. They're injecting something else, now - more of the carrier agent, supposedly - though Goddess alone knows how many had to be resuscitated for them to get the point."

"... What's the current total of casualties?"

"Four deaths including Janson and seven in coma, two of them SOLDIER. Oh, and one confirmed brain death, which is just lovely."

"A SOLDIER?"

"No… a cadet. What they're keeping him alive for I don't know, but… there we have it."

"... Shit."

"Angeal Hewley, is that cursing I hear?! What a day to be alive."

"Very funny. How do you know about what's going on in the labs? I thought they'd pretty much banned you from them?"

"They did, but I have my ways."

"... Right. Do your ways explain why Lazard isn't doing anything about this?"

"Not much he can do. Hojo will do what he wants, and he'd promised Heidegger a new, higher class of SOLDIER after this, so you can imagine his reaction. And of course the President is all for it!"

"Ah, I… see."

"Indeed. You know what they're saying in the labs now? They're saying that SOLDIERs were created to be the second coming of the Ancients. That we were supposed to be able to, among other things, cast spells without the need of Materia."

"I… heard something like that too, a long time ago, but I didn't put much stock in it. It sounded a bit too fantastical for me."

"Well, supposedly, that's exactly what they wanted. They gave up on it, because, well, it didn't work, and because the side effects were even more useful. Superhuman soldiers! Much better than Ancient myths, when you have a war to be fought. Only now the war is almost over, and Sephiroth has apparently figured out how to fly."

"Ah."

"I can only imagine the consequences this will have."

"Yes, um. There's something else."

"Something else? Angeal, please don't tell me you're been holding out for me."

"Well, not really, but, um. Did you know Sephiroth can speak and read the Wutai language?"

"... I didn't, but I'm not surprised. Among SOLDIERs he's spent the most time over there."

"Well, I didn't know. The Turks didn't know. I don't think it's in his file either."

"Another thing he's been keeping to himself and can no longer remember why?"

"Maybe, but, Genesis, there's… another thing. There was a group of Wutai warriors that we intercepted, and Sephiroth had a one-in-one duel with their captain - and then he spoke with him. In their language. Now, I can't understand written Wutai at all, but I can sort of follow the conversations…"

"I am duly impressed, my friend. Though more with the idea of Sephiroth having a conversation with a Wutai soldier - after having a duel with them. What, did he raise their spirit somehow?"

"Very funny, but no, he didn't kill the man. That's not the point - Genesis, the Wutai Captain called Sephiroth's accent ancient."

"... Angeal, you're kidding me."

"Not like Ancient ancient. I'm pretty sure the moniker they use for Ancients is different. Ancestor, maybe? Something like that. Anyway, Deng Yuto called Sephiroth's accent ancient, meaning really old."

"... Huh. So to recap, Sephiroth gets a massive dose of Mako, flatlines, comes back, forgets almost everything about himself, develops some new habits, has a bunch of strange questions about the way Materia, Mako, EXP and MP work… and now he's developing new magical abilities, and speaking a language like someone from a long time ago."

"That's about the size of it."

"Damn."

"... Yeah."

"... Hey, Angeal?"

"Yes, Genesis?"

"I think I have a theory of what's going on."

"I thought you might."

-

Lmao I have no idea where this is going 👀🍿

[tigertales9]

More Than Anything II

Pairing: Joe Burrow x Reader

Warnings: 18+ / Angst / Body image issues due to pregnancy / Smut

Description: This is part 2 of More Than Anything

A/N: I was hoping to get this up a couple days ago but got stuck tweaking a few bits. I'm still not completely happy with it, but that's the story of my life. Hope y'all like it.

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

~ ~ Friday afternoon just after Joe leaves ~ ~

You eventually slide off the barstool, grabbing your phone to shut the video down before guzzling your entire glass of water. "Thirsty as hell," you grumble, walking to the fridge to refill your glass. It's no wonder, you think, taking a couple of gulps of the cold water while heading for the stairs. I'm super dehydrated from all the crying and throwing up.

You walk into the master bedroom and flick the ceiling fan on, setting your phone and drink on the bedside table before crawling into bed; as you try to get comfortable you hear a distinct voice in your head.

You overreacted like crazy. You know that, right?

"Fuck off, Cool Logic," you mutter to yourself, using the name you'd given to one of the two dueling voices that had been going at it in your brain for the last couple of months. The dueling voices are as follows -- you have your pre-pregnancy voice providing cool logic, while your hormonal third trimester voice comes crashing in like a wrecking ball.

Cool Logic = Girl please, it's just porn. Not like you caught him balls deep in another woman.

Wrecking Ball = Fuck that! You're huge and chronically uncomfortable since you're carrying HIS child! The least he can do is not be dumb enough to get caught ogling random vag!

"Enough," you mutter, shaking your head and humming a bit to drown out the annoying inner dialogue. You take a deep breath and fight back tears as your mind continues to torture you. What hurts the most is he knows you feel bad about yourself; you've been super honest about it, and he's done nothing but reassure you that he finds you absolutely gorgeous and sexy. "And I stupidly believed him," you mumble.

He hasn't been able to keep his hands -- among other things -- off of you, Cool Logic interjects. Maybe he's telling the truth.

"Shut up!" you snap, more than a little appalled that you're arguing with your damn self. "I'm losing it," you grumble, squeezing your eyes closed as images from the day before flash in your mind

~ ~ flashback to yesterday ~ ~

Joe gets home from the gym just as you're finishing up a light treadmill workout. You hear the garage door open and check your time. "Four minutes left," you grumble before stabbing the 'stop' button. "Close enough." You sit on a weight bench and tug your shoes and socks off, wiggling your toes and grimacing as Joe walks into the room.

"Hey," he chirps, leaning down to give you a quick kiss. "Looking good, mama."

"Looking like the Goodyear blimp," you snort, irrationally aggravated that Joe looks like walking sex, as usual. "If men had to go through pregnancy and childbirth, the human species would've long since gone extinct."

"No doubt about that," he agrees, giving you a playful wink when you narrow your eyes at him. "I think you're sexy as hell," he murmurs, leaning down to give you a more thorough kiss before stepping back.

You really want to call him a liar, but the earnest look on his face stops you cold. You give him a weak smile before heaving a sigh. "I should've got a pedi a couple days ago when I got a bikini wax," you grump, peering at your less than perfect pedicure like it's the worst thing ever. "If I wasn't so huge I'd paint them myself, but here we are," you mutter, gesturing at your pregnant belly.

"Let me do it," he urges giving you a wicked grin when you hit him with an incredulous look. "You know I'm good with my hands," he brags, wiggling his agile fingers and chuckling when you roll your eyes.

"Maybe later," you mumble. "Right now you can put those hands to good use by emptying the dishwasher."

"Yes, ma'am." He gives your ass a playful squeeze as you walk out of the room and head for the stairs. Halfway up you remember another chore that needs to be done. "When you're finished with the dishes can you grab the clean laundry out of the dryer and bring it upstairs? I'll fold it when I get out of the shower."

"You got it, babe," he grins, giving you a thumbs-up before getting to work.

You walk out of the bathroom 25 minutes later, smiling at the array of neatly folded clothes laying on the bed. He grabs a stack of clean towels, handing them to you before reaching for a pile of t-shirts, socks and undies. "Let's put these up then I'll paint your toenails," he offers.

"You don't have to," you mutter, sticking your bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. "I'll just go to brunch tomorrow with a busted pedi. The girls won't judge me."

Joe leans down and sucks your pouty lip into his mouth, nibbling on it for a second before releasing it. "You're not going to brunch with a busted pedi. Put those towels up and grab everything we need to handle business."

"Yes, sir," you say in a sultry tone, giving Joe an innocent smile when he hits you with a loaded look. You place the towels in a cabinet and grab a bottle of nail polish and toe separators. "I don't need full-service," you say, waggling the bottle of nail polish as you walk back in the bedroom. "Just paint over the existing polish and we'll call it good."

Joe gives you a sly grin as you sit on the edge of the bed. "I was kind of hoping you'd want full-service," he winks, voice heavy with innuendo.

"Maybe later, horndog," you giggle, smiling as he sits cross-legged on the floor at your feet. "Wait a sec," you say, "we need something to put over the carpet just in case."

He pulls his black t-shirt off and spreads it on the floor inside out. "This thing is old as hell. I don't care if it gets polish on it."

You let your eyes wander over his bare skin, admiring the way his muscles flex as he scoots closer to you. "Who's the horndog now?" he grins, easily noticing your not-so-subtle ogling.

"Pretty sure it's still you," you chuckle, handing him the toe separators while shaking the polish bottle.

"You know me too well," he sighs, fixing the separators in place before reaching for the bottle. "Put one foot on my leg," he continues, patting his thigh and watching closely as you do as ordered. "What are you wearing under the t-shirt?" he asks, slowly unscrewing the polish while holding your gaze.

You look down at the light purple t-shirt you're wearing -- his shirt -- before answering. "Panties."

He gives you a look before painting a stripe of coral-colored polish onto a big toe. "What kind of panties?"

"Hipster panties."

"What color?"

"You wanna see 'em?"

"Obvs."

You pull the shirt up just enough to expose the tiny, low rise undies.

"Purple tiger stripes," he nods his approval. "Very nice."

"You picked them out," you giggle, dropping the shirt to cover your crotch as he finishes up foot #1.

"I know. I have good taste." He gives you a wink that's more naughty than playful, lifting your foot up to blow on the wet polish, his gaze sliding up the length of your leg as he continues to blow.

"You trying to get another eyeful?" you tease, a pulse of arousal setting off deep inside as his gaze moves from the juncture of your thighs, over the swell of your belly to linger on your breasts. Your nipples harden under his heated gaze, and his sinful lips curl up in a cocky grin.

"Maybe." He slowly licks his lips while setting your foot down and reaching for your other foot. He wraps his hand around your ankle and lifts your foot all the way up to his mouth, planting a kiss on your sensitive sole before giving it a quick lick.

"That tickles!" you gasp, squirming a bit as he does it again. "Joseph, stop!" you laugh, trying and failing to pull your foot out of his strong grasp.

"Take your shirt off," he orders.

"You don't wanna see my huge belly," you grimace.

"Your belly is sexy," he states. "I wanna see it and your gorgeous tits."

"I don't feel very sexy," you pout.

"Your hard nipples say otherwise."

"I mean, yeah, I'm a little turned on, but I don't feel sexy. I feel big as a house."

"You look like a goddess," he purrs, dropping a full-lipped kiss on the inside of your ankle just above where his hand is gripping you. "Ripe and luscious," he continues, kissing his way up the inside of your calf all the way to your knee. "Good enough to eat," he groans, sucking a mouthful of thigh hard enough to leave a love bite.

You swallow hard and try to act unaffected, knowing it'll drive him crazy. "Are you gonna finish painting my nails?" you ask, sounding more breathless than bratty.

"Take your shirt off," he repeats.

"Finish my pedi first."

He shakes his head no and you raise an eyebrow. "What if I don't take it off?" you whisper, liquid heat pooling in your core at the thought of him tickling you into submission.

"I guess I'll have to punish you," he smirks, raising your foot back up to his mouth.

"Don't you dare!" you holler, squealing when he licks a long stripe up the center of your sole. "Okay, damnit!" you wheeze, whipping the shirt off before he can lick your ticklish foot again.

"Good girl," he purrs, his eyes roaming over the swell of your belly several times before resting on your bare breasts. "Are you wet for me?" he asks, sucking on his bottom lip in a way that causes your clit to throb.

"Nope," you lie.

"Oh really?" he scoffs, one jaunty eyebrow arching upward while his hand slides up your inner thigh. "Lemme check," he purrs, giving you a knowing smile when you grab his wrist.

"Wait." You stop his hand just before it reaches your crotch. You look down at his stupidly sexy smirk and are hit with a bit of inspiration. It takes everything you have not to cackle like a supervillain as the plan takes shape in your mind. You clear your throat and give him a pleading look. "Listen," you whisper, biting your lip when he leans closer to hear you better. "I'll do whatever you want, but you have to finish my toes first."

"Okay," he quickly agrees.

"Just to clarify," you state. "You have to finish my pedi no matter what. You can't stop until you're done, got it?"

He narrows his eyes as he searches your face. "What if the house catches on fire?"

"If the damn house catches on fire you can stop. Anything else needs my permission."

"Ohhhh, a power play. I like it." He gives you a nod of approval. "I accept your terms."

"Good." You release his hand and hook your thumbs in the waistband of your panties, wiggling out of them while his eyes avidly follow their downward progress. "It'll be easier to take these off before both sets of toes have wet polish," you murmur, grinning as he takes over, carefully easing the panties off so as not to disturb your freshly-painted toes.

You lean back on your elbows and spread your thighs a bit, fighting the urge to giggle at the look on his face.

"This seems kinda unfair," he mumbles.

You pretend not to hear his complaint as you lift your right foot and place it on his thigh, giving him an innocent smile when he finally drags his gaze from your crotch. "Only five more toes to go," you grin. "That won't take long at all." He grabs the bottle of polish and leans down to get started; you lay flat on your back and slide your right hand down to rest on your upper thigh. "You painting my nails is kinda hot," you breathe, squirming your hips a little as you inch your hand closer to your crotch. "We should do it more often."

"Yep," he croaks, going completely still as you ghost your fingertips over your slit, slowly sliding up to rub your clit. "I can finish your toes later," he states.

"Nope. That goes against the terms of our agreement." You continue to play with yourself while he paints another toe, muttering under his breath the entire time. You can't see a damn thing because of your belly, but you know he's enjoying the view; you bite your lip and slide a finger inside, your core clenching at his low-throated groan. You feel him grab your wrist and give it a tug before sucking your wet finger into his mouth.

"Are you done with the pedi?" you ask.

"Noooo," he moans.

"I don't smell smoke," you tease, "pretty sure the house isn't on fire."

He releases your wrist, grumbling as he quickly snatches the bottle of polish and goes back to work.

You slide your finger back inside your slick heat, pumping slowly before adding a second finger. A few heartbeats later you feel his tongue on your clit.

"Did you finish . . ."

"Yes!" he growls against your sensitive flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"I hate that I can't see you because of my belly," you gripe.

"Can you feel me," he asks, giving your clit a loud suck while sliding two fingers inside.

"Y … yeah," you whimper, gasping when he curls his fingers to hit your sweet spot. Just a few minutes later you're already falling over the edge, moaning his name as he continues to pleasure you through your climax.

After you catch your breath, you hold both hands out toward Joe. "Help me sit up, please," you ask. Once you're upright, you look down at him on the ground between your thighs, his lips glistening with your essence. "Are you hard?" you whisper, smiling when he gives you a 'girl please' look before he stands up and shoves his slinky shorts and underwear down to mid-thigh; his cock springs free and you wrap a hand around it, giving a couple of slow pumps before locking eyes with him. You run your tongue up a prominent vein before gently lapping up the precum on his tip. "No time for teasing, baby, I'm too close," he groans, looking down at you through those long eyelashes as you get down to business.

The next few minutes you work him in all the ways you know he loves, relishing in his grunts and moans of approval as you take him deep, tears sliding down your cheeks as you choke on his thick cock. "Shit, baby, I'm close," he warns, reaching a long arm out to steady himself against the bed as his climax hits; you continue to work him through his climax, smacking your lips when he collapses on the bed beside you.

After a few minutes of heavy breathing he gives you a sheepish smile. "I'm gonna need to redo those last two toes," he admits.

You look down at your right foot, mouth dropping open at the absolute mess. "What the hell?" you laugh, shaking your head while giving Joe a bemused look.

"Sorry," he chuckles. "I had a hard time concentrating since you were putting on quite a show."

"That was the point."

"I know. You won."

"What's my prize?" you ask cheekily.

"I'm gonna make you cum again," he states matter-of-factly. "That last one was way too quick."

You watch as he hops off the bed and heads into the bathroom, your pulse rate picking up in anticipation. He strides back into the bedroom and drops to his knees between your thighs. He holds a hand mirror out and you take it. "Lay back," he orders.

"What's this for?" you ask, waggling the mirror while doing his bidding.

"So you can watch," he purrs, giving you a feral smile before lowering his head

~ ~ end of flashback ~ ~

What seemed so hot in that moment is now something you wish you could forget. You stare at the ceiling, cringing in embarrassment at the thought of him seeing you like that.

Right? Wrecking Ball quips. Surprised he could get it up with that gigantic belly staring him in the face. You squeeze your eyes closed as a tear slides down your cheek. Don't listen to that nonsense, Cool Logic snipes. He had no problem getting it up. Hell, he damn near came before you got it in your mouth! Not to mention he went back for seconds!

"Maybe if I ignore the voices they'll go away," you mumble, rolling onto your side to get more comfortable; you grab a pillow and pull it toward you, the faint scent causing your stomach to lurch. It was Joe's scent -- clean and a little musky -- basically your fav scent in the entire world until right this second. You push the pillow away as hot tears stream down your cheeks. What feels like an eternity later you finally drift off to sleep.

A couple hours later you jolt awake, wondering what woke you up for a second before you realize it's your phone; you grab it and check the display -- Joe's mom is calling. You take a deep breath and answer the call. "Hey Robin," you croak.

"Hey sweetie. How are you doing?"

"Okay."

"Good. Listen, Joe told us what happened. We totally understand why you need some space from him for a bit."

"What did he tell you?"

"He said you came home a little early from your brunch and caught him looking at some gross porn. He had an excuse for it but I told him none of that matters."

"I can't believe he told you the truth."

"Well, he feels horrible as he should. How are you?"

You heave a sigh before answering. "I bounce back and forth between being mad as hell and feeling like i overreacted. He didn't mean to hurt me, so I know I should just let it go."

"You didn't overreact," Robin states. "Listen, if you accidentally step on someone's foot, it doesn't hurt any less just because you didn't mean to do it. Same principle here. He didn't mean to hurt you but he did. You're having to deal with negative emotions at a really vulnerable time because of something he did. Don't rush yourself to forgive and forget before you're ready."

"Thank you," you sniff, fighting the urge to cry.

"You're welcome. Joe said your mom is flying in tonight so I know you'll get plenty of love and validation from her. Just know that Jimmy and I are also on your side. Joe is our baby, but we hold him accountable when he does dumb things."

"Thank you," you repeat, hurrying to get off the phone before you break down in tears.

You ease out of bed and head downstairs, pacing around for what seems like ages until your mom pulls into the driveway; you hit the garage door opener so she can pull in, immediately breaking down in sobs when she hops out of her rental car and rushes toward you.

"It's okay," she soothes, holding you tight and rocking back and forth while you sniffle and snort.

"I'm being dumb," you croak.

"No you're not," she states. "You're being human."

You lean back and give her a weak smile. "A dumb human," you laugh, smiling as she grabs her bag and ushers you into the house.

~ ~ Saturday ~ ~

You lie in bed most of the day, switching back and forth between feeling like you overreacted and feeling like you never want Joe to touch you again.

Your mom was great, as expected. Giving you space to sulk while also plying you with yummy food she knew you couldn't resist.

~ ~ Sunday ~ ~

You've been lying in bed all day again, fully embracing the pity-party vibe when your mom strolls into your room just before dinner time. She sits on the edge of your bed and gives you an enigmatic look. "You ready to talk to him?" she asks, giving you a sympathetic smile when you make a stank face. "Listen," she continues, "let me call him. I'll put him on speaker. Maybe hearing his voice will make you want to talk to him. Or not," she shrugs.

You consider it for a minute before responding. "Okay," you sigh, sitting up while she calls him. The sound of his voice hits you like an electric shock; after regaining your composure you shake your head and tune back in to the conversation.

"I'm doing okay, I guess," Joe says. "How's y/n?"

"She's doing … okay," your mom mutters. "I think she's feeling a little better."

Joe heaves a sigh before speaking. "I can't believe I messed things up so bad. The entire pregnancy has been this magical time for us and I screwed it up by being stupid! I ruined everything and now she hates me," he grits out, self-loathing dripping from every word.

"I don't hate you," you state, a little disconcerted at the strangled noise he makes. Your mom hands you the phone and walks out of the room to give you some privacy. "You were on speaker," you continue. "I should have warned …"

"It's okay," he blurts. "You're not mad at me anymore?"

You take a deep breath. "My feelings are still hurt, but I'm not mad. I guess that's a step in the right direction."

"Yeah." The silence stretches out for a minute before he breaks it. "I'm so sorry I hurt your feelings."

"I know. -- If you want to come to the doctor with me tomorrow, you need to be home by 9:15 a.m."

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Can I come home tonight?" he asks. "It's fine if you say no. I don't mean to be pushy."

"It's kind of late."

"I can't sleep anyway. If I leave now I'll be home around 10:00. You don't have to wait up for me."

"I can't sleep either," you sigh. "Listen, I'm not ready for you to touch me or see me naked."

There's several beats of silence before he responds. "I understand."

"Good. Be careful, okay? Don't speed."

"Okay. See you in a couple hours."

You end the call and walk downstairs, sitting on the sofa beside your mom. "He's coming home tonight. He'll be here by 10:00."

"Is he taking you to the doctor tomorrow?"

"Yeah." You rub your belly as you continue. "This is his baby, too. He deserves to be there when we get the news. 99% chance we'll be scheduling a C-section."

"Probably," your mom agrees, "but everything's gonna be fine," she soothes. "You're young, healthy and you have a great doctor." You nod your head then frown as she mentions booking herself a flight back to Dallas.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow morning. I'll need to head to the airport around 8:30 if I book the early flight. Is that okay?"

"Yeah." You give her a sheepish smile. "Sorry you had to come babysit me for a few days since I threw a hissy fit."

"You had every right to those feelings. Don't feel a bit bad about it."

After eating dinner and watching TV together for a while, your mom heads off to bed and you go upstairs to take a shower. Once you towel yourself dry you study your reflection in the mirror, wishing you could hit rewind and go back to the loving, teasing vibe you had with Joe before the shit hit the fan.

He was absolutely right when he said the whole pregnancy had been a magical time for y'all. You were both pleasantly surprised when your high libido didn't dip at all, but the further along you got, the more self-conscious you got over your growing belly. Joe hadn't seemed to lose any attraction at all which did wonders for your self-confidence.

But now you know he was lying, Wrecking Ball sneers. His ass doesn't deserve to see you naked again until you're completely comfortable with it. Baby boy might be eating solid food by then.

He wasn't lying! Cool Logic argues. That porn he searched for is the exact same thing you did to get him worked up.

"I'm truly losing my shit," you mutter, pulling on a pair of boyshorts and a voluminous maternity tee before walking into the bedroom; you sit in the rocking chair Joe bought for you, looking around at the makeshift nursery y'all had set up in the sitting area of your oversized bedroom: a crib, changing table, diaper genie, small dresser & rocking chair. Jace will eventually have his own room just down the hall, but you and Joe couldn't stand the thought of sleeping in a completely different room away from your baby boy for the first few months.

After a few more minutes just rocking and trying to clear your mind, you hear the faint mechanical hum of the automatic garage door opener signaling the arrival of Joe. A few minutes after that he sticks his head in the bedroom door, smiling when he sees you in the rocking chair. "Hey," he whispers, hovering in the doorway.

"Hey. Come in," you beckon, your heart hurting when you take in the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. You know you don't look any better.

"How do you feel?" he asks.

"Remember that gigantic prize-winning watermelon at the county fair last summer? I feel like I swallowed it."

"That bad, huh?"

"Pretty bad. -- How was your drive? You made good time."

"Traffic was light."

"And you were speeding."

"Maybe a little," he shrugs, giving you a tired grin as he walks toward you and drops to the floor at your feet, sitting cross-legged. He clears his throat and lifts his gaze to yours. "Remember when we first met?"

The question catches you off guard. "Yeah," you answer, trying to read his expression.

"I thought you'd never agree to go out with me," he mutters, "but then you finally did and we've been inseparable ever since."

You're still not sure where he's going with this, so you just smile as your mind wanders back to your sophomore year at LSU.

There had been a buzz on campus about the new transfer QB from Ohio State; one of your good friends was a cheerleader so you'd been to several parties where Joe was present. You'd avoided him like the plague since you figured he was a raging fuck boy. He was persistent as hell, you had to give him that. You shot him down at least a dozen times before you finally agreed to go get ice cream with him. The rest was history.

Joe clearing his throat pulls you back into the moment. He takes a deep breath before speaking. "I, ummm, I've been wondering if you wish you had more … experiences before we got together."

"Experiences?" you echo, furrowing your brow while he looks distinctly uncomfortable. "What do you mean?"

He chews on his bottom lip and runs a hand through his unruly curls. "I'm your first and only lover. Maybe you wonder what it would be like with another man."

You stare at him for several seconds before responding. "What have you been smoking?" you chuckle. "I know you're not serious." You shake your head in disbelief while he fidgets with his thumbnail, the look on his face telling you he's dead serious. "Where did this come from?" you ask.

He mumbles something under his breath while staring at the floor.

"I didn't catch that."

He heaves a sigh and repeats himself loud enough for you to hear. "It's just … that video dude got me thinking you might want another man."

"Video dude?"

"You know," he mumbles, mimicking jacking off.

"You've got to be kidding," you mutter, shaking your head when he gives a shrug. "Let me get this straight. You think I'm thirsting for random dick because I pulled a petty stunt to give you a little taste of your own medicine?"

"Something like that."

"I turned that video off the second you walked out the door," you admit. He shrugs again and continues to stare at the floor. "Look at me, please." You wait for him to comply before continuing. "I don't want another man. Not now. Not ever. Okay?"

"Guess I shouldn't have spent the entire week-end worrying about it," he grumbles.

"Guess not," you state. "So should I be worried that you want other women?"

"Of course not," he scoffs, looking completely offended at the question.

"I mean, this whole thing started because I caught you …"

"I was trying to find someone who looks like you," he butts in. "I know you don't believe me, but that's the absolute truth."

"Let's leave that in the past," you mutter. "But since you brought up being my first, I have to admit I've always been a little insecure about it. Can't help but wonder if I'm as good as other girls you've been with who were more experienced."

"You're by far the best. If it was any better I'd have a stroke." You chew on your lip as he continues. "There's literally no way the sex could get any better. We're made for each other." He scoots closer and locks eyes with you, his expression as passionate as his words. "We're compatible on every single wavelength: mentally, emotionally, intellectually, physically, chemically. I always thought the whole pheromone thing was total bullshit until I met you."

You give him a smile as he plows ahead, heartfelt words spilling from his pretty lips.

"You've been the one consistently amazing thing in my life, always there for me at my highest of highs and lowest of lows. I love you more than anything, but I don't think I've done a very good job of showing it. I hope you'll give me another chance to prove it."

You can tell that last part was completely rehearsed, but somehow that makes it sweeter. "You've done a good job of showing it, Joe. This one setback doesn't erase all of that. I just need a little more time to get over it. As long as you don't try to rush me we'll be fine."

"I'll do whatever you want."

"Right now I want to get some rest." You ease out of the rocking chair and head for the bed, sliding between the cool, clean sheets while he watches, clearly not sure what to do. "You can sleep with me, but I don't want to be touched," you state, pretending not to notice the disappointment on his face. "Okay," he sighs, obviously dying to say something else but biting his lip before walking into the bathroom to brush his teeth and undress. He eventually comes out and clicks off the bedside lamp before crawling into bed. "Goodnight," he whispers. "Night," you answer,

You wake up the next morning to the smell of breakfast cooking. Mom's up early, you think, stretching before turning to look at Joe; his side of the bed is empty and you laugh to yourself. "Nothing gets that man out of bed faster than the smell of yummy food cooking."

You pee, wash your face and put your long, wavy hair in a high ponytail before making your way downstairs, surprised to see Joe standing at the stove. "Smells good," you sigh, smiling when he throws you a quick look over his shoulder as you slide onto a barstool.

"Scrambled eggs, turkey sausage and multi-grain toast," he says, dishing food onto a plate and setting it in front of you. He quickly grabs the raspberry jam out of the fridge, giving you a smile as he sets it down. "Thank you. All of my favs," you say, returning his smile while you slather jam on your toast. He watches you tuck into the hearty breakfast, his gaze going a bit feral as you suck a dab of jam off of a finger. You both freeze in that moment, neither of you breathing for a second until the spell is broken by your mom walking into the kitchen.

The rest of the morning flashes by in a blur. Your mom has a quick breakfast before heading to the airport; you and Joe finish breakfast and get dressed before heading to your doctor appointment.

A couple hours later y'all are heading back home from the doctor; as Joe pulls out of the parking lot he instinctively reaches a hand over to rest on your leg, catching himself just before he makes contact. He awkwardly rests his hand on the center console instead, his eyes going wide when you grab his hand and place it on your thigh, smiling at him when he shoots you a quick look.

Once y'all arrive home, you're both subdued by the news you received. You can tell Joe is trying to think of something soothing to say when his phone chirps; he makes a face when he reads the text.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "Sam wants me to go workout with him."

"Do it!" you urge.

"You trying to get rid of me?" he grumbles.

"No. I just think you'll feel better if you go. Plus I have a few phone calls to make."

"I don't wanna leave you alone."

"I'll be fine," you soothe. "If anything happens I'll call 911. They'll be here in less than 5 minutes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Go break a sweat. You'll feel better."

Once Joe leaves you make several phone calls to family and a few close friends to give them the news; the only person you can't reach is your best friend so you leave her a message. She calls a little while later when you're finishing up a few chores. You slide onto a barstool at the kitchen counter and accept the call.

"Hey girl," you greet.

"Hey! What did the doc say?"

"C-section."

"I guess we kind of expected that. You know, I think I'd rather have a C-section than a vaginal birth so this seems like a good thing to me."

"Thanks for trying to make me feel better."

"I'm dead serious, girl. I don't love the idea of pushing something the size of a Christmas ham out of my cooch! And you know lil man is gonna have a huge head just like his daddy."

You laugh at her serious tone. "He is big. They estimate he'll be close to 9 pounds."

"Lawd, makes my vag cringe just thinking about it. Remind me to never make babies with a big boy."

"Making babies with a big boy is definitely something I recommend."

"Really?"

"For sure. A damn-near 9 pound baby doesn't seem so bad when you're getting damn-near 9 inches from daddy anytime you want it." You almost drop your phone when Joe clears his throat behind you as your bestie cackles at your dirty advice. You spin your barstool around and lock eyes with him. "Speak of the devil," you murmur. "Listen girl, I gotta run. Call you back later."

"Hey," Joe says, trying and failing not to look smug as fuck.

"Hey Mr. Nosy. You gonna make a habit of eavesdropping?"

"No, ma'am." He smiles as he walks toward you with that long-legged, loose-hipped stride that always makes your knees weak. "I wasn't trying to eavesdrop. I figured you heard me come in."

"Well, I obviously didn't," you snark, trying hard to keep a stern look on your face.

"Obvs," he mutters, laughing when you narrow your eyes at him. "Sorry," he coughs, handing you a gift bag. "I picked up a few things I thought you might like. I know you haven't felt like shopping since …"

You bite your lip as his voice trails off, waiting for the pang of sadness to hit when thinking about that awful day; you feel a flood of relief when the pang doesn't rear its ugly head.

"Thanks," you smile, taking in Joe's deer-in-the-headlights look for a second before reaching into the gift bag. You hear him exhale as you pull the tissue paper out. Over the next few minutes you pull out a ridiculous amount of Bengals and LSU baby gear: several onesies, booties, blankets, bibs, and other baby goodies. "How did you get these?" you ask. "Most of them have been back-ordered forever."

"I pulled some strings."

"Thank you. I love all of it," you gush, struggling a little to slide off the barstool before he steps forward and grabs you by the hips, easing you to the ground as if you're light as a feather. You link your arms around his waist and give him as tight of a hug as your belly will allow, feeling a different kind of pang when he buries his nose in your hair and takes a deep breath, his big hands sliding up and down your back like he hasn't touched you in ages. You get a little flustered at his touch and step back. "I … ummm … I think I'm gonna go take a nap," you blurt out, your pulse picking up at the way his gaze drops down to your lips and lingers there while you speak, like he's considering kissing you but scared of your reaction.

"Sounds good," he murmurs, dragging his gaze from your lips to your eyes. "I'm just gonna crash on the sofa and watch TV."

"Cool," you say, hurrying to the stairs, wondering if you'll ever feel 100% comfortable around him again.

After tossing and turning in bed for about 45 minutes, you finally give up on getting a nap and make your way back downstairs; you hear Joe talking on the phone as you walk toward the living room. "I'm nervous, but I can't let it show," he says. "I've gotta be strong for her. -- I know the risks are lower because the C-section is planned, but it's still scary as hell. I don't know what I'd do if something bad happened. I can't live without her."

That last sentence brings tears to your eyes and you sniffle a bit as they start falling. Joe's head immediately pops up over the back of the sofa. "Gotta go, Mom. Call you back later." He ends the call as you walk into the living room. "How long were you standing there?" he asks. "Long enough," you whisper, wiping tears off of your cheeks as you take in the glorious sight of him sprawled out, shirtless with tousled curls, long legs stretching the entire length of the oversized sofa. "I can't live without you either," you sniff.

"Come here," he urges, patting his bare chest. You crawl between his spread thighs and turn onto your side a bit, laying your belly against him.

"This is the most comfortable I've been in ages," you sigh, eyes fluttering closed as his long fingers massage the back of your neck.

"Good. Get some sleep," he whispers, pressing a kiss on your forehead.

"I feel like I'm crushing you."

"Woman, I bench press way fucking more than your trifling weight. You couldn't crush me if you tried."

You laugh at his cocky tone. "Okay," you yawn, snuggling your face against his bare chest, lulled by his familiar scent as you drift off to sleep.

Later that night, after dinner and a few episodes of Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey, you wake up in bed hot and sweaty. You throw the covers off and lie there for another few minutes before easing out of bed to head for the bathroom. You strip your shirt off and run a cool, damp washcloth over your neck, chest and belly, sighing in relief as the cool cloth caresses your heated skin.

When you're done, you think about returning to bed without a shirt, but you're too self-conscious. You heave a defeated sigh as you walk into the closet for a clean t-shirt, immediately reaching for one of Joe's; a small smile graces your lips as you pull the shirt on. Just a couple days ago the thought of his shirts touching you made you lose your mind. Today it feels totally normal, totally right. It's a small victory but you'll take it.

When you walk back into the bedroom Joe hands you a glass of cold water. "Thanks," you sigh, gulping half of it down before setting it on the bedside table. "You'll be cooler without the t-shirt," he says, his expression heavy with concern as you look up at him in the amber glow of the hallway light. "I'm still not really comfortable with you seeing me like that," you mumble, feeling a little silly. "Stay right here," he says, rushing to turn off the hallway light before turning on a much dimmer bathroom light; he pulls the bathroom door almost all the way closed before walking up to you in the near-total darkness.

"Better?" he asks. "Yeah," you answer, lifting your arms up as he grabs the hem of your shirt and gently pulls it over your head; he then picks you up bridal-style and lays you on the bed. "You want any covers?" he asks. "Just the sheet please," you reply, holding your breath until he slides back into bed beside you. "You good?" he asks. "Yeah," you whisper, feeling weirdly exposed as you try to get comfortable, the silky sheets rubbing against your sensitive nipples in a way that makes your core react. Simmer down, you think to yourself, tossing and turning, restless as hell due to equal parts anxiety and arousal.

After several minutes, Joe wraps an arm around you. "I know you're scared, baby. Wish I could fix it for you," he whispers, pulling you close, your back against his chest.

You squirm in his embrace a little. "I'm def scared but I'm also …"

"Also what?"

"Super horny," you mumble into your pillow.

"Oh." He gives a surprised chuckle. "Well I can fix that," he boasts, pressing a kiss on your bare shoulder before pushing your hair aside to gently blow on the back of your neck. "Let me help," he urges. You hesitate for a bit. "Please?" he whispers.

You eventually roll onto your back, sighing as he gently ghosts his fingertips over your sensitive nipples while kissing your neck. He avoids your belly as he slides a hand down to your crotch, teasing you through your panties for a bit before slipping his fingers inside.

Damn, he's so good with his hands, you think, your breath catching in your throat as he hits your sweet spot, quickly sending you over the edge while he whispers dirty encouragement in your ear.

A few heartbeats later, you finally catch your breath. "Your turn," you whisper.

"You just need to rest, don't worry about me."

You're entire body goes cold. "You're not attracted to me," you state matter-of-factly. "I knew it."

Joe doesn't say a word, just reaches out for your hand and places it on his raging erection. "Oh," you whisper. "Let me help you with that," you offer, gasping when he wraps his big hand around your much smaller one, pumping for a few slow, steady strokes before picking up the pace, his hips snapping up into the strokes for a few minutes before he falls over the edge.

You listen to him catch his breath for a bit before speaking. "I feel sweaty and sticky," you whisper. "I'm going to take a shower." You wait a few seconds before continuing. "You wanna join me?"

"Yes," he immediately answers. "But …"

"But what?" you ask, trying to make out his expression in the semi-darkness.

"We'll have to have more light than this. It's too dangerous to shower in the dark in case you slip. If you don't want me to join …"

"I want you," you interrupt, easing out of bed.

"Are you sure?" he asks, blinking in surprise when you turn on the bedside lamp. His eyes travel from your face to your breasts then down over the swell of your belly before slowing reversing course. When he locks eyes with you again you can tell he's holding back tears, his plump bottom lip quivering in a way that tugs at your heartstrings.

"Come on, daddy," you whisper, holding a hand out to him. He leaps off the bed and takes a step toward you; when he puts his hand in yours you feel something bloom deep inside you, something much more powerful and primal then mere arousal. He leans down and nuzzles his face against your neck just as his tears start falling. You use your free hand to stroke his back soothingly, your own tears streaming down your face for a bit before he leans back and locks eyes with you.

"I love you more than anything," he sniffs, kissing the tears off of your cheeks. "I love you too" you whisper, cupping a hand around the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss, breathing a sigh of relief into his mouth when the happy tears spilling down your cheeks mingle with his own happy tears in a way that feels cathartic.

The next several days leading up to your C-section are spent almost exclusively together, with Joe working out in your home gym instead of going to Black Sheep or the Bengals facility. Y'all share baths and showers, with Joe insisting on rubbing moisturizer on your belly several times a day hoping to feel Jace kick, his face lighting up every time it happens; after one particularly hard kick, Joe can't contain his excitement. "Gah-lee!" he chuckles. "What a kick! He's definitely gonna train MMA."

"He's most definitely not!" you snap, smiling to soften your words.

The night before your surgery Joe never lets you get more than arm's length away from him, giving you gentle touches on your hips, belly, the small of your back, all while doing an amazing job of playing host to both sets of parents who are spending the night with y'all in anticipation of baby boy's arrival tomorrow.

A few hours after dinner, with both sets of parents tucked into their guest rooms for the night, you and Joe are lying in bed wide awake.

"You're scared aren't you?" you whisper, staring at the ceiling while Joe tosses and turns.

"Is it that obvious?" he asks, rolling onto his side so he can look down at you.

"Yeah." You give him a reassuring smile before tweaking a curl that's fallen onto his forehead. "Fear isn't a normal emotion for you, so it's a little obvious."

"I probably shouldn't admit this," he mutters, "but I've never been this scared." He leans down and gives you a quick kiss before continuing. "When my knee got blown out and we didn't know if I'd ever play football again, I wasn't even remotely this scared. You know why?" he asks.

"Why?"

"Because I can live without football, but I can't live without you."

You feel your entire world condense down to this moment with this man. "I love you more than anything," you breathe, repeating the words he's said to you so many times recently. "And I'm gonna be just fine," you continue, cradling his head when he nuzzles his face against your neck. "Are you excited to meet our baby boy tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he sniffs, fighting back tears. "Excited to bring both of you home and spoil you rotten."

"I'm gonna remind you of that in a few weeks," you tease.

"No need for reminders," he chuckles, giving you another kiss before snuggling you in his embrace.

~ ~ 9 weeks later ~ ~

You rock gently in the rocking chair, staring down at your baby boy who is happily nursing without a care in the world. You close your eyes and let your mind wander back over the past several weeks:

The first few weeks postpartum you and Joe had been dead tired from tending to the constant needs of a newborn. Thankfully it was the off-season since Joe insisted on getting up with you for late-night feedings, which meant neither one of you got good sleep. He was completely enthralled watching Jace breastfeed, and y'all got in the habit of Joe doing skin-to-skin with Jace after each feeding.

Joe handled being a dad with the same mindset he handled everything else in his life -- 100% effort, even on the not-so-fun parts like changing stinky diapers. You thought it was impossible to be more in love with him, but watching him with his baby boy had given you a deeper appreciation and love for him.

Once Jace settled into a more predictable routine, you and Joe had a little more time to be partners and not just parents. You shared a nice amount of non-sexual intimacy during this time -- shared baths/showers, massages, naps and plenty of cuddling. It took a while before you convinced Joe to let you get him off; he thought it was selfish for him to get his needs met since you didn't want him to reciprocate just yet. You promised he could make it up to you when you were fully healed.

Over the last week y'all had eased back into PIV sex, with Joe being super careful -- almost too careful -- with you.

You have other ideas for tonight. You smile as you think about the evening ahead. Gonna put that man on his back and take over, you think to yourself, a swarm of butterflies taking flight in your stomach when you hear the faint sound of the garage door opening.

"Daddy's home," you croon, staring down into Jace's aquamarine eyes as he continues to nurse. He's the spitting image of Joe: a head full of wavy blonde hair, big blue-green eyes, Cupid's bow lips and long legs.

As you wait for Joe to come upstairs, your attention is captured by the shiny bracelet on your wrist. Joe had given you a tennis bracelet with all 3 birthstones on it -- yours, Joe's and Jace's -- alternating with diamonds. You wiggle your wrist a bit, watching the gems glint in the light of the late-afternoon sun streaming in the window.

Joe walks into the room, his face lighting up when he sees you nursing Jace. He approaches quickly, looking down at you for a minute before speaking. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he sighs.

"Yep," you agree. "He's gonna be a total stud just like his daddy."

"I was talking about you," Joe murmurs, leaning down to kiss you. "But yeah, he's a total cutie too," Joe croons, kissing Jace's forehead before standing back up.

"Your turn," you say as Jace finishes nursing, smiling when Joe whips his t-shirt off before reaching for the baby. You switch places, with Joe sitting in the rocking chair cradling Jace against his bare chest and you standing over them. The look on your face prompts Joe to ask you a question.

"What are you thinking?"

"That I've never been happier than I am right now," you whisper, leaning down to drop a quick kiss on Joe's lips.

"Oh you just wait!" he says, smiling ear to ear. "From this day forward, I'm gonna make sure every. single. day. you spend with me is happier than the next."

"Yeah? That sounds like a pretty big task."

"I never back down from a challenge," he brags, giving you a playful wink as you turn and head for the shower, his gaze raking over your curves and his pulse picking up at the hint of promise in your throaty laughter.

[upon-a-starry-night]

Number Neighbors Pt.8

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary:  When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

~~~~

After four months of texting, you’d decided Nat was officially your new best friend of all time. You wondered if she’d ever be open to the option of meeting up but considering her initial hesitancy to even text you in the first place you figured that option was faaar off of the table…at least for now anyway.

You’d grown used to texting her at least once a day, and spamming her on days she’d go silent.

 You didn’t know what she did for work but you understood a lot of jobs didn’t allow you to be on your phones, although she sometimes wouldn’t even respond during the night and it made you wonder if she worked some kind of occasional night job. It only helped solidify your theory that Nat was an FBI agent- or maybe a super spy. 

It would give you exponential bragging rights if you got to say your best friend was a super spy- although she’d probably have to assassinate you for spilling her secret and that would not bode well for you considering you had plans to travel the world before you died. 

Still- you had to admit the two of you were getting closer, and your conversations had become a wide range of you spilling your nonsensical thoughts and Nat growing increasingly more concerned for your mental health. 

       Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

Do you think because humans are full of water the same as cucumbers that we also have the potential to become pickled?

Nat🔪:

Your brain terrifies me

Y/n🍦:

When I die I don’t want to be cremated

I want to be pickled

Nat🔪:

Wow.

That’s…concerning

How have you survived this long?

You’d screenshotted the conversation and posted it on your story, to which your mother replied with apid curiosity about who you’d been texting. After explaining to your mother about your new budding friendship (leaving out the part where Nat was a complete and total stranger -your mother would freak) she expressed how excited she was for you to finally be reaching out and finding new friends. 

She also expressed her relief that there was someone else in the world willing to put up with your otherworldly intrusive thoughts. So Nat was now mother-approved, you outwardly fist pumped the air in the middle of your kitchen, 'best friend status' has been upgraded

—----

        Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦: 

Natalee

I have a theory

Nat🔪:

If it’s about my name I’m

just going to debunk it right now

Y/n🍦: 

What if the shit-tauri from the

Battle of shitstorm didn’t die

and they actually turned into the freakishly large

rats that live on the NYC subways?

Nat🔪:

Solid theory.

Any proof?

Y/n🍦:

Oh, lots.

But ya gotta earn it

Nat🔪:

…how so?

Y/n🍦: 

Truth or dare…

Nat🔪:

No.

Y/n🍦:

To THE DEATH

Nat🔪:

I’m in.

Y/n🍦:

I’m just joking.

I knew you would enjoy that part

My cynical little raincloud friend

Nat🔪:

Oh I'm yours now am I?

Y/n🍦:

The thing is- I am also almost

Certain you are a result of my delusional &

Lonely mind- thus you are My delusional imaginary friend

Since no one else can experience MY delusions :)

Nat🔪:

I’m very real Y/n.

Y/n🍦:

I believe you delusional Nat

Nat🔪:

That implies you are calling ME delusion.

Y/n🍦: 

maybe you are

Maybe I’M not even real!

Nat🔪:

How much have you had to drink?

Y/n🍦:

Nothing, why?

Nat🔪:

….

Seek professional help

Y/n🍦:

You should meet my therapist I think

you’d share the same sentiments.

Nat🔪:

Your therapist wants you

to seek professional help?

Y/n🍦:

My therapist needs a therapist because of me.

Anyways- do you want to earn the rat 

theory proof or are you too soft for it

Nat🔪:

I don’t think anyone has ever called me

“Soft” before

Y/n🍦:

Pfft

Okay “The Rock”

Truth or dare?

Nat🔪:

…

dare

You took a second to think of a dare, getting up from the couch to make yourself a cup of your favorite tea. As you stirred the honey into the steaming liquid you thought of what you could suggest given you knew nothing about her environment. Finally, an idea came into your head and you snickered as you quickly typed out the message. 

Y/n🍦:

I dare you to wear colors

Her response was immediate, a reaction you’d begun to get used to when texting Nat, it was a far cry from the hesitant hour-apart replies she used to give you. 

Nat🔪:

What is with you and judging my 

Choice of attire?

Y/n🍦:

The human eye can see 10 million colors

And you choose to wear black every day.

It’s absolutely outrageous.

I will not stand for it.

Nat🔪:

Jokes on you.

*image attached*

Much to your surprise the image Nat sent consisted of her viewpoint- the camera angled downwards- to show off the dark red t-shirt that Nat was pulling out to display to you to prove that she was in fact wearing color today.

The rest of the image only consisted of her black jeans, black sneakers, and a very boring glossy black flooring- unfortunately for you, it wasn’t shiny enough to give off any reflection of your online friend's face. 

However, this was the first time Nat had sent you a photo of herself- and you felt honored that she’d grown comfortable enough to show you a glimpse of her skin along with her outfit.

You beamed at the photo even after staring at it for 5 minutes- the fact that she was sharing this part of herself and also wearing color did things to your stomach. 

And maybe you made a little mental note in your head that she was wearing the color you said suited her best but you weren’t going to dive into that right now. 

You got up and did a little pace around your small living room, biting your thumbnail and wondering if you should comment on it before deciding you’d be more likely to get more photos the less you pointed them out.

Eventually, you sat back down on your couch, tucked your feet under you, and tried to formulate a response that didn't show how much you were internally freaking out. 

Y/n🍦:

God is real.

Nat🔪:

Ha ha.

Y/n🍦:

Wow It’s not even my birthday 

But this is a gift.

Truly.

Nat🔪:

You’re overdoing it.

Y/n🍦:

I’m actually crying.

Nat🔪:

Finally some good news.

Y/n🍦:

Hey!

Fuck you darth vader

Nat🔪:

these attempts at guessing

My name are getting worse

Y/n🍦:

I’m beginning to think

You frustrate me

on purpose sometimes

Nat🔪:

Everything I do is on purpose.

Y/n🍦:

I wasn’t.

You blushed at the accidental insinuation that Nat had ‘done’ you and quickly changed the subject.

Y/n🍦:

Your turn smartass

Nat🔪: 

Truth or dare Y/n?

After a few rounds of the two of you going back and forth daring each other to do ridiculous shit that may or may not have led to you chugging two full gulps of hot sauce (before and after evidence was provided) and you daring Nat to flirt with a random person in her contacts (Sorry to whoever ‘very old ice cube’ was in her phone, they seemed very flustered from the screenshots you received, another thing you were excited about but didn’t comment on). After all those dares you finally received the first truth proposition of the evening

Y/n🍦:

Truth or dare?

Nat🔪:

I think I’ve had enough of your

Unhinged dares.

Truth.

Y/n🍦:

You loved them-

Okay um…

Tell me something you’ve never told anyone before.

Nat didn’t respond for a while, whether she was thinking or busy you weren’t sure, you just watched as the typing bubble popped up and disappeared over and over again. You bit your thumbnail in anticipation. You thought it was an innocent enough question but the longer it took her to respond the more it felt like maybe such a simple question was more loaded than you’d anticipated

Maybe you should backtrack and ask another question… 

Just as you were about to call off your previous message Nat’s response came through. It was shorter than you’d been expecting it to be after she’d taken so long.

Nat🔪:

I used to do Ballet… and there was a time when I guess I didn’t hate doing it even though I was forced to.

With a confession like that you have a feeling there’s more to it- most people were forced to do some kind of extracurricular in their youth, plenty of your coworkers were former band kids. You knew that a lot of the time though, those activities could lead to a lot of trauma, some underlying family trauma, some mommy issues, or ruined confidence but you don’t ask. It feels like she’s shared something deeply personal although it might not sound like it to most people. 

And you’ll take anything new you can learn about her. 

The more you learn about her the more you’re fascinated by her. Even the little crumbs of info she gives you- a film she watched the other night, her waffle topping preferences. You think if it were any other person you probably wouldn’t care that much. 

But it’s Nat. 

So you make a notes tab and you start keeping track of the little things she tells you about herself. 

Because it’s Nat. 

And fuck if that wasn’t the most obvious shit in the world. 

You quickly shook your head and picked up your tea to take a sip, you weren’t going to let yourself think like that about someone you’ve never even met- and might never meet- you reminded yourself. You made a quiet noise of contemplation and shifted slightly on the couch before settling on a humorous response you hoped she understood as you acknowledging her loaded admission.

Y/n🍦:

Shit man, I used to do piano lessons

Nat sent back an unimpressed emoji and you barked out a laugh, having successfully eased whatever tension hung in the air- at least on your side. 

Nat was a mystery that was slowly coming unraveled, a puzzle that revealed its pieces little by little. The more you learned about her the more you liked her.

You just wished you could really see her.

Pt.9

A/n: Y/n's personality is based on my shower thoughts~Starry

------

Taglist:

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish

[tonkatsubowl]

false love v.

jing yuan x fem!reader

nsfw themes (cursing and stuff i think. mentions of domestic abuse and self harm. mentions of suicide. no, jing yuan aint hurting u bb girl). read at your own risk.

english isn’t my first language, so please don’t mind the grammatical errors. (っ◞‸◟ c)

⪩ arranged marriage. the reader and jing yuan have an arranged marriage and she is stuck, disliking every moment of it, until…

TERM DIRECTORY

◖y/n: your name

◖e/c: eye color

◖h/c: hair color

◖l/n: last name

part one. ꕤ part two. ꕤ part three. ꕤ part four. ꕤ part six. ꕤ part seven.

➽ requested tags: @krowjet @beidousbubz @its-astrotea-love @5sos-wdw

ever since that incident had occurred, general jing yuan had decided to enforce security measures around the residential and city parts of xianzhou luofu. no woman should go through the terrors that you've been through, and never shall you ever suffer through those traumatizing events ever again.

the one thing that was definitely different though was how you stood up for yourself. you never once did, in fear that your father would scold you... or really, it was your brain that was so accustomed to fear, you were deathly afraid of standing up to it.

but you finally did. and you didn't know why—but the reason for it all was the man that stood in front of you several times, carrying a basket of fresh fruit and a small cutting knife in his free hand.

doctor's orders—you remained in the infirmary room for a couple of weeks now, and life had been strangely... well, unsurprisingly enough, peaceful. you were taken care of, and your husband had frequented the infirmary to visit you every day. he brought you a fresh plate of neatly cut fruit, some stories to tell, and he often brought mimi (sometimes the nurse hated how much she shed in the room) to purr and snuggle against you.

a day didn't pass without jing yuan visiting you, and you definitely expected his presence at least twice a day... or thrice, even.

...until today.

"huh? you're... you're going somewhere?" your eyes avert towards the general, confusion evident as he looked at you with his usual, loving and soft gaze. "where to? are... will you be busy?"

the marriage between you and jing yuan had definitely enabled some sort of separation anxiety behavior from you. he had always been by your side no matter what, especially during your days of recovering in the infirmary room.

"yes, y/n," he reached out to your countenance, his index finger brushing against your bangs, moving them behind your ear, "you will always be my priority. however, today must be different, for i must tend to my personal duties. i assure you that i will return safely, and the nurses will make sure that your needs are met during my absence."

...gone? was this a lie? a lie to get rid of you? no, no. stop, don't think like that. if he wanted to get rid of you, he would've done so already. you shake your head from your negative thoughts, fighting every bit of doubt and anxiety that plagued your mind.

"...okay." you nod, your gaze lowering to your bare hands, eyeing a piece of freshly cut strawberry in the palm of your hand, "please be safe... please come back home safely."

that was several hours ago.

to be specific, almost an entire day had passed since jing yuan left to his unknown expedition. for whatever reason, you didn't know. lieutenant yan qing wasn't around either, so you could only assume that his right hand man had accompanied him.

now, you were alone in your infirmary, sitting on your bed as you stared out into the moonlight. you could see the aurum alley from here, watching as the streets were bustling with joy, drunkards and happy children. you thought back to when jing yuan had taken you there, too. you had fun, up until you were abducted that same night.

nothing but your thoughts accompanied you, and you definitely were... tense. tense, anxious, nervous... and worried, even if you tried not to be worried.

you had missed jing yuan, and every time you had heard distant footsteps outside your door, you'd always expect and hope that it belonged to the military general. unfortunately, it wasn't exactly him, and it would be mere nurses who wandered around outside, even entering your room which gave you the false hope that your husband returned.

... but where did he go? he didn't tell you where, and wasn't being specific either. his personal... affairs? what did he mean by that?

you sighed silently to yourself as you got up from your bed, knowing you weren't supposed to be getting up. you grit your teeth, bearing through the pain as you wanted to know more information about his whereabouts... why he was being secretive. why he suddenly disappeared...

you knew you shouldn't be doing this but also... you missed the fresh breath of air. so you decided to sneak out, rip the medical monitor lines taped to your body and make your way outside whilst sneaking around the nurses and avoiding their gazes.

you were in pain, but you were losing your mind as you were stuck in that room for gods know how long? the moment you got out, you felt a fresh wave of freedom brushing over you... the same feeling where you left your home for the first time to move towards the sanctum.

you looked towards the sky, eyeing at the moon as it gazed upon you with his full glory, as though expecting you to return to it's brightening embrace. you inhale, taking in the fresh scent of air, missing the distant scent of herbal tea and nature that twirled within the air...

... ah, how you miss jing yuan. you wondered how he was doing...

"are you sure you want to do this?" yan qing frowned. "i mean, i'm not questioning your commands at all, sir. but it's just... do you suspect the l/n family is associated with the xianzhou black market of some kind?"

jing yuan nodded slowly. "notice the patterns of the past abductions. it's becoming quite obvious, even especially after what had happened with y/n. all women, all near her age, and all... hailing from troublesome families."

yan qing pondered for a moment, placing his knuckles underneath his chin as he closed his eyes.

"...general. what theories do you have then? for the reasoning of her abduction?"

"i'm assuming it'd have to do something with the disciples of sanctus medicus." jing yuan pursed his lips. "although, y/n's family did not have any history pertaining to... well, the cult itself. the father seemed too arrogant for any religious beliefs whatsoever, only wanting power."

"he didn't seem he was interested in eternal life, but money instead." yan qing added, looking towards the household that belonged to the l/n family.

it was a massive structure, built off of wealth itself. there were several floors to it, and each room was probably filled with a grand amount of fortune. both yan qing and jing yuan stood before the structure, with a singular cloud knight that stood behind the two.

"does miss y/n know... that we're here?" yan qing looked towards his leader, who responded with a shake of his head.

"i do not want her to be troubled by her family anymore... i doubt 'family' is a fitting term for what they are to her. i believe this part of her deserves to be torn away from who she is. after all, if these abductions are related to her father, then we might as well try to find evidence and stop them before something else occurs."

yan qing nodded. "yes, general."

the lieutenant glances back to the cloud knight, nodding towards him. "as we planned before, you will be coming with me. while the general speaks to the family."

the cloud knight saluted, "yes sir!"

when jing yuan, yan qing and the cloud knight entered the building, they were greeted by the servants of the l/n family. the head of the l/n family, y/n's father, had shown a false façade of a wonderful and kind father. he approaches the general, holding his hands with glee as yan qing and the cloud knight discreetly separated from the general, leaving him alone with the family.

"ah, general jing yuan! i am honored to see you again," y/n's father said as he held the man's hands, shaking them firmly, "why, i heard about the recent injury that my daughter has been inflicted by. that is such terrible news, i'm saddened by the fact i am unable to see my precious daughter, as i have been troubled by my work and..."

as he went off, jing yuan's kind smile never left him. he read through this man easily — what a liar.

"ah, it's alright that you can't visit her, my father," jing yuan speaks in a formal voice, bowing his head with his kind smile, "i understand your duties, for i am the general of xianzhou luofu, after all. i can relate to your priorities and the tasks you must face." jing yuan laughed with your father. "i apologize for showing up while you are busy with your tasks."

"oh, no no no! not at all," your father shook his head, "why, you actually came in perfect timing! i had prepared some lavender tea. my dearest wife had ordered some a while back and they actually came today."

jing yuan nodded. "i see. i would love to have some."

while jing yuan was occupied with your father, yan qing and the cloud knight were handling their own mission. they tracked down where the office was that belonged to your father while hiding from the wandering servants and your relatives before reaching to the door of the office. they entered, greeted by the smell of fresh, lavender tea.

"search his cabinets," yan qing said, "i'll search his desk."

"yes, sir."

yan qing proceeded make his way towards the office desk, looking through his paperwork. some of it wasn't even relevant to the mission as some paperwork was related to money, something about hiring new servants and...

"...?"

his eyes laid upon a letter that caught his eye, terms of it catching his attention immediately.

┈┈┈

...head of the l/n family. we will accept your beautiful daughter as a vessel to our beloved yaoshi. please do the following for us:

the vessel of yaoshi must be lifeless, unfortunately. yaoshi must not accompany a body with a soul already residing within. the body must be beheaded, or dead.

we look forward to your delivery,

disciples of the sanctus medicus.

┈┈┈

"lieutenant, sir! i have found something." the cloud knight speaks up, holding up several documents. each one were well hidden in between a bookshelf, and each one were labeled with "disciples of sanctus medicus".

yan qing pocketed the letter he found before approaching the cloud knight, grabbing the papers he held before looking towards his ally's discovery. more information about y/n... her weight, height, age, birthday... there was a look of disgust on yan qing's face as he pocketed it.

"... disgusting." he murmured. "we'll take these and report back to the general. let's leave, quickly."

"yes, sir!"

"it was so nice seeing you, jing yuan! please, visit us again." y/n's mother stated as she embraced her husband's arm, watching as the general waved goodbye, leaving on his own.

it didn't take long for the general to return to his headquarters, where he was greeted by the discovery of the connection of yaoshi's cult and y/n.

his hand was placed underneath his chin, eyes gazing upon each piece of evidence found.

"...sir." yan qing said to jing yuan. "you're hiding this from lady y/n... yes?"

"that is the plan. there is too much trauma she has already faced. we don't need to torment her more by bringing up her past... and its discoveries."

"even so," the lieutenant frowned, "i feel as if this is information that she needs to hear."

"...hm. for now, we hide this from her. later on when we arrest her father, we'll reveal the evidence and... tell her."

"yes, general."

[filthyjoetini]

Stumblin' In

a/n: Hello loves! I'm back! And this time I've pre written 3/4 of a story...who is she?! I don't know her. Soooo...this little story will have four parts and is (very) loosely based on something that happened in Venice when I saw Joe...(still not over it tbh...heh). Thank you to my warrior editor and influence for this story @barfightzanddiscolightz. &lt;3

warnings: none

wordcount: 1.9k (she's short)

part 2 - part 3 - part 4

You blinked rapidly, trying to adjust your eyes to the brightness that suddenly overtook the previously dimly lit screening room of the cinema you were sitting in. Your brain just wasn't made for such quick changes, especially while it was still processing what had just happened on screen. The film you had chosen to watch was one of those arthouse indie productions that attracts all kinds of people from all walks of life.

Slowly you pushed yourself out of the plush seat and stretched your arms over your head. Your ever-weary limbs and joints popped, and you feared that one of the at least 50 other people in the room had heard it. 

Taking your time, you picked up your trusty leather jacket, which had once belonged to your father, and pulled it on. You shoved your hands into its pockets to retrieve your mobile phone. As you checked your unread messages, your eyes moved from the screen to your Dr. Martens-clad feet. You had undone the laces, wanting to be as comfortable as possible. Shrugging, you began to walk down the aisle, the laces whipping your jeans-covered calves, shins, and other seats along the way. You told yourself you would tie them once you had reached the atrium.

With your face almost buried in the screen of your phone, you stepped to the top of the stairs and began your descent. Not even three steps down, you stumbled over your now tangled shoelaces and instantly lost your footing. With a small yelp, you practically flew down the stairs, right into the back of someone's legs. The abrupt stop sent your phone flying down the hallway and past the curtain, as your head snapped back, slamming into the steps. The impact made your breath catch in your lungs and you let out a small whimper.

"Oh my God! Are you alright?"

With blurred vision and eyes refusing to cooperate, you tried to make out who was speaking to you. You knew it was a man from the voice, but his features were a mystery in the blur. Your eyes not working the way you wanted them to made you let out a frustrated sigh. You began slowly blinking your eyes, hoping for a clearer perspective, before giving up and closing them completely.

"Hey! No! Open your eyes!"

You sluggishly opened them again, your vision still as blurred as before. Lifting your arm, you tried to touch the man hovering above you. The movement sent a jolting pain through your arm, up your neck, and into the back of your head.

"Ouch.", you hissed.

"'Yeah, ouch.”, replied the still blurry man. "Please focus on me, can you do that for me?"

 "Yep.", you lied. You couldn't focus on shit, because in addition to your blurred vision, your head was throbbing like you'd been hit by a freight train.

"Okay. Cool. You hit your head pretty hard. Can you move your legs?"

You made slow, jerky movements with your legs, wiggling your toes in your boots, not realising he couldn't see them.

"Okay. They work. Good! That means, no spinal injury.”, the man said, obviously relieved. "I'm going to move you now, is that alright?"

You nodded and immediately regretted it. Your head hurt like hell. How could a carpeted step hurt so much?

Warm hands slowly pushed under your arms and knees and then suddenly, but slowly, strong arms lifted you up and close to an even warmer body. As gentle as he was, the movement of your body was still very uncomfortable and made you whimper again.

"I know. I'm sorry.”, the man who was now walking spoke softly. As you both passed through the curtain into the even brighter hallway, you turned your head towards the man's chest to avoid the glaring overhead lights. You pressed your face into the fabric of his top and inhaled deeply. He smelled damn good.

"...is there a room I can take her to? She hit her head on the stairs when she fell. Also, could you call the A&E, I think she has a concussion."

"Sure, follow me please.”, a new feminine voice said and then there was a static crackle. "Henry, can you please call A&E, we have an injured woman with a suspected concussion."

"Copy. A&E is being called.”, came back Henry's very staticky voice over what you assumed was a walkie-talkie.

A few moments later you heard a door open and were carried very carefully into a small, office-like room.

"You can put her on the sofa. The paramedics will be here any minute."

Gently you were lowered onto the sofa. Gone were the strong arms and the warmth, and you began to shiver. Your eyes slowly began to focus, and you could finally see, though still blurred, the man who had been helping you. He was tall and handsome. His dark blonde hair was curly, and his face had a very patchy five o'clock shadow. But the most striking thing about his face was his huge, baby cow eyes, which were currently wearing a worried expression. Your gaze moved slowly down his body. He was wearing brown trousers with black loafers and a beige cable-knit jumper, topped off with a very expensive looking black trench coat. Visually, he was the exact opposite of you. You had opted for your usual all-black autumn outfit.

With a small but noticeable smile, you closed your eyes for a second and another shiver ran through your body. Unexpectedly, you were suddenly covered by a blanket. Slowly you opened your eyes to see that it wasn't a blanket, but the man's trench coat.

"Thank you...", you whispered. You were surprised at how weak your voice sounded, but the drowsiness that was slowly creeping up on you made it difficult to speak. Your eyes closed again.

"You're welcome...hey! No! Don't fall asleep!"

"But I'm so sleepy."

"I know, but you can't."

The man's voice was very close now, and as you felt hands cupping your face, your eyes shot open again. You looked up at him with wide eyes, he was kneeling beside the sofa and his own eyes held yours in an equally steady gaze.

“You literally can’t fall asleep because you took quite the tumble there, Humpty Dumpty and I’m 99 percent sure you incurred a concussion.”, he explained with a grin. "Besides, you keep moving your head when you should be holding it still. If I have to hold your face to keep you awake and mostly still, I will gladly continue holding it."

You didn't respond to him. You just kept staring at him and he had the audacity to just stare back at you with his big, wet, brown puppy dog eyes. 

A few moments later there was a knock on the door and two paramedics with a stretcher made their way inside.

"Hello there! You must be our patient.”, one of the paramedics said as he made his way over to you. He then looked down at Mr. Baby-Cow-Puppy-Eyes and spoke again. "Sir, may I ask you to move so we can examine her?"

"Uh... sure.”, he replied, taking his hands off your face, slowly rising to his feet. You groaned weakly as his fingers lightly brushed your jaw and he let out a soft snort before turning to the medic. "I was just trying to keep her awake. She fell down the stairs and hit her head on one of the bottom steps."

"Thank you.”, the second paramedic said, moving in to examine your head and neck. Your rescuer stepped back and moved to the corner of the room with his arms crossed over his chest to wait. He was still in your line of sight, so you looked at him occasionally to make sure he was still there, and every time you did, he smiled sweetly at you.

"Ooookay.", the second paramedic said as soon as she concluded her examination. "You have a mild to moderate concussion and swelling on the back of your head. We need to take you to the hospital for a 24-hour observation."

You frowned at her, and she smiled sympathetically. "Do you want your boyfriend to come with us?"

"Who?" you asked, a confused expression on your face.

"Him.”, she said, pointing to the corner where your knight in a cable-knit jumper was standing.

"I'm not her boyfriend. I'm the one she collided with.”, he chuckled and shook his head.

"Alright, I'll take that as a no.”, the paramedic grinned at him and then down at you. "Are you ready to be hoisted onto the stretcher?" 

"Um...", you started, then suddenly panicked as you softly patted your jacket and jeans pockets. Your mobile phone - you didn't have it on you. "Wait! My phone! It must have slipped out of my hand or pockets when I went all humanoid egg earlier..."

Your reference to the handsome man's earlier statement made him burst out into laughter.

"She hasn't lost her sense of humour. Good.”, the first paramedic said with a chuckle, and began to lift you up by your feet, while the other paramedic assisted him by simultaneously lifting you up by your torso. The coat that still covered you was about to slip off your body if you hadn't grabbed it as if it were your lifeline. In a way it was your lifeline, for you were still cold, and the weight of the fabric did an excellent job of keeping you warm.

"I'll go look for it. Just give me a second.”, expensive trench coat guy announced, and quickly slipped out of the room.

Not even five minutes later he returned, waving your mobile phone in the air.

"Here you go.”, he smiled, handing you the phone but not letting go of it. "Please keep me informed about your condition." Just as he started to remove his hand from your phone, he added: "And you can keep my coat for now, but I want it back at some point."

"OK. I will, and you'll get it back... at some point.”, you promised, as the two paramedics wheeled you out of the small room. Halfway down the hallway you suddenly realised that you didn't have his contact details. How were you going to let him know how you were?

"Wait! Stop!", you shouted, making yourself jump more than the two people you were addressing. "Can you please turn around?"

"All right, but just for a second. We really need to get you to the hospital.”, the male paramedic explained impatiently, and they both turned the stretcher around and were about to push you back when you saw him standing in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

"I don't have your number!", you called, waving your mobile.

"Check your contacts.”, he urged with a wink, before pushing himself away from the wall and walking the other way. "Keep me updated!"

"I will!"

The two paramedics turned the stretcher around again and began to push it hastily towards the cinema's delivery entrance where the ambulance was parked. All the while, you unlocked your phone to see if he had really left you his number. He had to have. How else would he get his coat back?

Quickly, you opened your contacts app and there it was: a new entry.

Next to the emoji with the bandage on its head was his name:

Joe.

Grinning to yourself, you locked your phone and put it to your chest as the ambulance sped off to the hospital...

Taglist:

@ohmeg @daleyeahson @lma1986 @palomahasenteredthechat @mandyjo8719 @aysheashea @eddiebaemunson @littledemon-lilith @freakymunson @sidthedollface2 @i-wont-run-this-time @plk-18 @miserybeans @kylakins88 @deadspellz @thehillzhaveeyez @kayleeelena97 @foreverjosephquinn @punctualhowell @icallhimjoey @ghostinthebackofyourhead @siriuslysmoking @cancankiki @definitionwanderlust @eriancrow @1paire2vans @theonewiththecrackedmind @captainonaboat @josephquinnsfreckles @emilyslutface @alessxaa

crossed out = couldn't tag

[elliesflower]

i saw you in a dream [5]

summary; you attend ellie's open mic performance. and meet her...roommate.

chapter; 5/? 3.1k words

cw (per chapter); recreational marijuana usage, language

an; hi lol. i love u guys, thank you endlessly for dealing with my slow updating of this story. anyways, i think this may be my favorite chapter yet, please let me know what you think! i love a good cliffhanger ;) (as always, find it on ao3 here)

chapter 4 here

Friday came entirely too quickly—you breezed through your last final exam on Thursday, which left you way too much time to anxiously anticipate your upcoming…event.

“Date!” Dina exclaimed. “Ellie asked you to go because she likes you, it’s practically a date,” she singsonged, twirling a piece of hair around her finger childishly.

“Yes, because I’m sure we’ll have so much time to talk one-on-one and gaze longingly into each other’s eyes in between performances,” you replied sarcastically, continuing to rummage through your closet. “And, you don’t know that she likes me, maybe she just asked me because I was right there.”

“Okay, for someone so smart, sometimes you’re a little stupid,” Dina said, and you shot her the most evil side eye you could manage. “Ellie may or may not like you like that, but she likes you enough to invite you to something that sounds personal and important to her. This is your in! Now, you just have to get flirty.”

“‘Get flirty?’ Do you even know me at all?” You scoffed, turning to face her. “I am, like, the most awkward human being on the planet.”

“Okay, I take it back,” Dina laughed, standing up. “Let’s just focus on finding you an outfit.”

“What the hell do you even wear to an open-mic?” You complained, turning back to continue looking through your closet. 

“You could wear something of mine, if you want,” she suggested.

“Uh, no thank you,” you smiled, pulling out a plain black mock-neck from the depths of your closet, turning around and holding it up to your chest.

“Hey!” Dina gasped. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“No offense, but I don’t really think…whatever look you have going on is the one for me.” It’s not that you didn’t like the way Dina dressed, rather, you really did like it—but expressing yourself through clothing had always been hard for you, sticking to more muted tones, blacks and greys. Dina’s wardrobe was loud and colorful, she always looked so put together, and she never seemed to wear the same thing twice. You admired it, really, but still found yourself gravitating towards more basic clothing.

“Whoever said saying ‘no offense’ actually makes a statement any less offensive needs their ass beat, to be honest,” she replied casually, and you could hear her sorting through hangers in her own closet. “Just try this, at least. It would look nice with that shirt, I promise!” She was shoving a colorful chunky-knit cardigan into your hands before you could protest, and you grimaced. 

“I don’t know Dee,” you held up the sweater, contemplating. “I never wear stuff like this.”

“Just put the damn sweater on and let’s go!” She smiled at you. “Don’t you want good seats?”

You rolled your eyes, but went to look in the mirror nonetheless. “As if there’ll be a fight for front row seats at a college open-mic.”

“Oh perfect,” she sighed exaggeratedly before rummaging in her desk drawer. “Then you agree, you have time to split this with me before we leave?” She held up a small, white tube, and you pursed your lips. 

“Okay, fine,” you gave in, quickly pulling your shirt off over your head before pulling on the black long-sleeve. 

“Just one hit.”

—

You did not, in fact, take just one hit. It was more like four. Or five…or six, or who could keep track, really?

It seemed like a good idea, a little something to take the edge off, maybe soothe the bundle of nerves that had formed in your stomach and in your brain and in your chest at the thought alone of seeing Ellie—god forbid, having to make conversation with her.

And while it did help a little, you hadn’t smoked as much as Dina, so it still felt as though your heartbeat grew louder with each step toward the theater. All that stood between you and Ellie—and, well, a handful of other attendees and performers—was a short corridor. 

“It’ll be okay, just chill out,” Dina tried to subdue you, and her voice was thickened by her intoxication, slower and almost more serious. Her eyes were low as she smiled over at you, bumping into your shoulder softly. 

“Thank you, Dina, because telling someone to chill out always works so well,” you quipped, shaking your head as she led you through the doors. Though, you did try to chill out, as it were, taking a deep breath and sliding the sleeves of the oversized cardigan up your forearms, nervously tugging at the neck of your long sleeve, fidgeting with anything you could think of to distract you from—

“Oh!” You exclaimed as you ran directly into a body around the corner, staggering backwards slightly before someone was gripping your arms, keeping you steady. Your eyes trailed up the body before you were met with—oh god, “Ellie!”

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she laughed melodically, smoothing her hands down your biceps before flashing her teeth at you. The chatter of the other attendees faded into the background as you felt your body heat up under her stare, painfully aware of her hands that were still on your arms. 

You could do nothing but let out an awkward laugh in response, nodding your head as she took her hands away. Dina cleared her throat obnoxiously from behind you and you turned your head to give her a look that you hoped conveyed: please for the love of god save me.

“Hi, I’m Dina by the way, or you probably know me as ‘the roommate,’” she said, sticking out her hand past you for Ellie to shake, and you had to admire her confidence for a second, the way she could unapologetically be herself in any situation. You’d think that from spending so much time with her, some of that confidence would have rubbed off on you, but no, you were still just…you.

“Nice to meet you, Dina,” Ellie smiled, and her voice was laced with honey, rich and slow spilling from her lips. She reached her hand past you to shake Dina’s, and you moved out of the way slightly.

“I’ve heard so much about you,” Dina dropped her hand and stood next to you now. You looked over at her in shock, and you hoped the shaking of your head and wide eyes weren’t noticeable. 

“Uh, not so much,” you laughed nervously, trying to subtly kick Dina’s ankle. 

“Wow, you really do have that guitar player look to you,” she ignored you, gesturing to Ellie. “I love the tattoo!”

Your eyes were daggers glaring into the side of Dina’s head, but neither her or Ellie seemed to notice—though it was debatable whether that was good or bad. Ellie chuckled, instinctively looking down at her arm and holding it out as if to show it off. You felt like sinking into the floor, watching her arm flex as she rotated it, skimming her fingers down the length of her forearm, tracing the pattern. 

“Thank you,” she was slightly bashful, despite her eagerness to show off. She caught your eye for a moment and—were her cheeks turning red? It is pretty warm in here with all these bodies…yeah, that’s it. 

“Well, anyways, nice to finally meet you Ellie, I’m gonna go grab a snack,” Dina smiled politely between both you and Ellie, before patting your shoulder and slipping away. Oh god, why would she leave you to talk to her alone?

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said, and suddenly everything was fading away again. You took a moment to look down at her outfit, trying to be as discreet as possible. She adorned a light blue flannel, cuffed just above her elbows and a pair of dark Levi’s—her hair was pulled back, save for a few pieces that fell loosely around her face, which you noticed she tucked hastily behind her ear when a strand tickled her nose before she said, “I love that sweater, by the way.”

Dina was going to have a field day with that one. 

“Oh, thank you!” You exclaimed, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. She smiled at you before continuing. 

“Anyways, I’m up last, so don’t feel like you have to stay for the whole thing, if you get bored or anything,” she explained, pointing at the stage behind her. “I’m just glad you could make it.”

On the inside, you were swooning, your eyes were in the shape of hearts and you wanted to reach out and embrace her—you wanted to smell that warm vanilla musk and the earthy savor of weed, you wanted to tell her you wanted nothing more than to spend all your time with her, know her inside and out, you wanted it all. 

“No, no, I came here for you,” you said instead, making fists around the material of your sweater and smiling at her. “Of course I’ll stay.” 

Ellie’s face flushed again, and you continued to insist it was due to the heat of the room. She glanced behind her, and you followed her gaze to see Dina filling up a plate with what looked like one of everything from the table. 

“I should go get ready,” Ellie mumbled before turning back to you. “Why don’t you go grab some snacks with Dina and I’ll catch you after the show?” She sounded hopeful. You nearly choked. 

“Yes, I’ll be here!” Of course you’ll be here, where the hell else would you be? You mentally face-palmed yourself before she was giving you a smile and disappearing into the crowd. You took a deep breath and made your way to the snack table, where Dina was still loading up. 

“Oh, hey!” She said when she finally saw you. 

“Hey, thanks so much for embarrassing the hell out of me,” you complained, stealing a cheese square off of her plate. 

“Embarrassing you? Please, I was helping you,” she laughed before stuffing a grape into her mouth. “And it kinda worked, didn’t it? I set you up for a nice little chat with your girlfriend.”

“Oh, shut up,” you bumped her shoulder, but you couldn’t fight the warmth that climbed up the back of your neck. “Let’s go grab a seat.”

The acts that preceded Ellie were actually entertaining—a few songs, a poem or two, and a stand-up act that wasn’t…terrible. Not to say it was good but…you know. 

And then the host, who you assumed was Ellie’s roommate, was waltzing back on to the stage as the audience applauded, her short black hair reflecting almost blue in the spotlight. She was eclectic, all mismatched patterns and silver jewelry that hung from her neck and her wrists and her ears. She was funny and vibrant, commanding the attention of everyone in the room every time she stepped onto the stage to introduce the next act. 

“Alright folks, please give a warm welcome to my best friend, the one and only, Ellie Williams!” She tucked her microphone under her arm before clapping, moving out of the way of the small stool that was behind her. Best friend? Ellie had only said she was her roommate. 

But it didn’t matter, because Ellie was walking on to the stage with her guitar in hand, smiling nervously at the crowd. You clapped as loud as you could, trying to reposition your body so that you could see her slightly better over the heads in front of you, though you doubted she could see you from your seat somewhere in the middle row. 

“Uh, good evening, everyone,” Ellie started, positioning herself on the stool and pulling the microphone down to her level. “I’m gonna sing a little song for you guys, if that’s cool.” There was a bit of scattered applause and Dina whooped loudly from beside you. You smacked her with the back of your hand. 

Your heart was beating out of your chest, partly from the excitement at getting to see Ellie perform, and partly from your second-hand stage fright. Even though you weren’t the one performing, you always seemed to absorb the nerves of the performer, just waiting for them to make a mistake, even if you didn’t want them to. You especially wanted this to go well for Ellie, and you bounced your leg nervously as she positioned her guitar in her lap. 

She strummed the first few chords and you nearly had a heart attack.

C, A-minor, F-major. You could probably play those in your sleep, now. 

“Holy shit,” Dina whispered from beside you, and of course, she knew too, from the hours and hours you spent listening to the song, practicing the song, getting taught the song. 

“Did I drive you away?

I know what you'll say

You say, ‘Oh, sing one we know,’

“Dina,” you whispered back, leaning into her, but not being able to peel your eyes away from Ellie. “Is that…?” But you already knew the answer. 

“Dude. She’s so. Into you.”

“But I promise you this

I'll always look out for you

Yeah, that's what I'll do,

You couldn’t help the smile that slowly spread across your face as you leaned back up, watching Ellie lose herself in the song. Suddenly, you were back in her room, the air thick and heavy, watching her sing softly and strum along when she thought you weren’t watching—that little crease between her eyebrows and the dreamy look in her eyes as she sang with the voice of a thousand angels. 

Maybe you had a hard time believing Ellie was into you, but she picked this song knowing you would be here. There was no denying that. 

“La, la, la, la, o-oh

La, la, la, la, o-oh,

The song ended entirely too soon, and she was smiling, standing up and adjusting the microphone back into a higher position. Applause was erupting from every side of you and you clapped as though you were the only person in the room, as if she could see the intensity in which you showed your recognition and your appreciation and your utter giddiness. 

The host was waltzing on stage again before you knew it, and gave Ellie a hug. You ignored the jealous twinge in your heart, for god’s sake you had literally hung out one time, and the applause continued as she thanked everyone for coming, wrapping her arm around Ellie’s waist and requesting one last round of applause for all the performers. You continued clapping, watching Ellie raise her guitar in the air like a glass of champagne for a toast, before the host whispered something in her ear that made her smile. You again ignored the skip of your heart, instead focusing on Dina’s hand gripping your arm. 

“Oh my god, you have to go say something to her, ask her out, something! The suspense is literally killing me,” she whined, pulling you along as the lights slowly turned back on and people shimmied out of the aisles. 

“I can’t just ask her out, it’s not that easy for me,” you replied.. You wished it was easy for you, you wished you could be more like Dina, just walk right up to her and say: I think I really like you, and we should go out sometime. But your anxiety paralyzed you, rendered you completely helpless when it came to love and lust.

“I swear dude, if I have to sit through any more of your pining and love songs I might request a roommate swap,” Dina said, leading you back to the snack table. “She likes you. And if you can’t see that at this point I don’t know what else to say.” You pouted a bit, like a petulant child, crossing your arms over your chest and surveying the room. Before you could even formulate a response, Ellie was emerging from a group of people who had gathered opposite the table. You quickly uncrossed your arms as she caught your eye and made her way toward you. 

“Oh look, who would have guessed,” Dina muttered, popping a grape into her mouth. She smiled exaggeratedly at Ellie before grabbing a handful of crackers. “I’ll leave the two of you to talk,” and you wished so badly you could flip her off without it being obvious. 

“Hey,” Ellie said quietly, and her voice was almost timid--a laughable comparison to barely five minutes ago when she had the entire audience wrapped around her finger. 

“Ellie,” you breathed, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Your song choice was…inspired,” you said, wrapping an arm across your body. She looked down at her feet, and you wondered if her cheeks would be rosy when she looked back up. 

“Oh, yeah,” she looked up at you now, and you were right. Except, it wasn’t actually that warm in here. “Well, it’s a good song, you know.” Her hand went to the back of her neck, just like it had before, and you wanted to pull it away, to intertwine your fingers and just tell her, just tell her you want to go out, somewhere where she doesn’t have to teach you to play guitar and you can just talk, and mentally map the freckles that littered her face and learn about how she got that scar in her eyebrow and find out if she’d rather go to a tea house or a coffee shop and fuck, you had to ask her, now, before you lost the courage and your mouth was moving before your brain could catch up, 

“Ellie, I was wondering if--” 

“There you are, superstar!” A voice suddenly came from behind her, and you recognized it immediately. The host--or I guess, Ellie’s roommate--oops, wrong again, Ellie’s best friend, was appearing behind her, grabbing onto her shoulder and looking at her with admiration. Ellie seemed surprised to see her, somehow, as she turned to face her, plastering on a smile that looked…forced. 

“Oh, hey,” she replied, before the raven-haired girl was pulling her into a hug. You stood awkwardly as they embraced, looking down at the ground in an attempt to seem casual. Oh god, you couldn’t believe you were actually about to ask Ellie out on a date. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met,” the girl said abruptly, pulling back as if she’d just noticed your presence. She left an arm around Ellie’s waist, and you noticed the way Ellie suddenly appeared tense. Like, in a bad way. 

You offered the girl a small smile and stuck your hand out politely, giving her your name. She took it and shook firmly, her small hand deceivingly strong. Her eyes were painted with thick, black eyeliner, and they raked up and down your body. You felt like shrinking away under her intimidating stare, averting your eyes after a moment.

“Uh, this is Cat, my roommate,” Ellie said after an awkward pause, giving you a sheepish look. 

“And best friend,” she chimed, pulling her hand away. She leaned into Ellie’s side, resting her head on Ellie’s shoulder and using her free hand to pat her chest. 

“Ellie and I go way back.”

chapter 6 here

[ladykailitha]

Can Anybody See Me? Part 21

Executive dysfunction is a bitch and can go to hell. I had something I could have posted yesterday while I was working on this, but no...

I am starting to wonder if maybe I shot myself in the foot with my tag rant as engagement for the last Reconnect AU was WAY down. But oh well. I can only continue to move on and hope I find new people who like my stuff.

All righty, my lovelies. We have gotten to the part where I was going to end it originally before you absolute menaces said you wanted me to continue it through season 4.

But here’s the deal, this story has reached nearly novel length of 40k. So what I’ve decided to do is call this the end of book one. And then I will start up book two, which will be through to the end of the school year and probably through the events of season 3. And then book 3 should take us the rest of the way.

I hope that’s acceptable to all of you. I want to continue it, but I think from here on out the title doesn’t fit Steve anymore and he needs a new one.

Now if you’ve followed me long enough, you know that I don’t start putting out a story until it’s done (if it’s short enough) or if I’m three to four chapters deep. So hopefully by the end of the month (if not sooner) you should start seeing book two.

I will run a poll on how you think I should do the tag list for it. But thank you all for coming with me on this absolutely wild ride. And hope you’ll stick around for the next two parts.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20

***

Word had been handed down, Mindy Jones, Ollie Anderson, and Kyle Carver had been suspended with word that Kyle being the instigator might be expelled. For sure he wasn’t going to be able to walk in his cap and gown at graduation.

Steve felt a sense of relief and strangely justice too. Yes, all right suspension wasn’t getting expelled, but the kids had been punished. They didn’t try to hand wave it away.

Steve had heard that Mr Vinke, the math teacher, Mr Cole, Miss Lucy, and Chief Hopper had all gone to the principal and superintendent for all three of them to be expelled.

The suspension was a given, but the school district wanted to do their own investigation and then expulsions might be handed out after it was complete.

Steve didn’t have much hope.

Marty, Gethin, and Janice all sat with the Corroded Coffin boys at lunch, something they didn’t normally do.

“Fuck,” Janice swore. “Why I am more nervous about tonight than I have all week?”

Steve nodded, poking at his food. “I haven’t been this queasy since I took a plate to the head.”

Everyone winced and murmured sympathetic platitudes and other noises of sympathy.

“I think it’s because it’s your last performance,” Gethin murmured. “Your last chance to completely biff it on stage.” Steve and Janice looked at him in wide-eyed fear. He waved his hands placatingly. “Not that I think you will. Just that your brain thinks you will.”

Steve and Janice looked at each other and then nodded.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “That tracks.”

Eddie slid his hand under the table and gripped Steve’s knee. Steve covered his hand with his own and gave it a squeeze of thank you.

*

Steve scanned the crowd the second night. He spotted Jeff and all his family, Gareth and Gethin and their parents, Brian and all of his younger siblings, and what looked like his dad. Wayne shuffled in his seat nervously, having never been to a musical before. But still no sign of his parents.

His mom promised that at least she would be there, even if his dad refused to come. And he held on to that. He managed to make it through the show and held it together.

He went out to be congratulated by his friends and their families. Wayne brought him flowers.

“You did good, boy,” he said gruffly, after giving him a hug. “I looked it up and flowers are the gift you give someone after a well-done performance.”

Steve looked down at the bouquet of wild flowers and smiled. “Thank you. I love them.”

Jeff clapped him on the shoulder. “They might be a tad wilted by the time we’re done, because we’re taking you out to eat in celebration.”

Steve teared up a bit. “Thanks, guys.”

Gareth smiled. “You deserve it, man. That was awesome!”

Gethin nudged his shoulder. “We’re just waiting for Janice and Eddie to get done.”

Steve nodded. Eddie had to reset the stage for tomorrow and Janice had to get out of a corset and that took some time.

“Yeah, no problem!” he enthused.

Eddie finished first and came out to meet them.

“Hey, Steve!” he said. “Feeling famous yet?”

Steve laughed. “I’m going to get fat if this keeps up. First ice cream last night and then dinner tonight.”

They all laughed. “It’s impossible for you to gain weight, man,” Brian huffed. “I’ve seen you eat a whole pizza and didn’t even get bloated.”

Steve laughed. “Playing three sports does that to you. Hell, I still life guard at the rec center every summer.”

Brian eyed his lean form skeptically. “I suppose so.”

“Swimming’s fun,” Steve said. “And it’s not just for us jock types.”

Janice finally came out. “Sorry to keep you waiting guys. Sharing with Tammy Thompson is hell let me tell you. I don’t know how someone so tiny can take up so much room.”

“At least you don’t have to share the choir room with twenty sweaty dudes that wouldn’t know deodorant if it bit them in the ass,” Steve grumped.

Gethin shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be used to that from sports?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “At least there are showers after basketball. Can’t say the same here.”

Gethin’s lips curled. “Fair.”

Wayne clapped his hands. “All right, I’ve got us a place reserved, so we need to hustle. Eddie and Steve are coming with me.”

Eddie and Steve filed out with the rest of them and followed Wayne out to his truck.

Steve slid into the middle between Eddie and Wayne.

“Thanks for this, Wayne,” he murmured. “And the flowers, too.”

“You’re welcome, Stevie,” he said. “I didn’t see your parents. Did they show up last night?”

Steve shared a glance with Eddie and then shook his head. “There’s still tomorrow.”

Wayne and Eddie shared a glance of concern over Steve’s head.

“I’m sure that’s the case,” Wayne agreed.

An uneasy silence settled on them as they drove to the restaurant. Wayne parked and turned to Steve.

He pulled him in for a great big hug and then opened the door. “It’ll be all right.”

Steve nodded and slid out after Eddie.

The dinner was just as ruckus as the ice cream parlor the night before. With just as many people. Steve looked around and smiled.

Yeah, 1985 was his year and it was just getting started.

*

Steve looked out to the audience and knew, even in the dimmed lights his parents weren’t there.

“Tell me, Mr Thomson, out of curiosity, do you stand with Mr Dickinson, or do you stand with me?” Vince asked.

Steve could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He held up the dispatch. “I stand with the General. Lately–I’ve had the oddest feeling that he’s been–writing to me…”

He slowly rose to his feet as he sang,

“I have been in expectation Of receiving a reply On the subject of my last fifteen dispatches. Is anybody there?”

His voice cracked with emotion as he stepped half out of the spotlight.

“Does anybody care? Does anybody care? Y’r humble & ob’d’t–”

The drum rolled and Steve looked up into the eagle’s nest where Eddie was doing the spotlight. A single tear ran down his cheek.

Steve looked down at the paper in his hand and then back up at Eddie. And then he exited the scene on cue.

Eddie swore he saw more tears in that moment then for ‘Mama Look Sharp’ that night.

But that performance of Steve’s brought out something in Vince in that moment. Vince’s John Adams bid Hancock good night, but then it changed. All the emotion and fear of not being seen or heard. The loneliness that Adams must have been feeling in that moment, borrowed from the loneliness of both Washington and Thomson.

“Is anybody there–”

Silence.

“Does anybody care–?”

Again, nothing.

“Does anybody see–what I see?”

And then Kenny came on and delivered the line with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before.

“Yes, Mr Adams, I do.” As if to banish all the fears and insecurities that John was having in that moment.

And Steve could almost hear it as though it was coming from Eddie. As if it was coming from his friends. The party. Wayne.

Yes, his parents weren’t there. They never were. And probably never were going to be. But that didn’t mean that no one was listening to Steve. That no one cared.

They all cared. Every last one of the dozens of people that showed up the last two nights. They cared. They brought their families. Brought flowers. Thought he was worthy of celebrating. Worth treating.

For the boy with the bat.

The boy that never knew what love really was until he looked up from a god damned garbage can into those warm and friendly brown eyes. A warm hand on his back and a gentle ‘Are you okay?’

In that moment, Steve’s life had become changed. Different. Better. All because a teacher took pity on Steve and chose Eddie Munson of all people to be Steve’s protector.

And he looked up at Eddie in the rafters and though he couldn’t see him, he knew that Eddie was looking back at him. Smiling back at him. Loving him for all his worth.

And if you had asked Steve what his worth was back in December he would have told you nothing. He wasn’t worth anything but being the baby-sitter. But now?

Now Steve was a baby-sitter, chauffeur, groupie, actor, chef, swimmer, friend, brother, and most importantly boyfriend. And maybe if he was really lucky, someone’s son.

***

Fin.

Fuck, rereading this to add back in the formatting made me cry. My apologies if it makes you cry too.

Tag List: @shrimply-a-menace @strangersteddierthings @throwbackthrowaway @novelnovella @cursedfoxteeth @babyblender @garden-of-gay @anaibis @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @swimmingbirdrunningrock @steve-the-hairrington @winterbuckwild @spectrum-spectre @matchingbatbites   @thing-a-ling @fandemonium-takes-its-toll @artiststarme @sundead  @nelotegreitic @gregre369 @butterflysandpeppermint @thedragonsaunt @kodaik97 @messrs-weasley @scarletzgo @deadlydodos @renaissan-vvitch @evix-syne666 @emly03 @justforthedead89 @ashwinmeird @huniibee @phantypurple @stevesbipanic @shucks-yuckyuck @lovelyscot @awkwardgravity1 @bookbinderbitch @reportinglivefromsoda @jinxjinn @chasinggeese @be-the-spark-bitch @kohlraedirectioner @cr0w-culture @xjessicafaithx @whimsicalwitchm @jaywhohasthegay @estrellami-1 @dangdirtydemons @howincrediblysapphicofyou @the-redthread

[enter-drfrog]

So we all knew Athena sucks, right? But like Athena suuuuuuuuucks.

I love how much this episode highlighted just how prideful Athena is. I’ve always known that Athena was one of the more prideful gods but this episode really solidified that fact in my brain.

I have four examples so let’s start with the ones the show hasn’t already touched on and jump back to actual mythology.

1. The Trojan War. The whole impetus for the Trojan War was because the goddess were prideful. Eris presented the golden apple for the fairest goddess and Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena got into the whole argument and Paris awarded the apple to Aphrodite. Boom, Athena’s pride was wounded so she chose the side of the Greeks. So you know, the side fighting against Paris (who wounded her pride) and the side who won again the Trojans. Moral of the story, wound Athena’s pride, she’ll ensure you lose.

2. Arachne. Arachne was a great weaver. From what I remember of the myth she was humble about her skill (but that might’ve just been one author’s interpretation because in my brief fact check I couldn’t find anything to prove that). From everything I did find, she was boastful about her skill and challenged Athena to a weaving competition. (From what I remember Athena was jealous of Arachne’s skill, spied on her, then Athena prompted the challenge). But anyways, Arachne wove a better tapestry and in a fit of rage Athena tore apart the tapestry because, you know, wounded pride. From what I remember of the myth, Athena transformed her into a spider, forced to spend her days spinning and weaving webs because she thought was so good at it. (Other interpretations say Arachne hanged herself and as a “mercy” Athena transformed into a spider, allowing Arachne to live and continue to weave). Moral of the story (from the version I remember at least), wound Athena’s pride, she’ll punish through a sick twist of “giving you what you want.”

3. Medusa. Now the show did go further into this one so I’ll keep my explanation shorter. Medusa worshipped Athena (like a super devout worshipper) and Poseidon ended up going at her in Athena’s temple. Athena was offended that they would have sex in her temple and turned Medusa into the snake-haired woman we all know today. Moral of the story, wound Athena’s pride, get fucked (now there are obviously different interpretations about what Athena’s intentions were by doing this to Medusa, but the take that it was a mercy to save Medusa from other sexual predators is a more modern take, and doesn’t push the narrative I’m crafting here).

4. Now for the show. Percy sent Medusa’s head to Olympus despite the very clear protests of Grover and Annabeth. Athena took this as an offense and blamed Annabeth. Blamed Annabeth enough to allow Echidna and the Chimera to enter her temple and attempt to kill her daughter, who so far, had been described as the pride of Athena’s offspring. Pride. What a funny word. One hit to Athena’s pride and she loses any pride she had in her child. Moral of the story once again, wound Athena’s pride, she’ll fuck you over.

Big moral of the story, Athena sucks and only cares about her pride.

No wonder Annabeth’s fatal flaw is pride. Like mother like daughter.

[holmesxwatson]

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes dir: Billy Wilder, 1970

I only watched The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes for the first time a few days ago but it lights my brain up in that special way that I know I’ll revisit it a lot. Don’t get me wrong, it’s far from perfect, for one thing Colin Blakely’s Watson is a little too shouty for me, but it’s very worthwhile to check out despite its shortcomings, which I think mostly come from the fact that so much was cut from the intended script.

I absolutely love Robert Stephens as Holmes. His face is so good, he has a way of looking at Watson when he doesn’t know he’s being observed that is very soft. I thought I was hallucinating the beginning of this movie with Holmes telling the ballet dancer he’s gay and in a relationship with Watson. I thought it was going to be played for a joke, and it was a bit, but it didn’t just end there. Holmes and Watson have a conversation about the repercussions in a lengthy scene that turns very serious by the end. I can’t believe this was 1970 and no one has since tried to build on this specific dynamic in a more meaningful way. Someone needs to remake this into a mini-series exactly how Billy Wilder intended it to be, here’s hoping public domain can make it so.

[above: script page from the cut story The Curious Case of the Upside Down Room, where Watson creates a fake case to make Holmes feel better]

Also, the backstory of the making of this film is so out of control: Robert Stephens’s nervous breakdown and suicide attempt during the production, the amount of years Billy Wilder was trying to write it and get it made, the interference of ACD’s son, the Loch Ness monster prop that the crew lost in actual Loch Ness, the immense scope of the episodic story they were going for, the way it got cut down from its original 3 hour 45 minute runtime and how that cut footage was lost forever! (this is crazy! everyone go check your attics and storage lockers right now).

In one of the interviews I found, Robert Stephens says “if something is boring — if it’s three minutes long it’s too long, but if it’s interesting it’s never long enough…you don’t want it to end.” Big same Toby Stephens’ dad, big SAME. I didn’t want it to end. I read the uncut script and I am just floored at what we missed out on. Thankfully some footage and audio remain of some of the cut scenes (but still! check your basements too).

Just fully let it settle into your brain that they filmed all of these stories in the script, and then cut most of it away. Like that is mind-blowing to me, it existed at one point as it was fully intended to be. If this was made now during home entertainment times, they would have no problem releasing an almost four-hour movie, but at the very least there would be a big director’s cut dvd release and we would be enjoying all the small Holmes x Watson moments we deserve.

Anyway, in pretty short order I found a bunch of interesting links to stuff, details below. I also consulted my very well-thumbed Conversations with Wilder book by Cameron Crowe, but there wasn’t that much more information in there. I have Robert Stephens’ memoir Knight Errant and the TPLOSH blu-ray on order so I’ll add to this post if I find any more good resources. Let me know if I’m missing anything, and enjoy!

Full movie on YouTube (x) <-update: this link went private, but it's also streaming for free on Tubi and Freevee, and available to rent on YouTube, Google Play, and Apple TV

Original roadshow draft of script on Internet Archive (x)

Missing footage: Prologue [sound only plus stills] (x), The Curious Case of the Upside Down Room [sound only plus stills] (x), The Dreadful Business of the Naked Honeymooners [footage and soundtrack only, no sound dialogue] (x), alternate ending [sound only] (x)

Making of documentary that includes behind-the-scenes snippets of some of the cut scenes [this doc is in German, but you can turn on the auto-translate to English in the YouTube settings] (x)

Interview with Ernst Walter, film editor of TPLOSH (x)

Interview with Christopher Lee “Mr. Holmes, Mr. Wilder” 2003 (x)

My YouTube playlist with all of the above links in one place plus an excellent fan vid by Just Bee that I added to the list because it’s just so good (x)

Missing Movies: A Case for Sherlock Holmes from 1994 BBC Radio 2 on Soundcloud [includes interview with Robert Stephens and folks involved in the production] (x)

Articles about the lost Loch Ness monster prop (x) (x)

The soundtrack by Miklós Rózsa (x)

[sailoryooons]

Carved | Four | jjk (m)

→ Summary: Hundreds of years after the Underworld wins the war, Vaesen - demon kind - rule the Realms. The Vanir - creatures of light and the Heavens - are hunted and enslaved by Vaesen. When the demon prince Jungkook is given one of the Carved - angels who have been stripped of their wings - he has no idea what to do with you. You, however, have plans you are determined to see through. Even if it means death in the end.

→ Pairing: demon!Jungkook x angel!female reader

→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

→ Type: Series

→ Genre: dystopian, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, angst

→ Pairing: 8,254

→ Warnings: Graphic depiction of violence and fighting, graphic depiction of death and gore, depictions of death (including, but not describing the death of a child and family members), semi-complex fight scenes, mentions of manipulation and power imbalance, reader purposefully seducing Jungkook to get what she wants, mentions of something similar to subspace and reader taking advance of Jungkook in a subspace like state mentally, explicit language, power imbalances and mentions of enslaved creatures, Jungkook and reader get a little violent with one another but like.. in a pleasure able way so here we go for the sexually explicit warnings, reader goading Jungkook, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, Jungkook kinda gets right too it, rough, slapping and biting, Jungkook being pretty rough and slamming reader around and shoving her into things, vulnerable mental states and manipulation, mild dirty talk tbh this sex scene is incredibly mild in terms of what I usually do, ummm I don't know guys it's a dark urban fantasy with weird shit, unedited should be a warning because I did a grammarly check and nothing else oops. ALSO PLS KEEP IN MIND THIS SEX SCENE IS BLAND BECAUSE OF THE SPECIFIC SCENARIO THEY ARE IN. I ASSURE YOU MUCH MORE DETAILED AND EXPLICIT SMUT IS IN THE FUTURE, BUT IT WASNT THE VIBE HERE

→ Main Masterlist: here

→ Series Masterlist: here

→ faq 

A/N: IT'S FINALLY HERE. Sorry this was so delayed. I was dealing with writers block pretty severely, work has been really crazy and demanding, I've been really tired and also my mentally manipulative ex-boyfriend decided to unalive himself so that was a weird week, I was trying to find new apartments and yeah this chapter has been re-written at least 5 times. Also I apologize I said fuck it we ball and this is absolutely only edited with a grammarly check. I will edit in full tomorrow but I do not have the brain capacity to do it right now, she is Tapped Out but I promised I would post this mf chapter tonight. Does any one have any theories as to what's going on yet teehee.

©2022 haliiimede. all rights reserved. Reposting and/or translating is not allowed, even if you credit the story. Works are only crossposted on AO3. Find my AO3 here.

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement or representation of real life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. BTS is not BTS culturally, intellectually, physically or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

/ PREVIOUS / NEXT CHAPTER /

Screams split the air. For a second, you hesitate, turning to the source of the chaos. It erupts beyond the door, startling several Vaesen inside of the room. You react first, shooting toward the door with Taehyung and Jungkook on your heels.

The sound that greets you is a symphony of shattering glass, surprised screams and varying degrees of carnage. A table flips in front of you as you enter the main ballroom. You sidestep it easily as it fractures against Taehyung, who hardly flinches before vanishing into the surging crowd of running and swarming Vaesen and Vanir.

With careful movements, you slid out of your heels, feet pressing against broken glass. It doesn’t bite or cut your skin – only real weapons can do that – but it’s uncomfortable as you take a defensive stance, aware how vulnerable you are in a tiny, sheer dress and no weapon.

Blood-slicked floors greet you. The screams of the Vaesen make your lips twitch upward slightly. Chaos has erupted in a tableau of overturned tables, shattered champagne glasses, pearl-draped demons hiding behind fractured, round tables, and a dark, wet hissing sound.

Whatever creatures have entered the room smell wrong, like honey gone sour or sweet cream curdled. Your eyes sweep the painting of chaos before you.

And then you see them.

Your heart stills for one painfully long second, stretched like skin pulled too tight over bone. They’re… seraphim but not.

The creatures have dark, pitted eyes with black veins rippling over sallow skin. They’re naked and feature no distinct gender, appearing stitched together. Their ribs are prominent and you’re unsure if it’s by design or emaciation. There are mismatched wings on their bodies, opening and closing uncontrollably at awkward intervals and angles like they don’t know how to use them - or maybe can’t.

A creature lets out a screech and cuts a vampire lord in half, blood spraying the wall like watercolor on canvas. There is a dozen of them, and they all have swords, crudely shaped but you can almost taste the adamas in the swords.

Fucking hells. They have swords of Heaven.

Jungkook appears at your side, dark eyes scanning the room as the Not-Seraphim spread throughout, cutting through screaming party goers who are unarmed beyond their own fangs and teeth. You can scent gore in the air and your blood hums: it smells like a killing pitch.

“Reaper.” Jungkook says the name like a command. The name is both yours and not yours. It is one of many names. One of many people you are. His voice slithers down your back, eliciting a shiver. He holds out a dagger. Reaper is the person Jungkook needs you to be. “Find my niece.”

You take the dagger and come alive. The hellstone throbs in your hand, metal carved from the deepest pits of the underworld and forged in hellfire. You tighten your grip and move forward.

One step and you’re in front of one of the Not Angels. It cocks it’s head and pauses, a series of clicks slipping through black, jagged teeth and a weeping mouth.  

A second step and death follows you.

Flesh burns. It singes your nose, something like spoiled flesh and rotten eggs. You can taste the sulfur as the creature wilts to the floor, body still twitching after decapitation. You bend over, snatching up the poorly made sword. It’s sharp enough, but the handle is crude and the blade is splotchy, mixed with many metals.

It hums in your hand, a pulse of power crawling through your palm and fingers like an electric current. You recognize the feel of adamas, a metal only found in Heaven realms deep in cloud-ringed mountains. For a moment your mind drifts, suspended between memory and imagination. You can almost see it: tangerine pink skies, the smell of orange blossoms, wind that is neither cold nor warm.

A creature lunges at you and the dream melts away. You duck under the blow, striking out with the dagger. It plunges to the hilt, a wet crack sounding as you puncture its ribcage. It screams and spittle flies. It doesn’t react to the knife, clawing toward you and opening a split maw of blood and black.

Cringing backward, you push with the dagger, shoving the creature away to provide space for the swing of your sword. The head severs, hitting the ground with a thud before rolling away. The body jerks, remaining vertical for a moment. Ripping your knife out, you send the lifeless body to the ground where it remains dead.

Interesting.

Another creature replaces the felled one, no weapon in hand but claws raking out at you. You shuffle backward, ducking away from the swiping talons. The creature flaps its wings once – the only one with functional wings, it seems – and surges forward, catching you off guard.

It knocks into you with the weight of a brick wall. The air leaves your lungs and you go down with the creature, it’s talons catching the flesh on your right bicep. You scream at the burn and fuck it burns. You look at where your skin burns black and wilted in three, jagged lines.

A blue-sparked flame catches your attention on the creature’s hands as it gnashes at you. You grab it around the throat, keeping razor teeth away from your face as drool and something else drips on your face. Your eyes zero in on the flame that comes and goes like it can’t control the heat on the tips of its fingers.

Hellfire, you realize.

Your mind expands, a searching radar for Jungkook. You sense him immediately, his mind like mist and rain tinged with hatred. His emotions are in turmoil, a churning storm of icy rain that bites into your thoughts and razor-sharp wind. There is a sense of no control, Jungkook’s churning storm ripping through his energies with something like feral-laced panic on the edges.

Jungkook, you call to him, feeding him your emotions as you shove back at the gnashing teeth of the creature pinning you down. He ignores you, his storm too volatile to sense you. You push harder, imagining that you’re brushing cool water down the bridge of your connection.

Jungkook flinches when he feels you. The storm pauses, like passing into the eye as the chaos settles around him. You use the opportunity to speak again. They can use Hellfire.

It takes a moment for him to respond. Understood.

Pulling away from the connection, you keep your minds tethered. The crackling energy and harsh storm stirs again when you pull from his mind, but it’s not as out of control as before, the thread between you an anchor as he refocuses on his own task.

Lightning crackles under your fingers as you shove with your hand, putting all your force into where you push back on the monster above you. The creature topples backward as you roll to your feet, movement fluid. Your dress is ripping near the throat, threatening to tear. You curse, begging the fabric to stay on a little longer.

You have no intention of fighting while spilling out of your dress.

Electricity charges in the room. Unchoked, you feel the thunder of your power looming on the horizon. Every time you call the lightning to you feels like a rush of adrenaline, the sparks dancing along every nerve of your body, lighting you up from the inside out.

This is your power. There is a moment where you consider letting it all go. You could supernova right where you stand, destroying everything within several miles. You know you have the capability – it's something you’ve dreamed of doing for years.

But it’s just a dream, and your dreams do not align with your goal.

Reigning in the urge to destroy destroy destroy, you instead focus the lightning on the creatures closest to you. The bolts let out a loud crack as you direct the energy to your targets. There is a flash and the smell of burnt skin and corpse, but you ignore it, pushing toward a forming group in the corner of the ballroom.

There is a concentration of fighting Vaesen, screaming and creatures near where you remember seeing Jungkook’s niece last. A body topples in front of you, and you step over it- later you will remember that it was a collared Vanir, naked and still tied to a chair on its leash.

You see Jihoon– he's covered in something black and slick, kicking out at one of the creatures. He has a single dagger in his hand, a retinue of guards dead at his feet, and you can hear the high-pitched scream of his daughter behind him. A single step in their direction is blocked by more creatures, hissing and clicking at you.

Jungkook appears at your side, covered in gore. His hands are black to the wrist, dripping in... something. You realize he’s fighting without a weapon.

“Are you ripping through them?”

“I gave you my knife,” he snaps. His mind brushes against yours, a torrent of chaos and loud noises and anger so hot you waver. You toss the dagger to him, spinning your new sword in your hand. “I think beheading them is the only thing that works.”

“Yeah, I discovered that thanks.”

A vampire gets turned to mist and splatter in front of you. You feel the hot blood hit your face. It smells metallic and like Synth from his last meal.

“Can you-”

You see it in his mind. The lightning that you can summon to destroy worlds. You nod once, summing the crackling energy inside of you.

A high-pitched scream interrupts you. Your eyes zero in on Kita, hiding under a table as her mother pulls the girl tight against her chest, baring her teeth. There's a red aura around her as she snaps her teeth at one of the creatures, a red arch of fire snapping out.

Fox fire.

Kita tries to imitate her mother, crying through barred teeth and a tiny flicker of flame humming around her. There are creatures closing in and you feel the snap of your power, targeting the creatures in a large area.

Power ripples in the room. You feel the urge to kill kill kill again. To destroy. To light the entire room up and burn it all down. You’ve done it before. You know the taste and smell of annihilation. You know the feeling of death brushing past you as he collects his dead.

The crack of a whip. A scream of agony. Blood in your mouth your hands your ears your neck, your arms-

You push away the desire to rebel. It burns bright, a hot coal ready to catch fire but you smother it. Pretend it isn’t there.

Rising up at the wrong time does nothing. Freeing yourself a long game. Giving in to your rage means failure, and you have failed and failed and failed and failed and -

The room flashes bright. Colors dance behind your eyes as you let go of the power. For a moment, everything is silent. The world is warped, the sulfur air charged with electricity. You feel the static tickle the nap of your neck, your arms, your mind.

You look around. There are no more creatures standing, black wisps of smoke curling toward a scorched ceiling. Dust motes float down. You stick out a hand, finger pointed as one lands on your finger. You realize it’s soot, the leftovers from the creatures you’ve thoroughly crisped.

Around the room, life – or what’s left of it – begins to stir. Glass crunches beneath feet and the sound of tables being righted sounds booming in the silence of destruction.

Jungkook and Ji-Hoon are on their knees, ducked under the table as they coax Kita and her mother from their hiding spot.

You assess the damage, eyes scanning the room and catching on golden collars. Diamonds resting on the hollow of still throats. Snapped gossamer wings under a broken body. A platinum leash tangled in a chair, its nymph counterpart missing her lower half.

There are more Vanir than Vaesen among the dead. Caught up in leashes and collars. Stuck in a brass birdcage. Shackled to a table. Your stomach turns but you don’t focus on the faces. Committing them to memory makes them mean something and nothing means anything to you.

“Reaper.” Jungkook’s voices radiates the space between you and the space unseen, echoing in your mind. You turn to look at him. He has a firm grip on Kita, the child pressed to his side as Ji-Hoon argues with his wife silently. “We are escorting them out.”

“We’re with you.” The oily voice makes you stiffen. You don’t have to turn to see Taehyung among the aftermath. You do see the kitsune lingering off to the side, his dark eyes flickering from the ashes to you. “Both of us.”

Jungkook bows his head. “They were concentrated around Ji-Hoon and none of his men remain. It’s safe to assume he’s a target. Reaper and Yoongi with Kita and Daiyu. Taehyung with us.”

Taehyung moves past you, no longer interested in teasing you. Jungkook presses close to his brother and you press Kita and Daiyu between you and Yoongi. The huli jing looks at you skeptically, holding her daughter’s hand fiercely. You don’t give it much thought, following Jungkook’s lead as he leads your group through a service entrance.

It smells like sulfur and rot. Damp air clings to your skin, forming a sticky second layer. You grimace. The clack of dress shoes is loud against the tile floors. The hall is too narrow for you to walk in groups, meant for only a few Vanir to come and go at a time. You move quickly in single file line, Yoongi at the front with Kita and Daiyu between you.

Jungkook’s mind waivers on the edge of yours. You can feel that he’s aware of you, as though he is turning over his should to see if you’re still there. You can’t see him from the back of the line, but he doesn’t severe the connection.

Probably don’t know how.

Servant corridors are long and complicated. When Jungkook approaches a split, he takes one hall over another confidently. You peek into his mind, seeing the flash of blueprints and memory of a layout on a screen.

You know the layout of the servant halls, you observe. Down your connection, you sense him flinching. You knew you would be attacked?

No. His voice is curt. His mind is a dark storm, words cutting through hissing rain. But we are always prepared. It’s not often that someone tries to assassinate us, but...

But what?

Focus on your task.

Your lips twitch and you feel him draw away from you a bit. But what? You wonder. He was hiding something and that just wouldn’t do. Cutting into his mind would be as easy as clipping the wings of a butterfly. But you leave Jungkook alone for now, following the dark hall, Taehyung and Jihoon’s hushed voices drifting toward you.

A small door in the hall, nearly invisible leads to a tunnel. You can still see flitting images and thoughts across Jungkook’s memory. He has no control to his thoughts, no way to block you out. He is unaware of the danger you present to his mind, laid open for the taking.

And yet you don’t.

The ground slopes beneath your feet. Your press your fingers on the wall, casting your senses. There’s damp, empty air on the other side of the wall and you can hear the hush of slow floating water. Above you, the ceiling vibrates. You’re in a tunnel in the sewers.

Your eyes drift to Jungkook. He was trained in escape routes in the building. And seemed to be one of the few Vaesen armed at the party.

Unarmed Vaesen. The thought leads you somewhere between pleasure and contempt. Only the creatures of the Underworlds could be so arrogant as to think they have nothing to fear. In a way, they don’t. Demons and their kind are the apex predators, the top of the food chain.

But even among themselves, enemies lurk.

The sheer stupidity is comforting – the knowledge that it comes at the expense of how little of a threat Vanir pose, is not.

A cool awareness brushes against the nape of your neck. You pause, the echoes of shoes and Kita sniffing silently ahead reverberating off the walls. Your instinct flickers and you turn your head a fraction, angling your ear toward the way you came.

Silence stretches and stretches. You frown, stretching out the net of your mind. It’s a strange feeling, opening that barrier and sense of other. It’s not a psychic ability as much as it is sensing energy, magic, and existence, something many Vanier and Vaesen alike can do.

At first, there is nothing but empty space. Ahead of you, your group pushes on. They don’t notice that you’ve stopped entirely, head cocked and tense.

Then you hear it – or at least perceive it. A soft hiss, the smell of death.

They’re here, you hiss down the tether between you and Jungkook. You feel his surprise and then his anger as you turn to face the back of the tunnel. Keep going and let me know when you’re out of the tunnel. If I light up in here, you’re going down too.

Good to know you care.

You scoff. I still have use for you, Dominus.

Something like irritation and resentment slithers down the connection from Jungkook. It makes you smirk, pleased at offering opposition. It’s been a long time since you could openly oppose someone the way you now can. It’s a risk, but it’s a calculated one.

Sometimes you must let the monster in to give it a sense of comfort. You remember the lesson. You think about the Vaesen who so easily move about the world without weapons.

Yes, letting Jungkook see parts of you is necessary. Dangerous, but ultimately worth it.

Shuffling, stilted movements echo toward you. Sliding your feet apart and bent slightly at the knee, you wait in a defensive stance. You leave the connection to Jungkook open. As you wait for the creatures to reach you, you periodically drift to observe Jungkook and the others. They’re making quick work rushing through a network of tunnels, moving faster now that there is a threat.

Lightning will do you no good in an enclosed space. While you won’t kill yourself, the walls of the tunnel are reinforced with metal rods and bracketing, a perfect conduit for electricity. With the running water crisscrossing in the sewer system just behind, you’re positive you’ll light up half of the underground network if you try it.

So you wait. Sword in your hand. Poised.

The first creature slides into your line of sight. The corridor is dark and without light, the shapes of the bent wings in a small space almost comical. They cannot move more than one at a time, a single file line of twisted limbs and rotten smell.

It sees you and pauses. There are soft clicks, the sounds bouncing back and forth. You frown, watching as they all stop moving, the clicks drifting between them at different intervals and cadences like… a language.

They’re speaking.

Whatever they are, they have some sort of intelligence. The humanoid shapes are all wrong, but you can vaguely sense something thrumming inside of them that is both like you and not. Your stomach flips at the implication that you can sense the creatures the way you sense Jungkook stopped at a fork in the tunnels, unsure of which way to go.

The clicking stops. You turn your attention away from Jungkook, narrowing that feed of awareness tied to him to the barest thread. For a moment, you and the first creature stare at one another. The next moment, it’s charging forward faster than you expect.

You duck as the creature slams into you. The breath leaves your lungs, feeling as though you’d been hit with the force of a thick wall, but you push up with your back as the creature topples over you, sending it sprawling. Your sword hand is fast, flicking in an arch to sever the head as the creature stumbles to regain balance.

The narrow space immediately becomes a problem. The next creature is on you, teeth snapping hungrily as you back up, stepping and slipping slightly on the ichor leaking from the dead body beneath your feet. There’s no room to swing your sword, so you’re forced to twitch the blade back and forth, parrying sharp stabs from your assailant.

Just like the creatures in the ballroom, these are uncoordinated. Their stabs aren’t fast enough, joints cracking and twisting awkwardly in lurching motions as they attack. Cutting through them is difficult in the lack of space. They press in on you, making you track backward to give yourself more room to fight. It’s not ideal – you’re leading them toward where Jungkook and the others have started moving again.

“Fuck,” you snarl, tasting foul ichor on your tongue as it sprays you from a sharp wound on the neck of one of them. It bellows and claws forward.

Summoning air in the tunnel you thrust a hand out, punching toward them with wind. It rips through the halls, whistling as the air rushes past you in violent torrents. It slams into creatures, propelling them backward.

While they’re crumpled and disorganized in a pile, you take ground back, advancing on them. They clamor over one another, shrieking and twitching their wings as they regain a sense of control. You summon wind again, ready to send another blast when a raw scream rips down your mental tether with Jungkook.

It’s violent and invasive, prying open your connection and funneling unfiltered pain and wrath into your own mind. Your vision goes white for a second as the emotional tidal wave of Jungkook overwhelms you, unexpected and uncontrolled.

A spark of blue is the only warning you get from one of the hellish creatures. You barely react in time, summoning wind again at a greater force. It screams toward you, quick enough to meet the blue flame of Hellfire as it fills the hallway.

Heat scorches against air. You scream in alarm. For a moment, you think your makeshift airwall won’t be enough to keep you from being turned to soot.

It holds, a steady wind current coming down the tunnel. Dust, dirt, and mice get picked up in your vacuum, spinning and slamming into the solid, opaque wall of air. You keep your energy focused on the wind as much as you can, Jungkook’s mental screaming almost too much of a distraction as you try and close the mental door between the two of you.

But Jungkook is untrained and the son of Sariel. His connection to you is strong and whatever he’s experiencing on the other side of the tunnel system is a deeper well than you knew he was capable of.

Gritting your teeth, you dig down into your well of power. It’s always there, a bottomless pit of energy and ability to use your gifts. Some witches call it magic. Faeries call it glamour. Angels call it grace and there is a spark of it there, tiny and imperfect, but enough for you to sustain the wind and shut the door on Jungkook just enough.

Snippets rush by you. They’re at the mouth of an entrance somewhere – almost out of the tunnel system. But they’re fighting – you sense more creatures and… others. Demons. Jungkook’s rage is a storm, battering down on your connection to him and exploding out of him as he fights.

Get out of the tunnels, you demand. Jungkook I need you to at least get out of the tunnels.

There is no acknowledgment that he’s heard you. There’s only screaming wind, the song of his fury, and heat building up on the other side of your wall. You smell molten metal and realize the creatures are going to bring everything down.

Jungkook, you scream at him. There is nothing on the other side, just anger threatening to swallow him whole. Jungkook!

Nothing.

Gritting your teeth, you shift a few steps back. You take a deep breath, feeling the heat on the other side of your air wall, and you shove hard through your mental tether. You feel Jungkook’s awareness, fire and rain. He feels you now.

Get out the fucking tunnel or I will kill all of you. This is your last warning.

And it is. Jungkook is useful. Using him is easier than the alternative, and having to come up with an additional plan after killing him while trying to escape the city is far too complicated, and near the realm of impossibility.

Sweat begins to form on your hairline. You feel the slick on your legs and your palms, the air over-warm. It continues to get hotter and hotter, kicking up several notches. Azure swims on the other side of the air you feed into your protect. It flares, growing stronger off the oxygen you provide it, but you have no other choice.

Silver drips from the ceiling. You look up, spotting liquified metal oozing through the earth’s ceiling.

Go. Jungkook’s voice is nearly a whisper. You realize you’re screaming with the force of the power you’re feeding into your wind. His words are like a release, a flip switching as you dive headfirst into the electric current of your lightning.

It’s an explosion. Heat and electricity meet in a caustic battle, the walls and floor rumbling as your lightning pulses from you more like a wave than bolts. You hear the crack, feel it vibrate your ears, and then there is only loud ringing as you stumble backward.

Dust, ash, and metal fill the air. You’ve brought down half the tunnel and you’re splayed on your ass.

Rolling over on your stomach, you try and push yourself to your feet. You slide in dirt and darkness. It’s difficult to breathe, the air filled with static and heated enough that your skin feels like you’re on fire. You manage to find footing and retreat towards where Jungkook and the others have gone.

Nothing follows you.

The high-pitched ringing does not leave you. A bit dizzy, you follow the thread of Jungkook’s existence, feeling the thread between you pull you toward him. His rage has turned to agony, and you know someone is dead, though you cannot discern who.

When you finally reach the surface, you understand.

There are masked Vaesen littered around an empty warehouse. You’re close to the Celadon River, the taste of salt in the air as it filters in from the sea. You cannot hear beyond the scream of your damaged ears, but the wind here is cool, coming in through a giant hole in the ceiling, freshly singed.

Similar creatures that hunted you into the halls lay in pieces. Jungkook stands expressionless, ringed by bodies. It seems the fight was centered on him, death laying quietly at his feet. Yoongi and Taehyung stand a few feet away, expressionless. Watching.

A single shaft of moonlight shines on Jungkook through the broken ceiling. It paints half of his face silver, his eye rimmed silver. The rest of his face in shadow. It’s an eerie picture, half of him light and dark, split between two worlds. A child slithers down your spine as your eyes drift away from the thunder in his expression to his feet, where his eyes are fixed and you see the source of his unending agony.

Jihoon and his family are no more.

-

Namjoon is the only other person at the apartment. You eye him warily as he stands in the living room, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watches the holoscreen. Images of the party flash on the screen. There are videos from security cameras, starlets filming the chaos while at the party, and media drones outside of the building as the police force descended on the scene.

Reporters stand in the carnage. There are still broken bodies of Vanir, stepped over as the reporters lead their filming drones through the rooms. You can see Vanir tied to leashes on chairs. Again, you don’t look at their faces.

After appearing from the tunnel to find Jihoon and his family dead, you were ushered home immediately. You went without negotiation, casting a single look at Jungkook. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, his expression flitting between exquisite pain and nothingness.

Sensing your presence, Namjoon turns his head a fraction to look at you. His eyes harden and his jaw flexes, onyx eyes not leaving you for a second. You remember your perceived place with him, casting your eyes to the screen to ignore the way he burns holes through you with just a look.

“Go away,” he grunts. “Your presence is bothersome.”

“I’m sorry, dominus.” You make your voice light and airy. “Why has master not come home with me?”

Calling Jungkook master burns your tongue. You make yourself look small, tucking your chin to your chest and curving your shoulders inward, like you’re bracing to be hit. You play with the hem of your shirt, which is too big like the rest of your clothes.

Namjoon scoffs, not buying it. “Because he has to deal with this fucking mess.”

“I should be with master- “

“Drop the act. Whatever you are, it isn’t Carved. If Jungkook wants to keep you and do whatever he wants with you, that’s fine.” You glance up at him. He stares you dead in the eye. “But I don’t like you and I don’t trust you. Stay in your lane, I’ll stay in mine.”

Namjoon leaves the room, the holoscreen casting blue light on the empty space. You listen to him go. He goes to his own room at the far end of the apartment and shuts the door loudly.

“Dick,” you mutter, entering the living room proper to look up at the screen.

The sound is muted, only showing the chaos. “Elide, volume on.”

“State access name,” the apartment system responds, voice cool and clear. You recite your name. “Unregistered user.”

You snarl. “Elide, volume on.”

“State access name.”

“Jungkook.”

“Voice recognition failure.”

“Just turn the fucking volume on!”

The elevator door opens behind you. You whirl on your heel, teeth bared in frustration. Jungkook walks through the door, barely sparing you a glance as he says, “Stop yelling at the technology. I didn’t program you into the system.”

“I noticed.” He walks into the kitchen, tapping the corner of a cabinet. It unlocks and pops open, revealing shelves of liquor. He removes a bottle and taps the cabinet shut. “Didn’t think you needed it.”

“Well if you’d like me to get bored and burn the apartment down, that is an option.”

“Be my guest. I have others.”

“Humble.”

Dark rage hums under the surface. Jungkook moves around his kitchen slowly. He places a glass delicately on the counter, pulling the cork from the bottle before pouring himself amber liquid. You sniff. Whiskey of some sort.

Jungkook is silent, but his mind is a torrent of emotions. Blood pounds beneath the surface, a beast begging to escape. You can almost taste the chaos within him and yet… he keeps it there. Sipping his drink and leaning on the counter as he looks at the floor.

“Namjoon thinks I should kill you,” Jungkook mentions.

“Unsurprising.”

“Yoongi does too.”

You shrug. “The way of the fox is unknown to me.”

Jungkook’s mind is wide open. You reach for it while he sips his whiskey. He doesn’t register as you brush against his thoughts, trying to sort through them. His mental is in chaos, thoughts racing through his head and flashes of his brother being cut down. Of Kita’s screaming.

“Do you know what those things were?”

You picture the creatures at the party. Their staggered steps, their rotting breath. “Something made, not born.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means I’ve seen a lot of creatures for the hundreds of years that I have been alive, but I’ve never seen whatever those were. Those things are not natural.”

“Most of what is in this world isn’t natural.”

“They are not natural to any plane. I felt…” You trail off and shrug your shoulders.

Navigating his mind while it’s in chaos is hard. You’re looking for the thread of conversation from earlier that night, trying to understand what Jungkook had been talking about when he trailed off about being prepared for assassination attempts. But it’s convoluted and murky.

Jungkook glances up at you. His face is a mask. You must admit you’re impressed by the way he looks calm and collected with the storm raging inside of him, threatening to crack the façade at any moment. “Felt what?”

“You didn’t feel them? Like the way you feel me?”

“Are you telling me you’re one of- “

“No,” you cut him off. “Not in the sense of they are me. But you couldn’t feel them like… dots on a radar. Little signatures of something?” He shakes his head. You hum for a moment, letting the silence hang in the air before you say, “Your untrained mind nearly got me killed.”

A ripple of anger goes through him and his thoughts become more confusing. You sense him boiling under the surface, a steady tremor building and building and building.

A frenzy. Jungkook is nearing a frenzy. If you could get him to fall into it…. you examine him. Coming down from a frenzy would put him in a state of compliance and exhaustion, making his mind open to sift through like forgotten paperwork.

You decide to incense him.

 “I mean it,” you snap when he doesn’t answer you. You square your shoulders and let your power drop into the room. “Your level of incompetence is worse than seraphim children. Total lack of discipline and an embarrassment to someone who was sired by Sariel.”

A flip switches.

Jungkook is pushing off the counter and moving toward you but you stand your ground, chin lifted, gaze cutting. His mask has slipped a fraction, lip curled. “What did you just say?”

“I said that your utter lack of control is insulting and beneath your station.”

“You are in no position to speak to me like that.”

You splay your hands. Jungkook heaves a few feet away from him. You see the wheels turning, sense his adrenaline shooting upward. You needle him further. “I think we both agreed that here, I’m in a position to do whatever I want.”

Jungkook is fast. He’s in front of you in moments, hand shooting out to grab you by the throat. You’re not surprised by the action as he slams you against a wall, sneering. But you are surprised by the giddy delight that shoots up your spine as his fingers close tightly around your base.

When he squeezes, it isn’t to cut off your air supply. You recognize the sign of dominance, the grip he has on a vulnerable part of you. It’s the most instinctual form of an alpha trying to regain the upper hand and you’re so delighted that you laugh.

“I own you,” Jungkook whispers. “Whether you want it, or whether I want to. I signed your papers. You are legally mine.”

You lift a leg and wrap it around Jungkook’s waist, tugging him toward you. He balks, hand going slack around your throat as your hips press against his. A wave of pleasure rolls through you but you focus on the way Jungkook stutters, pulling back from you.

“Yeah?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. “You have the upper hand, dominus?” His fingers tighten but he doesn’t respond. You roll your hips into his, feeling the confidence from a moment ago slip through his fingers like sand. “What happened? I thought you owned me?”

“You are walking a dangerous line.”

“You’re doing nothing about it.”

“What do you want from me?” he grits out, teeth clenched. He’s shaking, loss of control so near.

“You own me?” you goad. “Then fucking use me, Jungkook. You’re two seconds from a fucking demonic frenzy and you don’t even have the sense to fall into it.”

“I don’t do that.”

You lean forward. He leans away but you crowd his space, eyes searching. You notice a mole just below his flush mouth, something you’ve never seen before. It’s soft. Endearing. You ignore the observation as your mouth brushes close to his, sharing breath.

“You’re afraid of your demon,” you purr. He says nothing, breathing heavily as he watches you, pupils dilated. “Weak.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then feed the demon, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hesitate. You watch him, his jaw working and his eyes staring at you. You see the moment he gives over control to the demon part of him, pupils turning into saucers as his hand grips your throat tight. He leans forward, pressing in on your space until you’re chest to chest and his mouth is at the shell of your ear.

“If you wanted me to fuck you, why didn’t you just ask?”

Your hands go to his biceps, digging your nails in. He hisses, fingers pressing into the sides of your neck to restrict your breathing. “I thought you owned me,” you taunt. “I’m allowed to ask?”

It’s the final push he needs.

A shift happens in Jungkook. Swiftly, he drops you and flips you, slamming you chest first into the wall. It knocks the wind from your lungs, making you gasp as he crushes himself against you, nosing your ear. His breath is hot, sending chills down your spine. You grin, knowing you’ve got him going in the right direction.

You press your ass backwards into him, feeling his semi-hard cock in his pants. In his state, it doesn’t even need to be you Jungkook is attracted to. His demon side is wild, hungry to do anything to destroy, to fuck, to kill.

Demon frenzies enhance lust and violence, like adding fuel to a fire. Jungkook’s flame is stoked, his agony over his family members and his frustration blinding him as he rips the back of your shirt open, your scares and flesh on display for him.

“You want to be fucked like I own you?” he asks, voice low. “Fine.”

It's nothing new, being fucked like you’re owned. But this is different – it feels different. When Jungkook’s hands brush up your spine, they’re not violent. They’re inquisitive. Callused. You shiver under his touch, eyes shutting as he pulls the fabric of the ruined shirt off you.

Your nipples are pressed to the wall, providing friction. You give into it, letting that blissful stimulation bloom inside of you as he nudges your head to the side with his nose.

“Spread your legs,” he demands. His voice is barely a whisper. You do. “Not so talkative now, are we?”

“Is my commentating part of fucking me like you own me, dominus?”

A loud rip splits the air. Jungkook tears through your sweats, warm hands seeking the flesh of your ass. He grips your cheeks firmly, massaging the flesh as he ruts against you slightly. You moan, surprisingly not for effect but at the way you feel.

Rare is the occasion in which someone made you feel good during sex. It isn’t what you’re after, but it’s a bonus, letting Jungkook slip his hand between your legs to brush his finger through your folds. You're not dripping for him, but you let out a breathy sound as pleasure unfurls low in your stomach when he does it.

Even out of control Jungkook shows restrain. Your fascinated, split between panting against the wall as Jungkook’s skill fingers circle your clenching hole, gathering your wetness to slip toward your clit, applying light pressure as he circles the bundle of nerves.

Jungkook dedicates time to getting you worked up. His breath is warm against your ear, low grunts shooting more arousal straight to your core. For the first time in years, you’re dripping for someone. You can feel the slick on Jungkook’s fingers, your pussy warm and swollen for him as he continues to play with you.

Taking control of Jungkook’s thoughts is far from your mind now. You're distracted, fists pressing into the wall as Jungkook slips a finger into your entrance. You gasp, the pad of his finger brushing against your front wall, massaging your g-spot.

“Fuck,” you swear, seeing stars.

It becomes clear Jungkook knows what he’s doing, fucking his finger into you. You can hear the wet-slap of his hand against your pussy, worked up for him now as his clothed cock presses into your ass cheek.

“Such a tight fucking pussy,” he mutters. He doesn't seem to be talking to you as much as himself. “Cock is never gonna fuckin’ fit in here. Hmm. Oh well.”

He pulls his finger from you. You let out an angry sound, eyes flying open to glare at him over your shoulder. He pops the finger in his mouth, momentarily dumbing you as you watch him suck the shine from his finger. He doesn’t look at you when he’s done, hand working to pop the button on his jeans and tug his cock out.

When you look down, you realize that Jungkook is right. He might not fit, and it sends a little thrill through you, watching the way his heavy cock bobs against his shirt, dabbing it with precum as Jungkook only pulls his pants down enough to fuck you.

You’ve spent years tirelessly bouncing on a variety of cock and diving between the legs of mistress after mistress. Sex is not a stranger to you. Sometimes you remember vaguely enjoying a thing or two. Sometimes even when you didn’t like it, your body at least orgasmed.

Being used is something familiar – but you’re not being used now. Even if Jungkook thinks you are. Even as he thumbs the precum from the dark tip of his cockhead to spread it down his thick shaft, Jungkook isn’t in control.

You remember that as Jungkook leisurely pumps himself before brushing the tip through your now sticky folds. You press your cheek against the wall, sighing as he teases you. It feels good. You reach out with your mind, brushing Jungkook’s sightly. His walls are down, vulnerable. Your sneer turns into a loud moan when Jungkook pushes into your pussy on the upstroke.

The stretch is painful, your stomach plummeting as Jungkook splits you open. The glide isn’t slow. His instincts take over and he immediately fucks into you hard and deep, slamming your hips into the wall with his full weight with every thrust.

Jungkook fucks the breath out of you. One hand presses your face into the wall, your cheekbones and jaw throbbing with the force of it. His other hand grabs your hips, holding you in position as he fucks himself into you hard.

Pain-laced pleasure shoots through you. The sounds that drip from your mouth isn’t for show. Your toes curl and your head swims at the way he takes control, fingers pressed into your flesh, cock pressing deep deep deep.

You lose yourself in the slap of flesh on flesh and curses. He spits insults at you, and you growl in response, biting one of his fingers that strays too close to your mouth. You taste blood, grinning as the salt and iron tinged with honey pulls on your tongue. He smacks your mouth, the stinging making you trill with high-pitched laughter.

“Crazy Carved bitch,” he slurs. “Is this what you fucking wanted? To be fucked like this?”

“Fuck me harder, Jungkook.”

He presses your skull harder into the wall. For a moment, you think it might crack under the pressure. But you don’t break, and Jungkook listens, driving into you at a pace that would break anyone else. Anything else. But it doesn’t break you and it feels good to know that it doesn’t. To feel the way your pussy flutters around him as he fucks you with abandon.

So many people have tried to break you. So many. Many have almost succeeded, and yet you prevail. You keep going. You survive. You move on. You wait. You win.

Your orgasm mounts. You feel it building inside of you like the same electricity that gathered in that small hall to destroy. It coils and coils and coils. You become short of breath, sucking in hair as you tremble under Jungkook’s weight. His mind is flayed open and raw for the taking but you wait. Not yet not yet not yet.

Jungkook picks up speed. You feel his pace get sloppy and the change in rhythm pushes you over the edge. You come around him with a scream, vision going white as you hold your breath. You feel your entire body seize up, thrashing under him. Jungkook presses you against the wall, trapping you and making you take it as he thrusts one – two – three more times before coming with a curse.

The pace slows. The sweaty tension between you begins to dissipate. You feel Jungkook pull himself out, cum immediately running down your legs. His energy is lower now and when you manage to catch your breath and look at him over your shoulder, he’s swaying on his feet, fucked out expression on his face. He’s flushed, tip of nose red.

Your legs are shaking and sticky. You take a step toward him feeling the slide of your thighs against one another, made slippery by cum. You hold out a hand and he stares at it, eyes wide, expression blank. He’s in the fall after a frenzy, somewhere dazed between thoughts in his head.

Tentatively, Jungkook takes your hand. You leave the torn clothes on the floor, you leave everything. Namjoon surely heard everything, but the Hellhound minds his business as you lead Jungkook to your room. The half demon, half angel is suddenly pliant for you. Soft at the edges. Mute.

You sit him on the bed and he stares at you. Unmoving. Unthinking.

Brushing your mind against his, you feel nothing but static. The buzz of his thoughts is unorganized and sleepy. You keep the connection open, stepping into the bathroom to wash the cum from your legs, the sweat from your back and the blood from your face. You had not even realized that he split your lip.

In your room, Jungkook doesn’t move. He is listless and calm, steady breathing letting you know that he hasn’t gone to sleep just yet, but that he’s not entirely present.

Slipping into clothes and back into the room, you stand in front of him, eyes flickering over his face. Jungkook looks at you but he’s not really there. A tiny part of you hesitates. Knows that to violate his mind has always been your greatest fear of yourself.

But life isn’t fair, and you have been a slave for hundreds of years. You have suffered and you will suffer again in the future. And though you see something in Jungkook that you recognize, you know that to spare him is to admit weakness.

Pain is inevitable. Pain is constant. Pain is power.

Jungkook knows nothing of these tenants. Knows nothing of the life his mother lived before him, her principles, her heritage.

Sympathy is something you cannot afford to give him. So you push into his mind, seizing his thoughts. He doesn’t put up a fight. He hardly knows what you’re doing as you begin sorting through what’s there.

Minds are unique to each person. Though some of your fallen companions had similarities in the way their memories and thoughts were laid out, everyone had something unique. Jungkook’s mind feels like a thunderstorm at night, soft with the threat of something more. Something melancholy plays there, a tune that is familiar, but you cannot place.

You sift through the night's events. You see things through his eyes. Feel the contempt for those around him. Feel the apathy for the Vanir leashed to chairs and in cages. Feel the unfettered spark of adoration when he sees Kita. Feel the love for his brother, though you had not sensed it upon meeting Jihoon.

And there is love there. Maybe not in the form that humans or texts perceive it. But you taste the sweetness of the affection, and you understand that there are positive emotions when Jungkook looks at his older brother, no matter how complicated.

You sift through to running through the tunnels. Jungkook feels glad that he prepared. They had been worried as of late – there were confirmed movements of the rebel group Libram in the city. Confirmations of assets destroyed and vanishing members of the local government.

This surprises you. You were not aware that the rebels were so familiar with the city yet. The thought of the free cities is so distant from you that it feels odd to conceptualize that there are members of their organization in Lythos.

You follow the thread of Jungkook’s conversation with you from earlier.

But we are always prepared. It’s not often that someone tries to assassinate us, but...

But Jungkook had known that there was a growing presence of Libram in the city. And Belial had tortured you repeatedly for information on Libram, looking for any connection to the rebellion. To Michael. To the last remaining seraphim across the worlds.

You take a sharp breath. Jungkook’s feelings regarding Libram were wary. Laced with uncertainty and fear. You follow those thoughts, flipping through his memories looking for more information. Four assassinations on government officials. The destruction of one of the Kim’s synth mines. Liquidation of accounts that belonged to Belial through unknown methods and hackers.

For as long as you had belonged to Faustus to fight, you had kept your head down. You focused on living. Small moves and counter moves. You had not been looking for any news of Libram or their existence in the city, and until now, you had thought there weren’t many in the city. Whispers of the potential but nothing like what you’re seeing in Jungkook’s thoughts.

Carefully, you extract your mind from his and sit on the bed. With him tired and swaying, you offer him a nudge to go to sleep. He lays backwards, dark lashes fluttering shut. You watch him for a while, thoughts ruminating on the new information.

Libram being in the city is a factor that you did not calculate. You chew on your lips as you think of your next move. One way to gather the information you need would be through your Vanir contacts. You have so few. But the best way to get good information is through your Vaesen contacts, which are even fewer.

You think about the twisted creatures that killed Jungkook’s family. They did seem like... angels and demons twisted together. Like the stitching together of things that didn’t belong. Half-demons, half-angels were rare to begin with. But it was like they were trying to make something else.

Belial’s question comes back to you about Lilins. The children of Lilith herself, born from her savage rape of the Heavens, but specifically, the archangels. Unique creatures, with the perfectbalance. Enough demon blood to hide the angelic blood, and enough angelic blood to hide the demon.

The flicker of familiarity you felt when fighting those creatures sends a sinking feeling to the pit of your stomach. You look at Jungkook, asleep. He looks gentle in his sleep, lines smoothed out on his face. Round and childlike.

In the morning, you’ll go back to pretending. But for now, you pull your knees to your chest, setting your chin on top of them as you consider the options before deciding that you need to follow the sick feeling that twists your gut.

Because if you’re suspicions are right... Libram made those creatures that killed Jungkook’s family tonight, targeting Belial and his children. It puts you in a dangerous position, but also a favorable one if Libram discovers your existence and grows curious about how useful you might be.

Yet none of it relieves you. Because if those creatures are what you think they are, there are seraphim in the world that are trying to bring Lilins back to the fight. Lilins, the creatures solely responsible for bringing the Heavens down.

-

D E F I N I T I O N S

Adamas - metal made from the Heavens, favorite in weapons used by angels and fae

Carved – angels who have had their wings surgically removed and sold for ownership. The possession of an angel’s wings gives the owner power over the angel’s grace, thereby giving them power over the angel.

Collared – a Vanir who is owned as a slave. They are often identifiable by the custom collars their masters put on their necks.

Dominus – term used by a slave to their male identifying master

Huli jing - Chinese fox spirit; similar to the Kitsune

Lilins - the offspring of the First Demon, Lilith, an the seraphim, most notably with the angels Uriel and Raphael. They are the perfect balance of Vanir and Vaesen and were used as spies during the war.

Seraph - a single angel, one of the seraphim

Seraphim - species of angels associated with Christian heaven, soldiers of God

Triumvirate – the three Lords who rule the Realms – figures of the Underworld

Vaesen – creatures associated with Underworld Realms such as demons, daevas, sorcerers, vampires, wraiths, and monster-like creatures

Vanir – creatures associated with Heaven Realms such as angels, faeries, witches, dragons, demigods and any heavenly-like being

-

I am no longer doing a tag list. After several attempts to get this tag list to work and Tumblr refusing to tag correct/process the post, I just took them off. I'm removing taglists for 2023 anyways because of how difficult tagging has become (incorrect usernames, Tumblr eating tags, copy and pasting not working).

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