#I wish he had grey streaks in his hair in main continuity

[cultofstan]

Pics of Doctor Octopus from Spider-Man Life Story

[ornii]

Hi again, first thank u for the response, second my arcane request/idea was male reader x Jinx where the male reader is a new rising hero in Zaun and even tho they are on opposite sides, he’s so into her and thinks she could do some real good and wants to help her. I know these are really loose details but I thought I’d leave it not to specific cause I’m curious (if you choose to use this) what u would make with this loose premise. Anyway thanks for ur time and have a nice day 😁

You Do Have a Heart Part 1

Note: Sorry i still don’t know how Tags work so, I apologize if you wanted to be tagged in my work and I don’t know how to do it lol, anyway. Here’s part 1

Stark, that last name spoke volumes though Piltover. The family had a single child, born with an intellect beyond the average human, with the endless amount of money on disposal, made a volatile combination.

“Master Stark…”

A Voice called out from the back door of his large room. It was messy, full of schematics of inventions riddled all over the ground. Rough sketches, drafts. A few gizmos left and right. The young genius was in his room, working on a device as he yells.

“It’s open.” The Youth said, and an elderly man enters, a servant for the family. He approached and gave a small bow.

“Master Stark, how are you this fine morning?” He asked, he turns to face the old man in his chair; showing the device he’s working on.

“I’m fine Jarvis.” He says and gleams. “Working on device to hold electric charges and expel them into explosions.” (Y/n) said, “It’ll be nice to Add something to the Stark Foundation..” he turns back to continue working, but Jarvis closes in.

“Sir, do you know what today is?” He asked.

“No, should I?” He replies and Jarvis nods.

“It’s Lady Kiramman’s Birthday..” He says with a soft huff. (Y/n) halted in his steps and cursed to himself, the fifteen year old stood up and turned to Jarvis.

“You’re a Life saver! I totally forgot! I’ll be back, I have to get something planned.” (Y/n) rose and rushes out of his room, the old man sadly smiled to himself as the young hero rushed down a flight of stairs to a main foyer, a beautiful lavish home all to, mostly himself. Rushing to the door he opens it and steps out, he spots the two guards on watch for his home, nearing the heart of Piltover, he wishes to keep it pristine and perfect. He snaps his fingers, they turn and face the young prodigy.

“You two, I’m heading out.” He puts his coat on and walks from his porch to the path, and the guards follow.

A gift for Caitlyn Kiramman. It was much harder than you expected, You and Caitlyn grew up together, merely by circumstance. Her Amazing mother and yours, Maria, we’re close friends who worked on the council together. The Stark Family and Kiramman Family were Allies due to Howard’s weaponry foundation funding the Piltovers army. It was by this chance you and Caitlyn became friends. Using your genius intelligence, you excelled in your scholarly studies with Caitlyn, her hunting and marksmanship skills effortlessly surpassed yours, it made a perfect dichotomy between you two. Unfortunately, that dichotomy was viewed by others as a romantic affection.

Approaching the Kiramman gates, you halted as the Guards follow suit. As you approached the door, you knocked gingerly. And a man opens the door, her father Tobias.

“Good afternoon Mr Kiramman. Is Caitlyn?…” he asks and Drones on, Tobias was a fit middle aged man, with dark blue hair and streaks of grey at the edges. “Ah. Sir Stark, Yes she’s here, I’ll fetch her.” He says and walks back, you await as you mentally compact everything.

“All things considered this is going well, she isn’t suspicious that I totally forgot about her birthday, and that I didn’t even send a letter. I have to consider a gift, actually.. why not everything?” You think to yourself. Your ear peeled up to the sound of walking and you quickly turned to the direction of the door, and you saw a faintly pale hand touch it and open, she steps to the porch, and Caitlyn stood there. Her long blue hair and piercing eyes.

“Cait!” He Said, The Girl approaches and (Y/n) gave her a hug.

“It’s good to see you well.” She says to you, you slyly grin and show off your expensive clothing.

“Nothing money can’t solve, speaking of money, come, it’s time to celebrate a certain girls birthday!” You say, and Cait sighs.

“You want to? You don’t have to.” She said, you took faux offense to it.

“Caitlyn, as your only friend—“

“Backhanded comments, as per usual.”

“As your only friend, it’s my obligation to make sure your birthdays are the absolute top quality, settle for nothing less.” You say. You walk off, Caitlyn couldn’t hide her small grin and follows. Walking though the city and enjoying the Shopping, treats, The enjoyable parts of Piltover was important for you, being the only child to an almighty fortune had refined your tastes. The guards carry the boxes of gifts for Caitlyn as you two walked forward, enjoying the cool winds of a soft autumn.

“Something is Bothering you.” You say to her, Caitlyn was not one to mince words, but was a bit uncomfortable about what she seems to be thinking about.

“It’s nothing.” She replies, and you turn your head towards her.

“You’re a fantastic Liar Caitlyn, but seriously.. what’s wrong?” You ask again, and Caitlyn informs you of a, less than suitable situation for you.

“I’ve decided to help Jayce with his research.” She utters, you almost wish to knock the webs out of your ears, but you knew you heard her correctly. Jayce Talis, the one sponsored by her family and a less than reputable man.

“Him? The one your family is sponsoring with his “inventions?” Which is just ridiculous to call them, what should be called inventions should be able to change the world! Nothing he has done proves that. Plus he’s kind of a jerk.” You explain, but Caitlyn sticks up for him.

“His work is important, I know it’ll be something amazing.” She said, with a hint of enthusiasm that you haven’t seen in her for a while.

“Well.. that’s unfortunate.” You say, “Ive been developing new technologies for Piltover and the armies. I wanted you to be there.” You say, biting your tongue before you say something to totally ruin the moment. Caitlyn looked a bit surprised by this response.

“You rarely let anyone help you..”

“You’re different.. you’ve always been different.” You reply sourly. After returning Caitlyn back to her family, you headed home, fuming. Aggressively opening the door you storm inside the workshop, looking at your creations, what you’ve built, how you’ve developed so much, and yet she went with Jayce? Your anger slowly simmers down and you sit down at the desk.

“Something has to change… I, I have to change..”

It was Nearing Six Years later after that interaction, perhaps you matured and let it all go, but though those sex years you devoted yourself to your work, to creating a new found weapon. The greatest creation in history. Of course you’ve kept it under wraps for the Three years of its production.

Music plays though the workshop as hot plasma burns into a new plate of steel, (Y/n), now in his early twenties removes his mask and scuffs off the dirt on his face. He prepares for the final run though. Flipping a few switches and turning knobs, steam emits from a shrouded invention, and a whir echoes from it, signaling his success. And coincidentally enough, today was Progress Day!

“Jayce Talis, eat your heart out.” you say. “Hextech, what a joke.” You confidently stood up to exit the workshop and head downstairs past Jarvis.

“Jarvis, please send the guards to prepare for Progress day, I have something to show.” He says, and heads out.

Sitting in the Enforcers office, Marcus sat at his desk, with oldies enforcers, Caitlyn included.

“So, you’ve already paid for a spot, we can have officers at the tent to avoid any issue. Your Project. Should we know anything about it?”

“Sorry, best kept secret, but I will need an officer to assist me in keeping the public away from it…” he says, and his eyes trail off to Caitlyn. She looks a bit shocked but quickly pieces together what he’s saying.

“You can’t he serious—“

“Kiramman, you’re on watch Duty for Stark Industrial. Keep the peace.” He said and she wants to groan, but reluctantly agrees.

“Miss Kiramman.” You say with a smug bow and she walks past, “this way.. Sir.” She says though her teeth, you two walk to the tent, and she’s less than enthusiastic.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” You say, and she turns to her.

“Oh, so this was to help me? How?” She said.

“Do you think your parents would have let you go anywhere? You would have stayed in Jayce’s tent.” You repeat, and Caitlyn thinks, and sighs.

“I hate it when you’re right…”

“Don’t worry, what I have built will amaze you, and blow Hextech out of the water.”

“Is this what it’s about? Jayce?” She says.

“Partly, and I want to show my Progress.” You give a wink and Caitlyn reaches the tent to show its fancy, a large stand to hold a crowd, a standing floor. With the hidden figure under the cloth. Across the event you can make out the Kiramman family and jayce giving the speech. (Y/n) stood on the pedestal and cracked his knuckles, he turns to Cait.

“Now, watch this.” You day, and speak a bit loudly.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! The newest invention from Stark Industrial!” You say, you watch as citizens begins to gather and watch, slowly siphoning Jayce’s watchers, you smirk and step to the platform and walk around the shrouded thing.

“Ladies and gentlemen I would like to introduce you, to the future. To our future, the future of piltover, No, the future of the entire world! You see we as a people have evolved from primitive rocks and sticks, to bring the most advanced species in the entire world, and therefore we can only keep moving forward, and what is more forward, than this!” You snap your fingers and a few guards tear off the cloth to reveal it, a suit of armor, hooked up by tubes running form somewhere, it was mostly flaming red with accents of orange, people marvel at the device and you really begin to sell it.

“What we have here isn’t a robot, but it’s a suit of armor! A highly dense titanium suit of armor, built with interlocked systems and an array of weapons, able to withstand fire, electricity, the cold, I call it.. the Iron Man!” You Walk to the back of the suit and twist a handle near the palm of the suit, the suit slowly begins to Open and reveal the inter working compartments from gears to wires, you step up and clench the palm switch, the suit encapsulates your body, steam bellows from parts of the suit and you flex, showing the suit isn’t a stiff board, Caitlyn watches, seeing the genius of Stark at work.

“This suit is built for the upmost of situations. In fact, enforcers!” You say, two walk on stage and you turn to them. They aim their guns, a look of worry washes over Caitlyn and they open fire, the bullets hit the suit and collapse upon themselves. Showing zero damage.

“Did I mention is bulletproof?” You say sarcastically, and then show it’s weapons.

“The suit is capable of high intensity blasts of energy from the palm. All powered by a single energy stone!” You aim upward and open one palm, the suit blasts a beam of high force light into the air.

“Even missiles!” You order a few Discs to be shot into the air, using nothing but your eyes you aim and a panel opens up in the shoulder compartment of the suit, they ignite and fly out, each explosion dancing in the air.

“But most importantly ladies and gentlemen, it had one ability only the animals with wings can partake in this.”

Switching to Flight nods the suits leg panels open to reveal thrusters, the armor makes a more aerodynamic look and steam bellows from it. The Suit begins to lift off and fly around the large celebratory area. Crowds watching in amazement of the Industrial Revolution, the suit then lands again, with another switch it opens, allowing (Y/n) to step out. Dusting himself off he drinks in the amazement of the crowd.

“You see, this is our future, this is the future I wish to cultivate! Stark Industrial will push Pullover into the era of Peace, and Prosperity!” With one final rousing speech, the crowd roses in applause of your creation, your work, your greatness. The only person less enthusiastic was Jayce. The Iron Man armor stood in the middle of the room, its ammunitions being refilled.

Inside the chambers of the Stark Building, you stood before Jayce, who was not as happy as you were, the young man whose calm demeanor similar made Jayce much more perturbed.

“You couldn’t allow Progress Day to just be about progress.. could you?” He says, and toy smugly turn around.

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean Jayce. My Iron Man is Progress, Progress Born from one mind.” You say, and offer a drink, Jayce calmly stood up and looked towards the window of the building out to the vast developing city.

“What you’re doing is Undermining the Hextech.”

“What I’m doing is showing my Stark Tech is just as good, even be than Hextech, don’t be upset I’m just better.”

“Better? Don’t make me laugh you’re a glorified Rich Kid.” Jayce turns to face you, much more accusingly.

“Yes because I didn’t grow up like you then my genius must be a fluke? You’re simply under your punching weight Mr Talis.” You reply in Jest, and Jayce takes the low blow.

“You see, this is why Howard wasn’t invited into the council, he valued his own ego over the importance of our future!—“

“That’s what you think?” You say, your anger boiling over. “My father didnt join your little club because he knew what the council does, halt any creativity that isn’t within what they value. I’d rather be alone than be a sellout.” You and Jayce are getting more and more hostile, until a flicker of red catches the corner of your eye, you turn to the direction, out the window you see flames blazing. Your eyes trail off and watch, seeing where it’s located.

“The Tents…” you say before rushing to the suit, jayce also watches and then turns to you.

“What are you doing?!”

“Saving Progress Day! Alert any police nearby! We have to do something!” You yell, opening the suit you step in and it powers on, activating the Rockets, you disregard anything and blast though the glass and fly off, your focus solely on Caitlyn, the humming of the machinery, the smell of steel in your nose. You land nearby and risk it all rushing into the fire, your eyes search as smoke and flames dance all around you. You scan the entire building and spot movement on the ground, rushing over your eyes catch blue hair and you immediately recognize who.

“Caitlyn!” You call out and pick the woman up, she’s unconscious, but alive. Her eyes open slowly and lock with yours.

“Don’t talk! It’ll be fine!” You reassure her and rush out of the building building, the suit taking whatever heat you would have, breaking through falling wood you safely get Caitlyn to safety, laying her down you turn to fly back in, but that was a fatal mistake, in a flash of light, it all went black.

It slowly became more clear, your vision in this horrid nightmare, your once great Suit Damaged to a heavy extent, the power on the suit was non existent, the explosion damaged the face plate, blowing half of it off. Your eye trailed over to the blue haired girl leaning over you, but it wasn’t Caitlyn it was, someone else. She hummed while she tore the crystal from your core, writing down in a small brown book, and you were too weak to stop her, she spots your eye and smiles. She looked, disturbed, definitely cute but still disturbed, like she was a power keg ready to blow.

“Oh, the Tin Mans awake… sorry, but I had to get this little thing from you.” She says, and successfully tears out the blue core, she oodles at it, there was a hint of joy in her eye.

“I gotta say, a suit like that? Pretty Badass. I would ask how you worked out the triggers for your missile launchers, but I’m a little late. See ya later, Tin Man.” The Girl stood up and walked away, you can only watch as she disappears into the smoke and darkness, most likely never to be seen again, but who knows what genius mind was behind those mad Eyes.

[shrimpsicality]

dear @i-got-hit-by-a-planet, happy holidays!!! this is my gift for you from the @mcytblrholidayexchange, I hope you like it! :D

beta-ed by @rutellingmeashrimpfriedthisrice tysm for your help!

Summary: Joel and Scar travel the kingdoms selling crystals reputed to give magical properties. Their caravan is always ready for a hasty getaway, for no particular reason.

text under the cut if you prefer:

So, against the odds, it continues...

It starts when Joel tries to sell magic beans to Scar, desperate and not very convincing, and gets an offer of partnership instead. Joel has his reservations at first, but—as previously mentioned—he's desperate. They end up working well together; Scar with his charisma and Joel with his easygoing nature, and when it comes to it, brute force.

The caravan swings off the main path and through what feels like a wall of fully-grown berry bushes, then slows to a stop. The horses snort in protest, Scar exclaims "oh, goodness me!" from inside, and Joel grumbles as he dismounts; was that really a path?

Nevertheless, it appears they have arrived in the Fairy Fort. An abandoned stronghold of a faction long disbanded, nature has overtaken the castle that once stood on the hill. Superstitions and legends spread like wildfire here, and no traveller dares cut back the brambles in the way of its eastern entrance for fear of retribution.

Joel picks the more stubborn branches from his hair and surveys the clearing they're in. It's surrounded by eerily skeletal oak trees, the occasional leaf clinging valiantly to its branch, but the denseness of the trees more than makes up for the thin foliage. Only dappled patches of sunlight reach the forest floor, which is patterned with red and brown mushrooms.

He spots a circle of them ringed by darkened grass and carefully gives it a wide berth as he checks on the horses. Forget superstitions, what were they thinking, letting horses trample through that mess?

The horses have stopped but not stilled. They don't seem hurt, fortunately, pawing at the ground with their hooves. Emerging from within the caravan, Scar slips past Joel to pet them and thank them for their work.

"Who's a good horse?" he croons, running his fingers through their manes. "You are, yes you are."

"Am I, Scar? I didn't know that." Joel asks, amused. He can't help it, really, and laughs when Scar yelps and flails, turning around with a hand on his heart.

"Joel, you can't do that to a man!" he protests. Joel holds his hands up in apology, shaking his head.

"Sorry, sorry!"

After a brief rest, they continue deeper into the grove, proceeding more cautiously. The horses rear occasionally, whinnying at something unknown. Joel hangs strings of bells on the reins, and sews protective charms into Scar's and his clothes. It doesn't hurt to be careful; they're here because they're greedy, not because they have a death wish.

They pass a large swathe of land ravaged by a forest fire. Scorch marks reach up the stumps of trees left behind, soot and ash painting the area in streaks of grey. The air is oddly warm, too, as if the fire had just recently been extinguished instead of having burnt out ages past. Legend has it, this is the place where the undead witch Cleo had her fiery revenge against those who wronged her.

But the place isn't only defined by the legends hanging over it. There's a thriving community of people—who are, presumably, not fairies—set up in the town. It's almost worth the rough journey over, Joel thinks, as they settle into a cosy inn for a meal. Laughter and chatter fill the room, and after they've overcome their reservations about fairy food, it's the most relaxed they've been in weeks. Joel blows the steam off a warm bowl of mushroom stew as Scar charms the diners beside them, pitching an array of protective crystals set into lockets, bracelets, and rings.

They don't need to know the iron chains cost more than the centrepieces. At least they aren't really lying when they say their wares can protect them; iron does help against the fairies reputed to live here. Scar's doing them a favour, frankly.

Speaking of whom, Scar's pitch has progressed from fanciful to outright unbelievable as he gets caught up in the delights of storytelling, and Joel quickly sets down his bowl to intervene.

And continues...

The wheels of the caravan clatter over the uneven path, rocking it from side to side. Leaning against one window, Scar peers outward to the forest. They are departing the kingdom of BEST, pockets heavy with swindled gold, and Scar can't help but whoop in delight. A passing wind sweeps away the sound and loses it amongst the rustling of leaves.

The farther out of BEST territory they go, the sparser the leaves become. Evergreen spruce trees melt into dry, barer branches as the deciduous oaks and birches shed their leaves in the winter wind. The movement of the caravan kicks up a cool breeze, and Scar fancies he sees snowflakes drifting along the chilly air. That is surely just his imagination, however; it is not that cold yet.

Ahead, Joel steers the horses to their next destination. He's humming, cheerful, as is usual after their customary stop at the town of Snowpeak. The people there come from all places, though the locals are used to their tricks. Joel cares more for the company; Etho the trickster is stationed at the Snow Fort, the fortress that gives the town its name. Scar, for his part, is happy to conduct dealings from the caravan alone while Joel attempts to charm Etho, or what Joel does.

There's an exclamation of surprise, and Joel tugs on the reins; the caravan lurches past a fallen tree. The pots by the window swing from their hooks and Scar rushes to their side, hands flying frantically. Ah, the hazards of a moving home.

He settles the assorted plants—succulents and kalanchoes, which will bloom in the springtime—and pats the ceramic pots as if to say "now stay put!".

Behind, the white walls of the Snow Fort are slowly fading into the mist. When the snow comes, it will gather on the spruce walkways and pile against calcite walls, letting the fortress live up to its name. Until then, the most arresting feature of the fortress is its soulsand defences, cleverly built under planks; they leave enemies stumbling while their allies skate past with charmed shoes. Scar has one of those, too—and plenty of fakes that he's sold to curious travellers and prying enemies.

Not that Scar takes sides, of course. No, no; he's completely independent... but Joel does, and Scar likes the leverage it gives him. (That, and he's afraid of Etho—though he'll never say that!)

And continues…

The smoky scent of gunpowder floats about him. Joel carefully transfers the explosive powder onto the waxed paper, holding his breath as the movement sends clouds of dust blossoming into the air. Gunpowder is volatile, light, and exceedingly easy to ignite. Joel resists the urge to brush the specks of grey from his sleeves; the slightest friction could set the whole thing off.

Later, when there isn't a full pouch of the stuff inches from him. Of all the ways to go, exploding because he couldn't stand getting his clothes dirty is not his preferred one.

He is in a clearing, a safe distance—he hopes—away from their caravan. Through the thick tree trunks, he can hear Scar humming to himself, though he has to strain his ears. Softer still is the sound of a campfire crackling, the contented neighing of horses, and the scratch of ink against paper as Scar writes. It's a domestic little scene that Joel can practically see, made familiar from years of travel, and he is struck with an intense, almost dizzying need to protect it.

Hence why he's doing this, he supposes. The vigilantes known as Smajor and Moon have been worrying at their heels, making trouble for the two of them. Joel intends to send them a message, and he's out of fancy paper, so explosions it is.

Joel reaches—slowly, holding his breath—for a piece of string. With a finger holding the paper in its folded position, he loops the string carefully around the package.

The rest of the mechanism is easy to assemble. The string is tied to a latch attached—say that ten times fast—to a spring, which holds a stopper linked to a string of fishing line in place. Ingenious, really. With the slightest step on the tripwire, the package of gunpowder will tear open and spill into the space between the open latch and the casing. The catch swings back due to the spring, which sparks against the gunpowder, and— boom.

Joel feels pretty pleased with himself for coming up with that. He divides the gunpowder into two packages and slots them into his bag with the rest of his materials. The wax will hopefully reduce any stray friction as he travels to the Scottage, where he'll set the whole thing up.

As he heads back to their campsite, he notices that Scar is indeed sitting by the fire. Joel lingers by the trees, bag hanging from a far branch as he starts brushing the last of the grey powder from his arms. There is a series of soft pops as they ignite, but in small quantities, they're harmless enough. Once he's satisfied, he retrieves his things and returns to his partner.

And continues...

Years ago, Scar took up lapidary on a whim, liking the process of shaping gems and jewels. He learnt how to use the files, templates, rock tumblers, and trim saws; charmed his way into an apprenticeship with a local jeweller. He handled rubies, emeralds, lapis, even a diamond or two. When the money ran low and the mines lost their wealth, it was just a switch to a cheaper, more brittle material.

Scar turns his attention to the pieces of glass in front of him. Or should he say, crystals? His newest batch: a dazzling array of crystals in pink, green, and violet. He picks one up to polish and smooths a finger over the natural-looking bevels. It really is his best work yet. He'd made them on the journey over, sanding and polishing each chunk of glass to a perfect shine.

It is tricky to write on a moving vehicle, though, which is why Scar leaves the intricate details till they arrive. Later comes the ribbons; gauzy, delicate, and most importantly, pretty.

In the lull between customers, or the quiet at the end of the day, he loops lengths of ribbon around each crystal and writes in shimmery ink on perfectly cut paper. Pretty little labels in a flowing script, making fantastical claims of the crystals' properties. Strength, Luck, Protection… Everyone underestimates the power of presentation, and Scar'll be damned if he doesn't use that to his advantage at every opportunity.

They've set up shop in Sunspark, a village on the outskirts of the Southlands. A sta-hall, Joel would call it, because "when in Rome", right?

At this time of day, the cobblestone streets are empty. The air is still, as if waiting with bated breath for something to break the silence. Seated at their stall, Scar watches the sun set slowly, dipping over the roofs of the houses across the square.

It's winter and the days have shortened. Golden light spills onto the counter, catches and refracts through the glass— through the crystals. It catches on Joel's hair as he ducks through the doorway.

"Hey, Scar," says Joel, sleeves rolled up and hair in a bun. His voice is lowered, like he has also sensed the hushed atmosphere. There's a clock swinging from his vest, delicate clockwork outlined in gold and lapis, small diamonds inset to act as miniature stars. It's extravagant and practical, exactly how Joel likes his possessions.

He checks it; the hand ticks closer to night. "Good day today… I'm thinking another day here and it'll be about time we pack up,"

"Yeah, yeah, absolutely," Scar agrees. He leans on the counter, attention drifting around the area. A crow pecks at a gap between the cobblestones, the clicks of its beak against stone echoing faintly.

There's a flicker of movement between the houses. Scar tenses. Joel follows his line of sight and swivels around, crouching slightly in preparation.

A strong wind whooshes past.

A man bursts from the shadows, cloak billowing in the wind. For a second, all Scar can see is a deep scowl and the glint of eyes under the hood. Then, he gasps as it is thrown back to reveal a very familiar face.

"Grian?" he can't help but exclaim. Scar knows him; Grian is one of five leaders of the Southlands' most notorious faction, a rowdy bunch called the Spyglasses. Apart from that, well, Scar may or may not have recognised Solidarity, another Spyglass, at his stall yesterday. And he may or may not have sold him... false goods. But that's neither here nor there!

Beside him, Joel yells, "What are you doing here?"

Grian skids to a stop, hair wild and eyes alight with righteous indignation. Scar recognises the look, because it's often directed at him by previous customers. He rises from his seat, readying himself to start running.

Before Grian can launch into a rant—Scar remembers those, too—he pauses and does a double-take. "Scar? Joel?"

"Yes, yes, we know each other's names; we're all very famous people." Joel sighs, waving aside Grian's spluttering objections. He pauses, feigns disinterest as he looks Grian up and down. "We're actually closed, you know, but we'll make an exception for you. I suppose."

"Why hello there, good sir," Scar sweeps into a bow obligingly. As always, Joel brings the managerial aloofness and Scar plays the friendly sales clerk. "May I interest you in some wares?"

"NO!" Grian shouts, laughter creeping into his voice regardless. "No, Scar, you cannot!"

He jabs a finger at Scar, sending Joel into raucous shouts of laughter. Grian slides a glare in his direction; Joel laughs harder. "You scammed Jimmy! Do you know how much I heard about you two liars and scoundrels today?"

"Nooo?" Scar tries for innocence. He knows how much Jimmy, code name Solidarity, talks when he's upset, indignant, or otherwise feeling wronged. That's why they like winding him up the most—and Grian's reactions are just the cherry on top.

Joel has quietened and slunk to Grian's back, a smirk splitting his face in two. There is no threat here, though they'll probably have to leave the town ahead of schedule if they've been discovered. If they can just redirect Grian's attention…

"A— a lot, alright? He won't stop going on about you and your protective crystals," Grian says, disdain dripping from the last two words. Joel makes elaborate gestures behind his back, culminating in a dramatic pantomime of his ears falling off his face from, presumably, Jimmy's constant talking. Scar stifles a snort.

"Wha—" Grian whirls around, suspicious, and sighs. "Very funny, Joel,"

When he turns back, the stall is empty—of both crystals and Scar himself. Joel's snickers linger as the pair melt swiftly into the shadows, disappearing down the winding streets to the sounds of Grian's screeching.

And continues...

For all the glamour of a life of trickery and travel, it has its mundane times. Now, as the first frost breaks across the land, their pace slows in concession to the dropping temperatures and Joel can't help but feel a little restless.

They are in the Southlands again—Amethyst's Peak, nestled deeper into the territory—because Scar has more contacts there. Joel wonders if they'll meet the Spyglasses again. It's too fun to mess with them, really; Grian's dramatic anger aside, they are actually quite friendly with the pair of conmen and there's no end to their shenanigans when they meet.

Business has slowed for Joel and Scar though, now that they have to operate on foot while the caravan is off for repairs. Joel wishes them luck with it; there are splinters and cracks and dirt in every corner, born of a year of constant travel.

In its absence, Scar has gotten them a place of sorts. It's a lovely house, charming even, and especially welcome on a cold day like this. Where the biting wind would have pried its way through the slats of the caravan, the brick and mortar of the house keeps the interior comfortably warm. Joel sits himself by the fireplace and wraps his hands around a mug of wine. Scar is sat by the window, nose practically pressed to the glass as he watches the snow pile on the street outside, falling in not so much flakes as clusters of snow.

"Scar..." Joel calls to him, tipping his head at an angle to stare sideways at his partner in crime. "I'm bored."

"Well, why don't you look at all this snow!" Scar suggests and turns to look at him, delight evident in the expressive flying of his hands. Joel doesn't want to look at some boring snow. Plus, he's still shivering from that morning, when a sudden heavy snowstorm sent them sprinting across the street back to shelter.

He says as much to Scar, concluding with a pout, "And I didn't get to buy those books, even though I've been looking bloomin' everywhere for those!"

"Hey, that's not too bad!" Scar says. His hands fly some more. "We can go back tomorrow, if you like."

"Yeah, tomorrow, while a sheet of solid ice falls on our head out there." Joel retorts sarcastically. Scar follows his gaze out the window, where the thick flurry of snow blocks out the street. The glow of lanterns shines weakly through the onslaught; still, it is hard to even make out the silhouettes of the houses opposite.

"…You have a point." He concedes.

"But I'm about to go mad here; what can we even do?"

"That's the question, isn't it, Joel?" Scar sighs. There's a certain distant quality to his sigh that suggests Joel is in for a long speech. "I don't have the faintest clue. We've been on the road for so long—don't get me wrong, I wouldn't change that at all—but now that it has been changed, Joel, against our will; we are at a loss. Perhaps we've gotten too used to the rapid pace of…"

"Let's play cards," Joel heads off the incoming introspection. He searches his bag—still unpacked, shoved into the closet while they took in as much of the town before winter hit in full force—for a deck. Scar abandons a sweeping gesture and hurries to his side, making grabby hands for the cards.

They don't get to the 'playing' aspect of playing cards. Scar is too engrossed in shuffling them in increasingly elaborate ways, and Joel eggs him on and attempts to vanish an ace up his sleeve. Still, amidst the falling card towers and the scattered cards of a failed shuffling, the snow gathers around them.

Joel cuts the deck of cards again and starts anew. He thinks of winter days and sunny laughter, of endless unlikely tales and the clink of glass-turned-crystal. His pocket watch ticks on, counting the seconds until they're ready to go on the road again. Together— always.

[postingjustwhatever]

I haven't even watched the new MLP movie, I don't even think I can, it makes me so depressed. All my favorite ponies are dead. I didn't even finish the last season of G4 because the show kind of turned to garbage. But I saw how it ended, and I hated seeing them all old. It's sad, I just wanted it to be open ended with it implied they continue to go on lots of adventures. But it ended with them old, Rarity was already greying, Pinkie had a canon kid, Spike turned into a hideous abomination, and Twilight was gonna outlive all her friends. I hate it. MLP was a comfy show and it made me happy, but it ended up just being depressing.

And it's not just the Mane 6 that are long dead, it's all the hundreds of background ponies that are dead!

Derpy Hooves my beloved, she means so much to me, I love her so much. But she's dead and gone. All the background six, everyone!!! THEY'RE ALL DEAD!! So many ponies DEAD!!

And they're replaced with this.

They are not aesthetic.

I just, really don't care for these designs. They all have the same eyes, and almost human looking faces. It's kind of uncanny valley. I don't like the hair either, it's so uninspired. There are so many unique hair designs on the g4 ponies. I mean besides color, cutie mark and slight eye variations that was the main way to show characterization. You could show what kind of personality they had with the design of the hair.

With Twilight, you got a very clean straight cut, orderly, it gives you the impression she a nerdy bookish type just by looking at her.

Pinky Pie, curly, bubbly bouncy curls, shows she's a very fun and exciting pony.

Rarity, elegant, styled and fabulous. You can tell she cares about her looks and is the stylish one.

Fluttershy, long and flowing, covering her face a bit. Gives her a delicate appearance and makes her seem shy.

Rainbow Dash, messy unstyled rainbow hair, makes her seem wild and adventurous.

Applejack, it's tied back and she's wearing a hat, obviously she works a lot, and spends a lot of time outside.

The color of them also relates to their personality, purple is mysterious, elegant and magical, blue and rainbow is cool and exciting, pink is fun and bubbly, orange is warm and strong, yellow and pink is soft and comforting. The colors and hair give off strong characters tells just by looking at them.

I could go on, about so many other ponies too.

But with these new ponies, I really can't infer much about them.

The unicorn has long, wavy, princess like hair, her color scheme also gives me princess vibes, she just looks like a bit of a quirky princess.

The orange one, has her hair tied back and braided, she looks kind of adventurous I guess, sort of nerdy, idk, I'm just not getting much from her.

The purple pegasus kind of gives me Rarity vibes. Sort of. I don't know. She looks very rich, she's got the gold hair piece and gold hooves going on

The other pegasus just looks like toothpaste, she just looks like someone took a tube a toothpaste and squeezed a dab of it out on her head, I hate it. That color pink with that color streak?? What were they thinking, it does not clash well together. But she just looks like the Rainbow Dash type one, or just a butch lesbian pegasus, idk, I just really don't like her design.

The you have the male earth pony. He just looks like, the dude, the guy, the bro, I really can't tell much of his personality just by looking at him, there's not much to go on.

I don't like them, I really don't. In g4 there are so many well designed ponies. Most of the background ponies have great designs. But for this, all of the main characters look so generic. I wish it was better, I really do. Maybe it's because of the 3d, I really don't care for it, they look like weird pony human hybrids, it makes me uncomfortable. The eyebrows kind of help make them look a little too human like in the face. They're just one smaller nose away from looking like Elsa.

I just miss the mane 6 so much, I wish the show hadn't ended the way it did and I wish this new generation took place in a different dimension or something. Everything the mane 6 did was all for nothing, Twilight's legacy completely gone. All my favorite ponies: dead.

My heart is broken. I know it's all fictional but still, those ponies meant a lot to me.

[nothing-but-haikyuu]

Bus Rides and Date Nights

Reader: F Character: Kōshi Sugawara Rating: E Summary: The bus rides back from your boyfriend’s place were always somber. You missed him every time you had to leave, and taking the shaky bus down the main roads until you hit your town that was right next door to his.  Warning: Smut, Fluff Ask Box: Open | Check Out ThreadytoGoDesign | Join me on Patreon 

The bus rides back from your boyfriend’s place were always somber. You missed him every time you had to leave, and taking the shaky bus down the main roads until you hit your town that was right next door to his. 

You watched the early afternoon sun streak in through the window as you rested your head against the glass. Sun got into your eyes and you wished you brought sunglasses. 

It was only a few more months, you and Sugawara were looking for an apartment in the city for when you both went to university for your second year. Your parents weren’t exactly pleased about the idea of you living with your boyfriend, but it cut down the cost of rent and that kept them happy. 

You played with the necklace he gave you on your last date, when he took the same bus to come to you. You played with the chain, twirling it between your fingers. You couldn’t help but have your mind wander as you thought about the night you shared.

Sugawara had the house to himself, his parents were out for the weekend and he was alone. Which was perfect to have his beloved girlfriend over. You two made some frozen food, you sat on the floor in front of the oven and waited patiently as the timer on his phone. 

That was when the deep kissing began, sitting in your pajamas with your hands cupping his face, his lips against yours as you kissed each other gently. Like you two had never been kissed before. 

Your kissing was only halted by the sound of the timer going off. He took the food out, plated it for you and brought it to the table. You rubbed your ankle against his leg as you sat across from each other and ate. You chatted away about your summer jobs, and the excitement of renting a place together in the fall. 

Sugawara looked at you with those dazzling eyes, that sweet smile he always gave you and that charm you could only describe as perfect. You continued to eat and laugh at each other’s jokes. It was quiet moments like these that you really thought you could have a future together. He was your home, he was your safe place. 

But the quiet didn’t last for long as by the time you were cleaning up, he had you pinned against the counter in the kitchen, His hands in yours, your lips formed together. You were a perfect match for one another. 

You chuckled against his lips and before you knew it, he was leading you to his bedroom. His hands on your shoulders as he guided you through the hallway and to his bedroom. 

 “You look so beautiful tonight.” He smiled as he pulled at your t-shirt for you to get it off. You smiled at him then took off the shirt and soon your bra. 

  “Not as handsome as you.” You chuckled as you pulled at his t-shirt and helped him get it off. Your lips met again and he sighed happily into the kiss, you were truly perfect.

You both tumbled into bed and got your clothes off. Sugawara was about average size, but you didn’t mind. He knew how to use it and that was that. He put on a condom carefully and you got yourself seated on his lap. 

You continued to make out as you seated yourself onto his cock, you gripped his chin as you felt the stretch. Your grey haired boyfriend gripped your hips as you moved together, your breasts bounced as you moved. You held onto his chest to get the best leverage. 

You were both panting, making small moaning noises. You felt a slight string from the intrusion but kept going working through it like a trooper to get to the pleasure.

  “We should save this for marriage.” He said cheekily. 

  “Yeah, and? This is just practice.” You chuckled as you continued to move your hips, “After all, isn’t it better that we get all the hard work out of the way early so we can have nothing but pleasure for when we get married.” 

He laughed, “I guess you’re right. Fuck, you’re perfect. I love you.”

  “I love you too.” You said as you moved your hips back and forth. You sighed happily between pants, feeling the curl of pleasure in your gut as you moved. He was hitting all the right places, it felt amazing. 

You rolled your hips quicker, and held onto him. Your moans were loud as you rode him, he groaned and gripped onto the softness of your hips. You two kept at it for some time, moving against each other in pleasure. 

The pants, the moans, the soft noises as you rode him left your lips as you held on for dear life. You felt yourself closer to orgasm, and Sugawara felt the same way. The way you two were moving against one another, the jiggle of your breasts. 

You clawed down his chest, leaving thin pink lines down his chest. A shiver ran through his body and he panted heavily. You gripped onto his shoulders and really put your back into it. 

  “I fucking love you.” He groaned.

  “I love you too, fuck I adore you. You’re perfect.” You gasped as you felt yourself on the tip of orgasm. You rode through it until you hit your peak at the same time that Sugawara did. You finished together in a huff of pleasure, you both moaned loudly. 

  “That’s it, that’s it.” He groaned, “I’m cumming, fuck.” His nailed pricked at your skin as he clutched onto you. You grinded onto him and soon you were falling off your high and you slumped against his chest and let his cock slip out of you.

  “Wow.” You groaned. 

  “Perfect.” He said as he rubbed your back, “Yeah, I can’t get enough of this. You’re the perfect girl for me.” He kissed your forehead and sighed happily. 

You snapped out of your daydream as the bus pulled into the station with your face feeling warm and the memory lingering like a strong presence. You played with the chain of the necklace a little more and smiled to yourself.

Soon it’ll get easier, you’ll be living together. No more bus rides, more meals together and the promise of frequent pleasure together. You gave one last look at the window before you grabbed your bag and exited the bus. 

Soon enough. 

[otomegema]

title: Convergence Theory pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader summary: You are a lesser family member of the Gojo clan, so far removed you don't even carry the name, but you carry the Limitless ability and thus the potential to be a bride to the future head of the clan— a fact you patently reject at fifteen. Twelve years later you are a second grade sorcerer struggling to obtain first grade status when the object of your deepest objections offers you a deal. rating: Mature for now, explicit later most likely because WHY NOT tropes: fake dating/engagement, rivals to lovers, slow romance Link: Archive of Our Own

August, 2005.

That summer had been oppressively warm, a layer of heat trapped beneath a layer of moisture that made even the light fabric of your yukata stick to your sides. It was the kind of weather that made your body beg for relief, to lay shivering and sweltering under the barest breath of cool air.

Your mother had opened the outside screens in the room, letting you sit on the porch overlooking the small garden at the center of the expansive, traditional home. The view was lovely, overlooking a manicured garden, a small koi pond bubbling pleasantly even as the night air chirped with the sounds of insects.

The main house was equipped with air conditioners in some of the rooms— just like your parent’s own home, only a short distance away, but somehow so far removed from the atmosphere of this place it felt miles away. Centuries. The clock on the wall seemed suspended in time, halted too by the weight that fell over this place.

There was nothing to be done. When the head of the Gojo family called, even the smallest vine, hanging from the tiniest branch, curled in. Your great grandmother had bore the Gojo name before she married, a detail of minor significance that had not effected your own family until your birth. You had often heard your parents discussing the main family in hushed voices when they thought you were not listening. First with excitement and eagerness and then with worry.

There had been a phone call, an order disguised as invitation.

Gojo Satoru, heir to the name, barer of the Six Eyes, was turning sixteen in December, a scant four months away.

Six Eyes. Two words that managed to leave the bitterest taste of bile in your throat.

It had been thought the next Six Eyes would be born in your generation, your parents hopeful at one point that you were the one so blessed. A hundred years of waiting ended by the birth of another child, honored above all other sorcerers. Your had been born with the Limitless, that much was certain and an extra unnaturally keen ability of foresight… the signs were there. The possibility that the the massive potential of the Limitless was within your grasp if you could only prove to possess the fabled Six Eyes…

You were hailed for a short time as possibly a true child of the Gojo blood, a blessing. A boon. And then not even a short year later that boy was tested. No two Six Eyes could exist and it was him, not you, who was truly blessed.

You ran your hands up the back of your neck, dislodging the hair stuck your heated skin.

And worse yet, now you would suffer the indignity of being paraded around with every other eligible girl with a single drop of Gojo blood diluted enough to be proper for marriage.

Gojo Satoru needed a betrothed and only the best would do, naturally.

You were to be polite, courteous and docile. Laugh at his jokes, bat your eyes. Play the role of the pursued for the pursuer.

Did you even want to be selected? Once hailed as the promised child, now degraded to probable broodmare ?

You sucked your teeth, holding back a feral shriek somewhere deep in your throat. There was a knock on the wooden frame of the room, lazy and slow. The door slid open before your mother could get you to return inside to the low tables and too hot tea laid out.

You were all but deaf to the sounds of stilted, forced polite conversation, but could not ignore the sudden presence of a young man who came to sit down hard at your side.

Gojo Satoru was not an unattractive young man. He had the signature Gojo coloring, his eyelashes even as pale as driven snow. You yourself had even inherited two streaks of white in your hair, framed near your face and standing in contrast against the rest.

But that handsomeness was hard to enjoy when his expression was one of such utter indifference. He did not even bother to remove the dark glasses that shaded over his eyes, but you hardly were offended. It would have been all the worse to have to look at the very thing you coveted most in this world. Taunting you. Dismissing you.

How many girls had he been forced to sit with today? Judging by his bored expression, too many.

“This is the part where you tell me your name.” He said, voice amused, yet slightly condescending. Behind you both, his parents spoke with your own, but that too was part of the charade. All eyes were on you. All ears tuned to your words.

“You know my name.” You said with a thinly veiled sigh. His attention shifted just a fraction and you noticed with an indignant flush he was wearing his school uniform. Shirt untucked, jacket unbuttoned. You had been forced to spend hours getting ready for this meet-up.

He tilted down his glasses to give you a halfway appraising look and you turned away.

“Goin’ for the aloof angle then? Some other girls tried it too. As if you pretend hard enough that you aren’t interested somehow I will be.”

How fucking arrogant.

Your fists clenched in your lap.

“It won’t work.”

“I’m not working any ‘angle’.” You grumbled, “I was told to be here so I’m here. That’s all.”

“You expect me to believe that, huh?”

“I don’t care what you believe.” You spat back, turning to shoot him a piercing glare.

There was silence then, even the voices behind you seeming to falter and lower as if worried they were missing out on some secret hushed conversation.

“Ohhh, wait. I remember now! I do know your name.” Gojo continued, taking off his sunglasses and wiping off some smudge or dust from the lens, “Aren’t you that girl they thought was gonna have the Six Eyes in her?”

Your fist clenched tighter.

“I get it now. Sour grapes and all. Tell ya what…” he spoke softer and leaned in until you felt his breath against your ear, “If you ask me really nicely, for one night, you still could."

The only sound that came after that was the harsh strike of skin against skin. The contact of your palm connecting to his cheek stunned not just the adults inside, but you.

No self respecting sorcerer with the Limitless ability would have been taken by surprise and yet here you sat, having successfully struck the heir to the Gojo name right across his smug face.

You drew your hand back. His pale cheek had turned a throbbing red so quickly, his smirk raised as his glasses slid down the bridge of his nose and revealed how his blue eyes danced with open amusement.

***

September, 2017.

The uproar that followed that moment twelve years ago had been profound. Your parents had spent the remainder of the visit profusely apologizing and demanding explanations… and the entire time Gojo had stared only at you. Blue eyes wide and engulfing, a smirk etched in the corner of his mouth even as he got up and strode out without another word.

You remembered he had whistled as he went. As if it were all according to plan.

No betrothal was agreed to that night nor any night since. You were never summoned to the main house again.

It had been the most freeing moment of your young life, opening the world from the one pinpointed hope you’d be born with the Six Eyes or wed to the one who had it into a kaleidoscope of possibility.

You attended Jujutsu Tech’s Kyoto branch, keeping far out of the way of the rising star of the Gojo clan.

Well.

Sorta.

So the problem with having an inherited technique that allowed you to “see” curses and cursed energy users from great distances? Gojo Satoru. The man was such an expansive supernova of energy that when you opened your mind and utilized your gift of telemetry to try and pinpoint targets you had to navigate around his massive, dominating aura.

It was like counting stars against a sunlit sky. The ability, that should have been astronomically useful, rendered inert if Gojo Satoru was on the field.

You tried not to have your own missions line up with his. Which meant keeping tabs on him. Which meant having to live with this gnat, this buzzing fly of cursed bullshit constantly humming in the background when you used your gifts.

You wished everyday you had swatted him harder.

Missions in Tokyo were the worst, but you accepted them without complaint. The fact you’d even managed to rise to second grade despite your public humiliation of the main family’s golden child was a miracle in itself and not one you would squander.

The task was simply. There was a cursed entity that was utilizing the signal within electric devices of all things to move from device to device, rapid as an electrical pulse. It had already killed five non-sorcerers in surge related house-fires in two days. The risk of it causing a massive firestorm in any district rising.

The air had begun to cool in Tokyo, the heat of the summer giving way to fall. You sat on a bench, wireless com already clipped to your ear, the only sound so far the faint static of the open radio and the sound of your breath. The air had that crispness already, the bare cusp of autumn. You steadied your thoughts and began to shut down your senses.

The cursed energy of the young sorcerer students around you began to glow in your mind’s eye, the rest of the world fading into shades of imperceptible grey. Blurring. Distorting.

If you had the Six Eyes, you would be able to see it all. But instead, you blinded yourself to everything but the cursed when you utilized your skill.

You shut your eyes and with a soft breath you whispered, “Cursed technique— Limitless Telemetry: Grey.”

The city revealed itself to your five senses like a massive overflowing of information. Had you not taken the time to adjust, quickly shutting down your hearing, sight, taste, smell and touch in order to compensate, the mental load would have stunned you into a comatose state for several hours. Another thing a Six Eyes user would never need to do. You mentally chastised yourself for allowing the distraction of a deprecating thought, and focused instead upon your sixth sense. The one that tracked beyond the physical.

You were effectively helpless in this state, but within your mind you breezed through the city like a thumb pressed over the pages of a book. Flipping at your leisure as you focused in upon the fastest moving pulse of cursed energy.

In your “peripheral vision” or what acted like a sort of peripheral vision, you could sense the constant presence of Gojo. It was far away, diluted. You wondered if perhaps he was overseas for the barest moment until your senses snapped together and fell upon your target.

You spoke. Your words falling on your own deaf ears as you gave the location into the com. You perceived the movement of the three students. Good kids, fast learners. One boy was even a scion of another great house and the one girl among them possessed a cursed technique of extreme value. The other boy, the pink haired one, you had yet to understand, but his cursed energy output was impressive.

The entity moved. You adjusted, giving new instructions. The curse had not yet caught on to the fact it was being tracked, a fact you would use to your advantage as long as possible. If the curse sensed you, it could easily close the distance and attempt to seek you out… which was why sitting in a park, far from any electrical devices other than your battery powered radio was the safest place you could be.

And if worse came to worse, at least it would be drawn out in the open.

The entity jumped again, following the planned route the three had decided upon to box it further and further into a section of the city that they had already prepared to shut down. Without power, the curse would have to break free of its hiding place within the electric current.

How did a curse even get into the power grid? Too many lost football games on TV? You chuckled a bit to yourself without thinking, providing the newest coordinates as you watched, like an omnipresent spectator as the energies of the curse and the students moved.

This is why I score the highest at Pac-Man…

Everything was going according to plan. You had begun to even let your thoughts wonder, your focus softening just the barest fraction as the students rounded the final corner and blocked the curse into the chosen spot.

And now here comes the switch…

You braced for the surge of cursed energy you expected to feel from it’s ejection…but the power stayed on. You had to stifle the sensation of panic that sparked through your heart, your cursed energy rising a fraction.

And there it was. You felt the shift, the sudden adjusting of the entity. The students flared bright, attacking to try and ward off its escape, but without the power shut off they were waiting for, the curse easily vanished, pulsing through the city and heading now straight ahead… to you.

It’s fine. Fine. Nothing electric by me, so no fast travel.

It couldn’t pass through the coms. It would need to branch off into another grounded circuit and then physically come out to face you in the empty park.

You could hold unto the technique a little longer. Guide the students a little longer. You snapped information in quick short terms. Watching the cursed energy approach closer and closer until it reached the last building at the far end of the park.

And then, inexplicably, it jumped again.

The force in which you were propelled did not immediately register to your mind as your senses flickered and began to come back on line one by one.

The first was touch.

And thus pain.

Your muscles contracted, shot full with an electrical pulse. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, the strike coming indirectly as if someone had forced the curse away. Something blinding and bright exploding over the far-reaching vision of your Limitless technique before your ability snapped off like a cut thread.

Your hearing came back first from sheer force of will. Sight returning in blurry, slowly filling shapes. You forced yourself up from the ground, feeling scrapes biting along your palms.

“You fucking dick.” You managed to hiss, your vision returning just in time to witness the exorcism of the curse by none other than Gojo Satoru.

***

“You used me as bait!”

Your voice reverberated off the hallway walls, your mild injuries tended to but your grievances still in desperate need of airing.

You were only comforted by the fact his students had not been involved in the deception, having also thought Gojo was away while they worked under her guidance in the meanwhile. You were no teacher, but you had taken enough students through missions to be adequate at “babysitting”.

Gojo grinned easily, eyes hidden behind his blind fold as he ran a hand up his neck, feigning a bashfulness you knew had not an ounce of genuineness to it.

The bastard had quietly set up a god damn daisy chain of extension cables into the park, ending plugged into a cheap TV set… right next to you. And he’d done it only after you’d entered your Limitless, taking advantage of your lack of senses to literally bait you like a god damn fish hook and then swoop in to destroy the curse.

His students had been a distraction. A means to force the curse into seeking you out and getting into the open where it could not easily run again. It was the most convoluted, infuriatingly, ridiculous brilliant bullshit you had heard in a long while.

“Pretty clever, yeah? I’ve been practicing my multi-layer tactics.”

“That wasn’t a tactic, it was a gamble and a shitty one at that!”

“Yeah, yeah, but did you die?” Gojo asked, tilting his head to the side. His voice was tinged with amusement and you wondered for a moment if he even remembered you and this was some elaborate “gotcha” twelve years in the making… or if this kind of backhanded backstabbing was common place for him.

“It was interesting to see your technique in action. I could probably give you some tips on how to make it more effective, but they’d be pretty useless to— well. You. So I figure I’ll just make the tweaks and practice it myself!”

You stayed silent.

“What did ya call it? Limitless Telemetry?”

You turned and walked in the opposite direction.

“Whoa— hold on.”

Your exit was cut off, the grinning face you wanted nothing more than to connect your fist into coming back into view.

“I’m kidding. Don’t run off and cry now, we got some other business I wanna discuss.”

“If you’re planning on pitching another mission to me, I pass.”

“Nope. Well— yes. But not like this one.”

You sighed, side stepped, and continued around him again.

“I’ll buy you lunch!”

You stopped.

“And maybe even some kakigōriiiiiiii—“ he continued, his voice lifting to a sing-song tone as he stretched out the word. Your stomach twisted and grumbled in response. Using your Limitless always took so much out of you… a side effect you wondered if he experienced to.

You turned to look back at the man who hadn’t so much as glanced your way in years and wondered again if he was so stupid he didn’t remember who you were or if he was hatching some new plot.

He smiled in what you assumed he thought was a disarming and charming way.

“Fine.”

***

You had settled for a sweet plum flavor, dipping your small wooden spoon into the shaved ice and enjoying the way it melted across your tongue. Flavors always felt more pronounced after you used your Limitless, smells more intense. The sights sharper. It was probably just a placebo effect from being without them, even for a short amount of time, but regardless you enjoyed the sweet flavor and the fruity smell of the different syrups… most of which were coming from Gojo’s own cup.

He had gotten every flavor. The shaved ice in his cup a rainbow of color and tastes as he scooped several together at a time.

The lunch he promised had yet to come, but the treat was enough for now as the sugar helped give a little more pep to your body and your mood. The amount of calories you expended using your gifts was another thing entirely.

The two of you walked a ways in silence, giving you time to observe him for the first time in over a decade.

He had changed, that much you could tell. There was something less harsh in his general demeanor and he had grown considerably since he was fifteen. The boyishness of his face had sharpened, the man overtaking his features. He was broader, less lanky than his teenage self and while his easygoing and devil-may-care attitude was still present, there was something less— edged about it. Less angry.

“Your hair is shorter now,” Gojo said suddenly, “And your chest is bigger.”

You immediately frowned. A look of open disgust flashing over your face. Gojo laughed.

“Thought I forgot about ya, didn’t you?” He slid a thumb over his cheek, the gesture making you flush at the memory of what it felt like to slap the smirk off his face.

“Honestly? Yes.” you answered shortly, taking another bite of your ice.

“Nah. I remember, just figured there was no point in makin’ nice. You seem to be doing fine on your own these days. Second grade, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“As short worded as ever.”

He strode off, forcing you to match his pace. He found a park bench and sat down, sprawling out lazily. You sat next to him at his insistence, knocking your knee into his own until he closed his thighs a bit more with a chuckle.

“Thought you’d be a first grade by now.”

“I have not been recommended.”

He snorted, “Bet you know why.”

You clenched your teeth, holding back a sharp word and an even sharper desire to toss your kakigōri right in his face. Arrogant as ever. Some things, you guessed, did not get better with age.

“The great and fabled Six Eyes holding a grudge over a love tap? How trite.” you said, trying to keep your words indifferent.

“Is that what it was? I had a bruise ya know.”

“You could have stopped my hand before it ever even touched you. You wanted me to slap you so you could get out of having to do anymore meetings.”

His laugh was all the confirmation you needed.

“Is that what you’ve thought all this time?”

“It’s what I know.”

Gojo turned his attention back to his shaved ice, the two of you sitting in silence long enough for the weight of it to become uncomfortable for you. Finally you shifted and scrapped your spoon down the ice, leaving trails of melting syrup.

“What is it that you want?” Because that was what this was about wasn’t it? He wanted something. The main family never disdained to speak to the lower members without a need and Gojo Satoru was not about to be the exception.

“I’m going to recommend you for first-grade sorcerer status.”

You scrapped your spoon through so harshly a chunk of colored ice fumbled down the side of the paper cup and down your hand. You dodged just in time to avoid it landing with a wet smack on your pants.

You gaped openly at him, but Gojo kept his attention fixed on his ice, happily stirring it up into a soupy, syrupy mess.

“… and yet again I ask, what is that you want?”

Gojo leaned back, tilting his face towards you with an easy grin. You wondered if he saw the world the way you did with your Limitless with his eyes shaded. Seeing only the impressions of energy and sensation. Could he see your expression? The confusion in the downturn of your mouth or the suspicion in the narrowness of your eyes?

“Nothing too crazy! Just need a fiancée.”

The breath punched out of your lungs.

***

You waited outside the small convenience store across the street, feeling your cheeks beginning to lessen in redness from both anger and embarrassment at your sudden outburst.

When Gojo returned from inside, his hair was still wet… and there was still some redness from the syrup stuck to the strands. You hadn’t been able to control the impulse to throw your kakigōri at him, the breaking of your composure having flowed directly down your arm. It could have been worse, you supposed. You could have punched him.

He had needed to rinse off his blindfold, the fabric now folded and tucked into his back pocket. He had replaced it with the dark glasses you recognized from his youth, giving you a glimpse of the bright blueness of his eyes every once and awhile.

Gojo sighed and tossed a damp paper towel into a bin and turned to you expectantly. You gingerly handed him back his own dessert, having minded it for him while he went into the men’s room to clean up. It was practically soup now and you winced when he lifted it to his lips and drank it.

“As I was saying—“ he began with a smack of his lips.

“No—”

“—it’s a pretend engagement.”

Your mouth hung open, half ready to utter another refusal, which you swallowed back in as he waited expectantly for you to cease interrupting him.

“You let me take you on a few dates, we put on a show of my courting a potential betrothed and in exchange I green light your promotion.”

You narrowed your eyes, biting the corner of your lip into your mouth in obvious consideration.

“For how long?”

Your directness didn’t seem to offend him. Quite the opposite actually. Every time you curtly dropped a single or few word sentence he seemed to only smile brighter.

Gojo shrugged, “A few months. Maybe more. Until I figure out a permanent solution.”

“Your parents want you to get married?”

“The whole clan wants me to get married, sweetheart. I am the strongest.”

And now came the obvious question.

“Why me?”

Gojo shrugged, “You were one of their first picks to start with, so they’ll approve. And there isn’t a risk of you falling for me…”

His lips upturned into a sly grin, “… too quickly.”

You scoffed.

“Family will back off. I get a bit of peace until I have to kick you to the curb, and you get to be a first-class sorcerer. Everyone wins.”

“I’m not going to fall for you.”

Gojo gave a sad little nod, like he was agreeing with a deluded person in order to keep them calm and reasonable.

Granted, you did just effectively hurl a slushy at him a few minutes prior.

“This seems a bit extreme, even for you. Why do you think I’d even say yes? You know exactly why you got slapped. Can I expect that same level of charm from our future ‘dates’?” you asked, kicking yourself for having implied in your words you knew him well enough to even know what was extreme for him. The comment did not go unnoticed, even with his half expression hidden you could tell his interest was piqued. The last thing you wanted to do was to explain to this insufferable man how his very presence was as constant as the sun. Always nagging in the back of your mind and in your abilities.

You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“That was awhile ago. Most girls find me pretty charming these days. As to why you’d say yes— given it is probably your best chance at getting to first grade sorcerer status, I can’t think of a reason you wouldn’t.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Fifteen year old you would be outraged, furious. She would not have considered this offer for a second. She would have stamped her foot and told him exactly where he could stick his offer.

But twenty-eight year old you had learned that very often principles were made to be damned.

“And the fact I can tell you are just dying to say yes.”

There was that arrogance again.

“You still buying me lunch?” you countered and the smile he gave you was a bit different than the ones before.

“Wow. No one will even question how I could have been charmed by such a talented freeloader.”

“I am exceedingly charming.”

“And what an arm. You play softball or you just start a lot of food fights as a kid?”

“I want sushi.” You said, the finality of your voice inarguable. You thought he might have rolled his eyes, but nevertheless you got your lunch and even managed to bargain a single day to think about the offer.

[honeymoonjin]

pairing: jimin x yoongi || genre: smut - nsfw 18+ word count: 6.7k warnings: dom!jimin, sub!yoongi, exhibitionism, BDSM, sub!jk feature very briefly, masochism, pain play, impact play, spanking, orgasm control/denial, untouched orgasm, frotting (i hope that’s right, i had to google it), crying during sex but in a fun liberating way u feel me, praise, mean-mugging, pet names

summary: jimin is used to keeping his professional bdsm life and his domestic married life separate, but when his husband yoongi comes in after a hard day at work, he wants to blur those lines. 

A/N: i wrote this for the lovely and talented @joonsbean​ so thank her for inspiring me to actually write something, also this is unedited bc i just sat down for 6 hours to write this and i am not willing to stare at it a moment longer

---

After a particularly resonant flick of the whip, Jimin eyes the way Jungkook's calves tense, left foot tapping the floor in an uneven stutter. He's starting to really feel it now.

He absentmindedly reaches his hand out to smooth the reddened flesh of Jungkook's ass, gently cooing at him quiet enough that his rapt audience won't hear. While the eager submissive was the biggest masochist of the regulars, and he was likely miles away from safewording, as a friend Jimin knew the long-haired boy had three hours of lectures the next day. He'd probably relish the sore ass and take it like a champ, but Jimin was soft on him, so he knew it was time to wrap it up.

Tilting his chin towards the dark, almost purplish streak just above Jungkook's thigh, he raises his voice to address the onlookers. "As you can see, when there's only one fall, like with a whip or a switch, the impact feels a lot sharper and concentrated. The thinner it is, that effect is only amplified. For that reason, I really recommend against switches and whips as a first-timer or if you're testing it out." Jimin can't help but beam at the way every person in the crowd listens to his spiel with clear enthusiasm. He got off on this kind of spotlight in a different way to the usual exhibitionism. Sharing his passion never failed to cheer him up. "Even though floggers can look more intense, as we saw when we were starting out, the impact is more distributed, more of a thud than a sting. Now," he breaks off, giving Jungkook's tender ass a final playful swat, making the boy jump, knuckles white as they clench the back of the chair he's bent over, "let's give our little prince a big round of applause for being so helpful for us today."

Jungkook positively keens at the cheers and wolf whistles that erupt from the crowd of at least thirty, his back arching and face buried between his meaty upper arms to hide the blush. Jimin gently massages the heated skin one last time, whispering instructions to head off to the side where his usual dom, Namjoon, was no doubt waiting.

The two had been playing for almost a year now, but Namjoon was still hesitant to venture into the heavier sadism that Jungkook sometimes needed, and the three of them had found a happy medium where Jungkook helped Jimin out with demonstrations, and Jimin indulged Jungkook's occasional desire for more intense pain play. As a thank you, Namjoon even helped Jimin out with his taxes just the month before, and Jimin quite often allowed them to reserve their favourite play rooms out of courtesy. A mutually beneficial arrangement, and it certainly came in handy to have Namjoon deal with aftercare while Jimin still had his demonstration to wind up.

Swinging the chair that Jungkook was previously bent over, Jimin takes a seat facing the audience and quirks a brow. "Alrighty, before we wrap up and I set you back into the wild, any questions?"

This line always had very different responses. Once, on a basic self-bondage informational session, there were so many single kinksters interested that there ended up being almost an hour of questioning, followed by an impromptu tutorial of safe handcuff use. More commonly, Jimin fielded a few confirming questions about what he'd shown, or something related but not overly relevant to the main topic at hand. More often than not, though, he'd find a string of people awkwardly hovering around him after the crowd had dissipated, too nervous to ask their question in front of the others.

This time, however, a single hand is thrust into the air, coming from the rough back third of the gathering.

"Yes?" Jimin calls out, squinting past the few stage lights and into the darkened crowd. He can't quite make out the face, but as soon as the rumbly voice begins to speak, he doesn't need the visual to recognise it.

"I was just wondering," his husband calls out, "could I speak to you in private?"

Jimin is so startled to hear Yoongi that for a moment he freezes on stage, totally silent. Never once had his husband of four years step a single foot into the dungeon Jimin worked at. Not intolerant of the kink world, Yoongi was simply paranoid about being recognised - a renowned human rights lawyer showing up to a BDSM dungeon dressed in leathers was a tabloid field day waiting to happen - and was happy for Jimin to continue working there whenever he wished.

Now, though, that unspoken rule that had kept these two worlds of Jimin's separate had shattered with a single question, and he felt cold shock drip down his spine.

"Uh," he begins eloquently, blinking himself out of it and plastering a collected smile on again, "of course! I'll be right with you once the show ends."

Jimin closes the session in a daze, answering a few questions about physical aftercare and the best materials and brands for impact play equipment on autopilot. It feels like an eternity passing in a single second, and before he's even processed it, the audience have moved on, and his husband is placing a gentle kiss of greeting on his temple, the same way he would when he'd get home from work in the evenings.

Mere minutes after he'd been in his usual dominant persona, Jimin feels himself melting like candy floss in Yoongi's arms, wrapping around him in their usual casual intimacy. "How are you here?" Jimin asks softly, snaking his arms under Yoongi's slate grey suit jacket, feeling the warmth radiate from his body, even through the expensive cotton shirt. "You're still dressed for work, baby."

Yoongi tenses slightly, gazing around the room. A few people are still milling around in small groups, chatting, but this close to the stage, him and Jimin are out of earshot. Still, he speaks lowly, dipping into the Daegu drawl that only makes an appearance when he's too stressed to think clearly. "I took a sick day. Or, I suppose, sick afternoon," he corrects, brows pinched together. "Had to get out. Can we- Is there a place we can have some privacy, please?"

Wide-eyed, Jimin jumps up out of Yoongi's embrace. "Oh, definitely, sorry!" He tamps down his rising concern by hooking his arm around Yoongi's, locking their fingers tightly as he leads his husband out of the auditorium and down a hall.

Being a matinee opening, the dungeon isn't too packed. Jimin prefers working the day shifts, likes that everything feels a little more personal and open. Nights, especially themed ones, get so busy that the gear and rooms have to be booked sometimes weeks in advance. Jimin does his fair share of DMing (they need all the help they can get) but doesn't like to run any scenes himself in the relative chaos.

But at 2pm on a Tuesday, it's easy enough to slip into one of the private rooms, switching the sign to occupied. There's no lock on the door for safety purposes, but nobody will dare enter while it's taken.

Yoongi steps in, eying the room with surprise. It's a relatively open space, with the walls lined with bookcases on one end, and a large wooden desk with some filing cabinets on the other. The desk itself has a comfortable-looking desk chair, and the opposite side has a single leather armchair like something from a therapist's office.

Although there is a wide window, it's covered with blinds, and Jimin knows from experience that it opens directly onto a brick wall for privacy. Instead, the room is lit from above with ceiling lights that are adjustable by a dimmer. Jimin leaves it bright.

Yoongi slowly makes his way to the black leather armchair, sitting down on it and leaning forward to inspect the desk. Absurdly large, it is mostly uncovered except for a diary with some unreadable scrawls on it, an ancient laptop that doesn't turn on, and a ruler. "Is this your office?" Yoongi asks incredulously.

Jimin cackles before he can help himself, moving forward to perch on the edge of the desk in front of Yoongi. "Does it look like I'd get anything done here? It's a play room, baby."

"Play room?" his husband replies dully, but Jimin doesn't miss the way his eyes are zoned in on Jimin's body, the intimidating leather jacket fixed with a tightly buckled belt around his waist, the skintight black jeans that barely contained his thighs, and perfectly glossed black dress shoes, his calling card amongst the typical stomping boots or knife-thin stilettos that most other doms wore. He always got dressed at the dungeon, leaving the house in unassuming sweatpants and a hoodie, so he gets no little satisfaction in relishing his husband's first reaction to the getup.

"That's right," he confirms with a smirk, crossing his legs. "We have five of them at the moment, though the sixth one is almost ready for use. This one is for your typical CEO or professor roleplays, we have a medical one, an interrogation one," Jimin rattles them off on his fingers, watching the way Yoongi's eyes bug out at each addition, "just a basic bedroom one for the vanilla stuff, one that actually looks like a dungeon, and the new one is gonna be an outdoor one."

"Outdoor?" Yoongi asks with a unsteady voice, before shaking his head to clear the thoughts. "Anyway, here is fine, I just- I had to get away from work, Minnie, and I... I was thinking..."

Jimin frowns in sympathy, leaning forward to stroke the back of Yoongi's hand. "I can leave early, I don't have anything else booked today, I was mostly planning on sticking to the social lounge-"

"I don't wanna go home," Yoongi slips in hurriedly, flipping his hand on the arm of the chair to link their fingers together tightly, though his eyes don't leave Jimin's for a second. "I know that you like to keep this job and our own love life separate, and I'm not going to force you, but- I came here because I want to submit to you."

Jimin's eyes widen, his breath catching in his chest. A switch at heart, Jimin had always found it a nice balance to indulge his dominant side here at work, and return home for Yoongi to take care of him, and it had always worked well. Even before they were serious, right in the early days of fucking like rabbits and pretending they weren't entirely smitten, Yoongi had always easily taken that more dominant role, though most of their sex to this day was far less kinky than the kind of demonstrations Jimin ran here. What Yoongi was asking wasn't just to be pampered and taken care of, but to be taken control of. And Jimin couldn't deny the ball of heat that was quickly building inside of him at that thought.

"Baby," he sighs, forcing himself to keep professionalism in mind, "I can't- We can't do anything here without you filling out some paperwork. The list of kinks and limits at the least. Not just as an employee, but as your husband, I gotta keep you safe."

"I know," Yoongi insists, and he frees his hand from Jimin's grip just long enough to plunge a hand into his pants pocket, pulling out a tightly folded piece of paper, handing it to Jimin.

Oddly enough, the folds are worn, not crisp, and as Jimin unfolds it, the text - printed in 12 point Times New Roman, because of course Yoongi would type it up with perfect formatting - has lost the freshly-printed gloss.

"I've been working up the courage to come here for months, Jimin-ah," Yoongi explains in a shy but determined voice. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to feel pressured at all either way, but please know that this is something that I've researched, and that I'm serious about." His solemn expression turns slightly cheeky, almost impish. "You literally make a living domming people, Minnie. I've been fantasising about it long before I even realised I wanted it."

A thrill of arousal runs through Jimin, straight between his legs, and he tightens his thighs, taking a settling breath. "Oh, baby," he coos, eyes dropping to read Yoongi's well-documented and organised list of kinks and limits, scanning over some surprising - and not-so-surprising - tidbits, "I'm gonna take such good care of you."

The air rushes out of Yoongi's lungs as he unconsciously scoots forward in the chair, leaning in. "Do we- Do we just start now, or do you need to go get some-" he breaks off, blushing violently, "some equipment?"

Jimin breaks into a broad smile, eyes crinkling as he steps forward, steps close, ringed fingers slipping into Yoongi's hair on either side, tipping his husband's face up as his chin rests on Jimin's lower abdomen. "Oh, my big boy wants to play with some toys, huh?" Jimin can feel when Yoongi swallows hard, his eyes not glossy with subspace, instead keen and sharp with pointed desire. "Don't worry, baby, this room isn't as empty as you think."

When he steps away, dropping all contact, Yoongi slumps like a puppet with cut strings, catching himself before he slips off the chair, instead lying back against it, chest heaving beneath the starch white of his dress shirt.

Jimin makes his way first to the bookshelves, looking back over his shoulder to catch Yoongi's reaction as he finds a notch in the framing and pulls, revealing that they aren't real shelves at all, simply disguised cabinets that swing open to reveal the hidden delights inside. The three closest to the desk are filled with clothes of all sizes, office-wear spanning pencil skirts to neckties to blazers, a few frumpy pieces that remind Jimin of dorky professors, even some school uniforms, cut far shorter than regulation.

With a grin, Jimin pulls at a pleated plaid skirt, smirking at Yoongi. "In the mood for dress-up, baby? Show off those pretty legs of yours."

Yoongi, still with some wits about him, narrows his eyes with a mock scowl, his disapproval clear.

Jimin sighs out wistfully, but lets it go. "Another time, maybe." Ignoring Yoongi's light scoff, he nudges the doors shut with his foot one at a time and moves to the last one, where the facade of stacked books hides a series of hooks nailed into the back wall.

Jimin doesn't need to even face Yoongi to know he's squirming in his chair - the squeaking leather gives it away. Strung up are floggers, whips, switches, and neatly coiled bundles of rope, catalogued by length. His husband had expressed interest in both impact play and bondage, several different types of both, and so it's no surprise that the sight of those fantasies had Yoongi breathing heavily. He leaves that cupboard open.

"There are so many things we could play with in here, baby," Jimin assures, patting the folded piece of paper that he'd slipped into his own pocket, "and your list was pretty extensive, so before we get started, any particular preference?"

Yoongi swallows again, hair slightly rucked up from Jimin's hands. Jimin can't wait to see it totally mussed up, see his husband in ruins, see him love it. With wary eyes on Jimin as he moves behind the desk towards the filing cabinets, Yoongi nods. "The- what you were doing with that guy on stage. I- I want that."

Jimin blinks, turning his back to his husband to mask his surprise, fingers hooking the edge of the top drawer of one of the cabinets, each one labelled alphabetically. "Is that so? We did a lot on that stage, baby, I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

Yoongi is silent for a moment, his breathing the only sound as Jimin carefully slides the drawer open, revealing neatly sectioned rows of anal plugs. He grins. A for Anal, B for Bondage, C for Chastity. The designers really took their job seriously, and he could appreciate the humour in it.

He lets Yoongi take his time, knowing that saying something is often the hardest part. Instead, he notes the location of the drawer marked P, and turns back to his husband.

Looking incredibly small, tucked up on the intentionally oversized armchair, Yoongi clears his throat, making shy eye contact. "The paddles," he says in a high tone, like he's unsure he's even using the correct word, "I want you to- to hit me with them like you did him."

"You want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours?" Jimin confirms, loving the way his husband goes bright pink.

"Y-yeah," he replies breathily, dropping his gaze. "Will you?"

Despite the raging fire inside him, Jimin's heart leaps fondly, so in love with his husband and all his endearing mannerisms. "Of course, baby. But let's start slow, hm? Gotta make your first time special, don't we?"

Yoongi laughs, then, full of air and barely audible, his lips lilting in a small smile that still shows his teeth.

Jimin tilts his head to the side. "What?"

With a tiny head shake, Yoongi contains his grin. "I just really wanna kiss you right now."

Jimin is moving before he's even finished speaking, his hip barely missing the corner of the desk in his haste to join his husband, knees straddling his lap without hesitation, holding those soft cheeks in both hands as he presses his lips firmly against Yoongi's, eyes fluttering shut.

Their parting kiss before Yoongi left for work this morning feels too long ago, and for a moment their new arrangement is forgotten as they fall into their usual motions, years of marriage making every inch of Yoongi's lips feel familiar, the bump of their noses and brush of eyelashes like home even in such a different environment.

With no rush, Jimin lets himself indulge in it, burying one hand in Yoongi's hair, carding through the choppy black locks that are no longer gelled back. His other hand slides down Yoongi's jaw, neck, and chest, tugging at the knot of his tie to loosen it. He makes no effort to be gentle, and his husband just groans into Jimin's mouth at the rough treatment.

It's all too easy to shift into his dom space, a practiced scale of gradually increasing intensity. It begins with the tie, but soon enough Jimin punctuates their ongoing kiss with hard sucks and quick nips of teeth, Yoongi tipping his chin up to drown in it more. Testing the waters, Jimin rocks his hips once against Yoongi's taut crotch and yanks once on a fistful of hair, baring the pale expanse of Yoongi's neck.

The debauched lawyer bucks beneath him, hands flying to grip tightly at Jimin's waist. His long, beautiful fingers and wide palm have always made Jimin feel weak at the knees, and feeling them grasp at him not in command but in desperation feels addictive.

"You like that?" he breathes, voice low enough to almost growl, and Yoongi shivers as he nods his affirmation. "Good," Jimin praises, and dives down, teeth grazing down the sensitive skin of Yoongi's throat, skimming until he feels the throb of his pulse point. Yoongi can't risk marks at work, certainly not in court, but it's a Friday, and Jimin is feeling more possessive than usual. He nips lightly but laps at the skin thoroughly, knowing the best he can get away with is a reddened bite mark which would fade over the weekend. The hickies were best saved for other areas, he knew.

Yoongi is panting like a horse now, air punched through his nostrils as he bites down hard on his own swollen lip. Jimin knows the effect he has on his subs, and grins against the glistening wet skin of Yoongi's neck at the hardness that has grown between his legs. "Wuh-want more, Minnie," he gasps out, "need more."

Jimin hums, making sure Yoongi can feel the vibrations in the hollow of his throat, sliding up to press kisses to that hyper-sensitive place just behind Yoongi's ear that always made him tremble.

It doesn't disappoint, Yoongi letting out a shaky breath as his arms wrap around Jimin's waist, trying to bring him closer.

Jimin doesn't let him, though, pulling back to sit on his haunches, running a thumb down Yoongi's reddened lower lip to watch the way it springs back into place. Yoongi sits still, eyes cloudy as he lets his dom for the night play with him. The thought pleases Jimin; that Yoongi truly was wanting this, truly was willing to give up control to him.

He spares a glance down between his own thighs, where the cool grey of Yoongi's slacks makes no attempt at hiding his bulging erection. Pouting in sympathy, Jimin reaches out with a single finger to trace the outline, watching the muscles in his husband's thighs tense as he fights to stay still. "So hard already, baby," Jimin drawls, "do you think that pretty little cock of yours can wait its turn while I spank you, hm? Can it be patient for me?"

Yoongi flushes, whining Jimin's name under his breath. "Yes," he admits, huffing out a reluctant sigh.

"Yes what?"

Yoongi grimaces at Jimin, but the dom just raises an expectant brow. "Yes, my- my pretty little cock can be patient for you," Yoongi murmurs in the quietest voice he can manage, cheeks red hot.

"That's my boy," Jimin beams, rewarding his husband by popping the button and pulling down the zip on the fly of Yoongi's slacks, releasing some of the pressure. Yoongi groans, deep in his throat, but his relief is quickly thwarted once Jimin stands up off him.

Making his way back to the filing cabinets, Jimin quickly slides open the one labeled P. Splayed out neatly lie five different paddles. Three are plastic, one a basic rounded shape, another that same shape only with several small holes drilled through for a sharper impact, and a final one a rectangular shape. The next one is hard wood, heavy, Jimin recalls, and the one tucked at the back is a softly upholstered pleather one for beginners. Then there's the ruler, of course, though that's a little cheesy for the current mood.

He assesses the five inside at his leisure, knowing every moment of anticipation will feel like an eternity to his husband, and finally makes a choice. He slides the cabinet drawer closed.

Yoongi makes a wounded, cut-off noise in his throat, but Jimin sends him a firm gaze.

"I'll give you what you want, baby," Jimin assures, wetting his lips, "but first I want to feel you myself. Pants and underwear off, jacket off, I want you bent over my desk."

Yoongi sucks in a sudden breath, but stands up on wobbly legs and slips off his blazer. It's probably too expensive to be dumping it on the chair behind him, but Yoongi clearly isn't worried about that as he kicks off his shoes and pants too, only hesitating once his fingers are hooked on the elastic waistband of his underwear.

"Off," Jimin demands harshly, "I won't ask again."

This time Yoongi obeys without delay, and Jimin takes great pleasure in watching the way his husband's cock leaps up once it's freed, pretty and pink and wetter than he'd ever seen it before. Though Yoongi always tended to top, his cock was smaller - more slender, at least - than Jimin's, but he loved it, loved that a hasty three fingers was enough prep on those times that they just couldn't wait to devour each other.

Now, though, with mussed hair and wrinkled shirt, naked from the waist down bar a pair of black ankle socks, Jimin's husband looked positively adorable in the most erotic way, and Jimin wanted nothing more than to make him wait, make him work to cum.

When Yoongi folds himself over the desk, side-on to Jimin to make use of the length of the surface, his hands awkwardly hover on either side of him, keeping himself slightly upright still. The back of his shirt is just long enough to cover the tops of his cheeks, and the sight of his rounded ass and dripping cock peeking through is enough to make Jimin actively restrain himself, taking a moment to breathe and appreciate this opportunity.

He steps forward, planting a hand between Yoongi's shoulder blades and presses, slow enough that Yoongi has time to move his face to the side to avoid banging his chin, but firm enough that there's no resisting. Yoongi goes willingly, however, his back arching as the table is just lower than his hips. Like this, no fabric obstructs Jimin's view, and he hums, pleased. "Good boy."

Yoongi trembles, his legs tight together and knees shaking just slightly. He's nervous at the vulnerable position, but no less aroused for it.

With the tip of his shoe, Jimin guides Yoongi's legs apart, until his socked feet are wider than his hips, until he needs to lean his weight onto the desktop to keep stable.

"That's it," Jimin praises, "my perfect little slut. So obedient."

Yoongi's right knee buckles at the exact moment that he hears the pet name, and Jimin grins. The piece of paper in his pocket had a long list of suggestions for names he was okay being called, and the dom couldn't resist picking out his favourite. The perfect mix of praise and degradation, it flowed so well on his tongue; the smooth, melodic sounds punctuated by the sharp hit of the t. Slut. Jimin muffles a groan, pressing on his own straining erection.

Unable to help himself, he reaches out, both hands grabbing at the plush ass cheeks in front of him, spreading them to watch the way Yoongi clenches at the sudden exposure. This must be what he looks like when they play together, Jimin thinks. He wonders if Yoongi is enjoying the change in pace just as much as he is.

"I'm going to start you off with just my hands, baby," he introduces, running a palm under the hem of his shirt and up Yoongi's spine to watch the way he shivers. "I'm sure you're well aware of the traffic light system, hm? Tell me what the colours mean."

Yoongi shifts, fingers curling uselessly against the tabletop as his eyes remain squeezed shut. "Red means stop, yellow means slow down, green means go," he recites, the exact phrasing off the dungeon's website, and Jimin bends down to press a single soft kiss on the top of Yoongi's ass as a reward, making him twitch violently. "Fuck, Jimin-ah," he sighs, arching his back even more.

Jimin grins. "Good. I'm adding another colour, just for you," he explains. "Gold. Can you guess what gold means?"

Yoongi swallows, shifts his weight, and shakes his head.

Jimin digs his fingers into the flesh of Yoongi's ass, watching them pillow in roughly. "Gold means more. Gold means harder. Okay?"

Yoongi nods quickly, hair even more tangled with every movement.

"Good boy," Jimin croons, and without further comment his left hand rises and comes down in a single strike.

Yoongi seizes up for a second at the shock of it, but there's no power behind the hit, and his brain realises a moment later that no pain follows the loud noise. He huffs in need and pushes his hips back, silently asking for more. "Gold, g-gold," he mutters offbeat, already panting.

Jimin hums in pleasure, and swats his right cheek this time, feeling a sting bloom across his palm. Still not nearly the hardest he can go, it's clearly not enough for Yoongi, as he remains stoic, waiting for more.

The next time, Jimin lets his hand really catch the air on the way down, but he doesn't stop at one hit, raining down three in quick succession on the same spot. Yoongi breathes through the first impact, freezes in surprise at the second one, and an unbidden moan falls out of his mouth at the third.

"Mm, that's better, isn't it?" Jimin muses rhetorically, soothing the slightly pinked patch of skin with his warmed hand. "Just need a bit more pain to let go."

"Please," Yoongi breathes, "jus' keep going."

"Bossy," Jimin teases, "I'm meant to be giving you orders, baby. If you don't quit it, I might not give you what you want at all."

"Sorry, I'm sorry, ple-please hit me again," Yoongi begs mindlessly, and Jimin can't help but indulge him, his husband sounding so pretty when he whines.

When he returns to spanking again, it's in earnest. Instead of pausing to check in each time, he relies on his husband's telling cues to moderate it, as well as the sweet pleas of gold, gold every time Jimin spent too long between swats.

Much like the rest of him, Yoongi's ass blooms candied pink, and with every strike, Jimin can't help but venture further, wanting to colour him in all over. The spanks that fall on Yoongi's upper thighs make him restless, squirming and moaning wordlessly. The ones that land on the fatty portion of his ass have him sighing happily, crooked smile slicked in drool against the wood of the desk.

The two of them slip into an unspoken rhythm for a while, alternating these hits on either side, of varying number and intensity, until Yoongi has almost fallen into a trance of sorts, mouth hanging open slackly as a whine or moan or whimper is falling out of his mouth with every single thwack.

Jimin's arm begins to tire, and just as he pauses to shake out the joints, Yoongi pants a, "wait, wait," making him pause.

It takes a moment for Yoongi to catch his breath, but Jimin waits patiently, scanning his ass and thighs for any sign of something that could be causing undue comfort, but he comes up short. With a weak, slurred voice, Yoongi lets out a sob. "I wanna use the paddle, Minnie, I wanna feel it," he pleads, "I've h-had enough of the spanking."

Jimin furrows his brows in concern, massaging out the sore tissue as Yoongi goes lax beneath him. "If you've had enough, baby, we should stop. I don't wanna push you."

Yoongi actually tears up, biting hard on his lip as he shakes his head. "Please, Minnie, just a few times, I just need it to be- to be heavy. I don't know, but I need it. Gold, please gold."

"Okay," Jimin is agreeing softly, squatting down to press reassuring kisses against the hot flesh, feeling his own palm stinging. He leaves only to slide open the drawer of paddles, selecting the wooden one. He knew from subspace himself that sometimes those base, thoughtless needs stemmed from something deeper, from an emotional need tangled up daily life. Once, in the early days of doing demonstrations at the dungeon, Jimin had gotten stage fright and done such a poor job of a fingering tutorial that the sweet sub he was working on didn't even cum. He'd come home to Yoongi bawling in humiliation, and his husband had lain him down on their bed and made him cum so many times that he couldn't even think, couldn't move a single limb. Now, Jimin had no doubt that the need to feel a heavy impact had something to do with the reason Yoongi had taken an uncharacteristic sick day.

Talking about it wouldn't help, would only break the escapism of the scene, so Jimin just runs the face of the wooden paddle over Yoongi's sore ass, letting him grow accustomed to the feel and texture. "Just two hits," Jimin declares, "one on each cheek. No more. Focus on them, baby. Eyes closed, just feel them."

He waits until Yoongi settles, spreading his legs wider with wiggling toes, and catching his breath, one hand pressed over his teary eyes.

Jimin swings the paddle backwards, not up, and lets it impact on Yoongi's left cheek first, a wet, strangled moan leaving his husband's mouth at the thuddy feel. The wooden paddle didn't hurt like spanking or a lighter paddle. It was about the weighty feel of it hitting your skin, a light hit so as not to cause bruising.

A line of tension disappears between Yoongi's clothed shoulders, the sweaty fabric clinging to his back. He's calmed down, fully, waiting patiently for the second strike. The second Jimin rains that final hit, he drops the paddle onto the carpeted floor, exhausted himself, and moves around to the side of the desk, bending awkwardly over it to press his mouth to Yoongi's, who makes a muffled sound of surprise before responding in turn.

Jimin's hand is curled around the nape of his husband's neck, keeping him close as tears mingle with spit, their kiss salty and desperate.

He feels a vibration between them before he hears anything, has to focus hard to hear Yoongi as he chants over and over like a prayer, thanking Jimin.

He slows the kiss after a sweet eternity, letting their heartbeats return to normal. Jimin's own eyes sting, love and concern a potent combination, but as the adrenaline settles back to normal, Yoongi calms down too, and seems to come back to himself.

He pulls away to let out a tired breath, laughing voicelessly. "Fuck," Yoongi curses with eyes still closed in bliss. "I get it now."

Jimin beams, a chuckle leaving his own lips as he sees the peace on his husband's face. After a moment, though, a frown appears as Yoongi furrows his brows. "What is it?"

"My dick hurts," Yoongi whines, managing to get his elbows under him to lift his chest from the table, head in his hands.

Jimin startles, standing bolt upright as he rushes down to look for any injury. "Oh shit, did I hit it?"

The laugh returns, bubbling out of Yoongi as he turns himself with great effort onto his back, chest still rising and falling dramatically. "No, Jimin-ah, don't worry," he assures, wincing when his ass-cheeks meet the unforgiving surface of the desk. "But if I don't cum soon, I think it's gonna explode."

Jimin's mouth falls open, relief and disbelief flooding his veins equally as he's faced with Yoongi's cock, so flushed with blood it's almost purple in places. "I- Okay, do you- do you want me to get you off, or do you want to keep playing?"

Yoongi looks at him like he's insane. "I mean... Preferably both, Minnie."

After the moment of scare, it takes surprisingly little time before that thrum of arousal is dialed up again, and Jimin smirks, running his hands up and down Yoongi's inner thighs to watch the way he naturally and obediently parts them for him.

"Do you know what I realised, baby?" Jimin coos, stubbornly avoiding the weeping cock in front of him. Yoongi mutters a weak response. "I realised that so far I've been doing all the work so far, haven't I? That isn't really fair, wouldn't you agree?"

Wary, Yoongi pauses and nods, the blur of tears long since replaced by the haze of arousal, of subspace beginning to creep in once more.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," Jimin drawls, flattening a hand heavy on the soft flesh just above Yoongi's cock, making the man moan and wriggle to escape the pressure. "So I think, if you want to get off, you should put a little work in yourself. Make some effort, baby."

Yoongi takes a few heaving breaths, before slowly, so carefully, lowering his hand down to wrap around the base of his cock, immediately groaning at the touch. He's leaked so much precum that it takes a single shaky stroke to coat the sensitive skin, and a relieved smile spreads over his face at the thought that he's finally going to get off.

But where's the fun in that?

"Don't you think you're being a little selfish?" Jimin spits stiffly, and flicks once at the very tip of Yoongi's dick.

His husband practically howls, curling up with a depraved cry. "Wha-at?" he sobs, hand trembling as it hovers on his thigh, fighting his desire. "What do you want, Minnie?"

"How sweet of you to ask," Jimin praises in a sugar-sweet voice, reaching down to unzip his own jeans. "Those hands are big enough to fit the both of us, aren't they?"

Blearily, Yoongi looks down as Jimin slips his aching cock out from his pants, fitting himself between Yoongi's spread legs so that their bobbing lengths bump together.

Even that contact is enough to make Yoongi hiss, but he's desperate and so he nods quickly, fingers trembling as they grab Jimin's cock, pinning them together in his grip. He pauses, panting as he stares up at Jimin for permission.

Jimin smiles placidly, bending forward to press a single chaste kiss to his husband's lips. "I don't want you cumming before I do, okay?" he asks sweetly, though the threat is thinly veiled.

Using the strength of his abdomen to lift his upper half off the desk, Yoongi stabilises himself with an elbow while his other hand jerks the two of them off together, thumb running over the sensitive heads, paying extra attention to Jimin's.

"That's it," Jimin groans, biting hard on his tongue. Truth be told, it was hard enough for him to hold back, feeling threads of an orgasm already knitting together in his stomach. But he's not willing to let go of the pretty sight of Yoongi just yet, so debauched and far gone as he shivers with every stroke, torn between making Jimin cum and preventing his own climax.

After mere minutes, Yoongi has collapsed back onto the desk, ankles curled around Jimin's back to hold him close, hand shaking violently.

"Please," he begs occasionally, but the moment his hand slows down to give himself a break, Jimin pinches his inner thigh in warning. They both knew marks there were allowed.

It's not until Yoongi is quite literally biting down on his own knuckles to hold back an orgasm that Jimin can't keep himself from cumming anymore.

Greedily, he runs his hands over Yoongi's sides, skimming the shirt up to put his chest on display, flicking at the delicate pink nipples. Jimin cums so hard he almost buckles forward onto Yoongi, spurting white all over Yoongi's hand and cock.

He holds himself up shakily, spouting praises to Yoongi as the wave of pleasure rushes through him, making his toes tingle and his fingers curl, scratches down Yoongi's chest and stomach.

"Oh, god, I'm gonna- Mi-Minnie, can I cum, oh fuh-fuck, no!"

One last liberty taken in his time as Yoongi's dom, Jimin pulls himself away, pinning Yoongi's wrists to the table and watching as his cock, dripping white, bobs desperately in the air, seeking friction.

Yoongi babbles pleas and curses, hips jerking, but it only takes Jimin leaning down, blowing a single thin stream of cool air over Yoongi's cock for Yoongi's thighs to tense. He cums, untouched, shuddering and seizing on the table as Jimin takes mercy and wraps his hand around him to stroke him through it.

"Look at you," Jimin croons in wonder, watching cum spill between his fingers, the two of them mixed together indistinguishably. "Baby, you look perfect like this. Please tell me you want to do that again."

Yoongi makes a strangled, guttural noise as he goes limp on the table, legs dangling off the edge. "Fuck, not right away, you demon," he protests grumpily, "now come kiss me again."

With a fond beam, heart so full with love and post-orgasm endorphins that he can barely handle it, Jimin tugs him up by his forearms and joins their mouths together, Yoongi's one dry hand tangling in his hair as he smiles into the kiss.

It takes only a few moments, however, for the sticky reality to sink in, and soon enough Yoongi is parting, letting his forehead rest against Jimin's. "I don't suppose there are any wet wipes in here?" he ventures.

Jimin chuckles, leaning back. "Cleaning materials in the desk drawers," he divulges.

With crazy sex hair and wide eyes, Yoongi makes quite the picture. "Fuck, I love this place. Let's try the interrogation one next time, yeah?"

[yoditorian]

a law divine - 1

soulmate au!ezra/reader

this is solely the fault of one single anon who called out something i put in the tags and now it’s a whole universe but you know what?? it’s the love of my life. anon i hope u see this 💛 i also just want to say i know there isn’t A Lot of soulmate talk in this one but it’s important for the narrative okay bear with me

playlist // series masterlist // main masterlist 

word count: 7.2k (a Big Boy)

warnings: swearing, my usual allusions to smut bc we keep things neutral in this house, brief food/alcohol mentions, 18+ please no babies

It might be the ugliest ship you’ve ever seen.

Not that you’re really one to judge, the one you charter out when you’re running point on a job is a mismatched patchwork of rusty panels held together with electrical tape and hope. If there’s the slightest possibility you might be a teeny tiny bit disappointed in it, it’s only because agency jobs are usually a little cushier. A little safer for once. You could do with a bit safer. 

Your family might prefer a lot safer, but you’d sooner take your chances in open space without a suit than take a job working scrapyards. At least risking your life on digs gets a decent payout.

“You the danger mouse?” 

It’s not an accent you hear often on the Pug, the majority of the station’s population is human, but you turn with a smile to meet the bright purple eyes of the Thanne. Armour-strong scales and sharp teeth, but he seems kind and mild mannered despite his clear predatory biology. You nod as you readjust the pack on your shoulders.

“I’m Iras.” He holds his hand out to you. A distinctly human gesture made a little awkward by the sharp edged scales and extra fingers, but you shake it nonetheless. He’s your captain for this job after all. You wonder where a Thanne became so well versed in human custom, the species as a whole tend to keep to themselves instead of branching out into the universe like so many others, until his crew members appear on the boarding ramp.

Iras gestures to each of them in turn. Summer, a blonde woman with dark skin and a kind smile, and Milo, an older man with a swirling tattoo above his left eyebrow that matches the navy blue of his eyes.

“Is it just us?” You ask. You could have sworn there was a fifth name on the manifest you’d been forwarded, but teams are always subject to change. You just hope you’ll have your own room.

“Ezra always leaves things down to the wire, he’ll show up right before we’re due to push out.” Summer laughs fondly, throwing an arm around your shoulders like she’s known you her whole life. You’re usually a little wary with brand new teams but the way she’s already chatting away makes you feel at home. The last agency job you were sent on got dicey, fast, somehow you’re sure the same won’t happen with this lot.

“There he is.” Milo leans out of the ship to point out into the docks. 

You turn to see a man sauntering through the throngs of harvesters towards the ship, and it’s odd. The rest of the crowd seems to melt away as he closes the distance, even the weight of Summer’s arm on your shoulders feels not quite there. You take the moment to study him. He looks all business with his dark hair and his charcoal grey shirt and the neat pack slung over his shoulder, but his pants and boots have seen better days and the streak of blonde at his temple makes you smile. It’s nice to finally be with a crew without a single stuffy addition. 

“It’s not often I get to congregate with like-minded souls.” He grins when he’s in earshot, a flash of something feline in his eyes. You don’t want to admit that you like it.

“Like-minded?” You tilt your head at him as you follow Summer up the ramp and into the ship. Ezra slips in behind you just as it starts to raise. Just like the others said.

“We’ve all got the same death wish, Sunspot.”

The launch, at least, is smooth despite the beaten up ship and it’s only about twenty minutes before you’re far enough from the Pug to punch a lane to the next system over. At least it isn’t far, there’s only a day between now and making planetfall. Somehow, you’re not surprised to find that it’s more of a barracks and bunk beds situation rather than each having a private quarters. Last time you were hired by the agency, you definitely got your own room. But it gives you a chance to chat with the others as you unpack. 

Milo explains the air isn’t breathable, so he’ll need to double check to make sure everyone’s filters are running at capacity. But he reassures you that it’s a comfortable temperature, so it’s good to know you won’t be sweltering in your suits or freezing your asses off. 

You pick the bed on the wall beside the door, taking out a few essentials from your pack and tucking the rest safely away in the storage compartment. Just as he did back at the docks, Ezra is the last to find his way to the room. He settles his things on the bunk opposite yours because the universe has it out for you, apparently. 

“Did I hear one of them call you the danger mouse?” 

You struggle not to roll your eyes at the nickname awarded to anyone stupid enough to do your job, although admittedly he doesn’t sound like he knows why. You offer him your name instead and pretend the way he rolls it around in his mouth doesn’t send a shock right down to your bones. You’re not in the habit of sleeping with colleagues, not until the job’s over at least. But you’d be lying if you said you’re not tempted.

“They call me in when a site’s unstable but too profitable to close.” You answer, tugging your sleeves up as the climate control settles to a comfortable temperature.

Ezra raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, and you pull off your gloves. They land on your thin mattress as you hold your hands out between you. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Steadiest hands on the Pug.”

“So they are.” There’s a challenge in his voice that threatens to send a shiver up your spine. It’s clear he doesn’t doubt your skill in the field, but the return of that glint in his eye from the docks has you wondering exactly what else he’s thinking about as he studies your hands. It’s not hard to work out.

It’s been so long since you had to travel out of the system, you forgot how much inter-system lanes can fuck with the human brain. You’re half asleep for the thirty minutes you spend sorting your things for the morning, barely enough energy to change into the sweatpants and ratty t-shirt you call pyjamas, before you crawl into bed and settle down almost immediately.

Only you don’t get to sleep for as long as you’d like. The rest of the crew seem to have filtered in after you, the shift of sheets and snores float through the dimmed room. Except, it’s not just that. There’s shuffling and bed creaking from further down the line of bunks. A hushed giggle sounds in the silence and-

 Oh god. Oh no.

They’re not. They can’t be, they- they are. 

You’re very awake all of a sudden, eyes wide as you keep them firmly on the ceiling and wishing as hard as you can for an alarm to start beeping or something. Anything to get whoever’s banging Summer to stop. A deep voice hushes her when she laughs again. Iras. Knowing is somehow worse. The mechanics- you don’t even want to think about it. 

You turn onto your side slowly, but loud enough to hint that maybe they should find somewhere else for their escapades, and fold your pillow around your head as a kind of makeshift set of earmuffs. Whether they’ve quieted down or it muffles the noise, you’re not sure, but it seems to have worked enough. You catch Ezra’s eye in the almost-darkness, much in the same position as he holds his pillow over his own ears. 

It’s embarrassing for the both of you, even as you share a conspiratorial look. But somehow, it’s less awkward to have to hear Iras and Summer going at it when you know he’s awake. He winces when a particularly loud squeak echoes through the room, and it takes everything in you not to bust out laughing. You fall asleep again eventually, making faces at Ezra in the dark until neither of you can keep your eyes open anymore.

You’re surprisingly well rested come the morning, when the whole ship jolts as it punches into the system and you’re almost thrown out of bed. So much so that it’s easy to forget that you woke up at all until you shuffle into the main living compartment of the ship. One of the crates by the wall has been cracked open, Milo hands out granola bars for breakfast.

Summer and Iras are sitting in the same chair, feeding each other, and it might be cute if you’d been awake longer and hadn’t been woken up by their activities in the middle of the night. You slump into a free chair,  face twisted in disgust for a moment. You’re pretty sure nobody else sees until Ezra laughs and drops into the seat beside you. They’re nice people, from how they took you as a friend immediately, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just a bit much for your perpetually single heart to take. 

“It’s a week-long job, they can’t take a break?” You watch as they finally pry themselves apart to start, you know, actually working. But not without a genuinely gross kiss that definitely toes the line of public decency. Suddenly the half-eaten bar in your hand isn’t all that appealing anymore.

“Soulmates take no breaks, Sunspot. I’m sure yours would be hard pressed to be anywhere but in bed with you whenever they get the chance.” Ezra winks and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. A glance at the pair makes your new knowledge obvious, the way they seem to be touching, even now, on opposite sides of the room. 

“I’m not sure I believe in all that red string stuff.”

Once the ship is safely landed a short walk from the site, the days you spend digging pass with ease. The deposit is a decent size, it takes all five of you to cover it completely, and the payout should be enough to keep you all comfortable for a little while even with the agency’s cut. The crew around you fill the time enough that you barely notice the week coming to a close. 

Summer sings in the mornings as she cleans her equipment and readies her pack for the day. Miles talks gently to the cells as though they can hear him, shushing them any time he worries a gem might corrupt. Iras seems to have a secret superpower when it comes to the ration packs, they always taste better when he’s the one on lunch duty. And Ezra spends the afternoons regaling you all with tales of ancient beasts, laying eggs that fossilise into the very gems you’re harvesting. Although you’re not sure how true they are. 

You almost get through the whole dig without a hitch. Almost. But aurelac is a tricky thing, even a change in the wind can turn a site for the worst. You’re all sitting around at lunch when it happens. The telltale smoke wafts up into the air for no visible reason at all and although you’ve collected enough to cover the quota, you’d still rather not lose viable gems.

“Get to what you came here for.” Iras gestures in your direction and you dive into the pit head first.

You’re not even sure you stop to think as you follow the harvesting steps at lightning speed, salvaging half the corrupted cells before someone tugs you out by the collar of your suit. The rest of the site starts to smoke the moment you’re out of range, spitting and hissing and rendering the rest of the gems worthless. 

“Danger mouse indeed.” Ezra chuckles over the comm system, hand still fisted in the fabric of your suit. For once, the nickname makes you smile.

While you all go your separate ways after the ship has docked back on the Pug, Summer makes you all promise to meet later at a club you’ve only heard of in your friends’ messy night out stories. Still, you pinky swear when she holds her hand out to you and try to remember if you have a single item in your wardrobe that’ll pass as club attire. Or at least something that isn’t so worn there are holes in it. 

Even if it’s a song he knows, there’s no chance that Ezra could recognise it with the volume cranked so high through the cheap speaker that everything but the beat is distorted. Still, it doesn’t stop people from dancing. 

He’s a little late, as usual, but he doesn’t need to worry as Iras appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder, pointing to a booth across the room where Milo is looking increasingly uncomfortable.

It doesn’t take long for Ezra to spot you and Summer in the middle of the dance floor, as he follows Iras around the edge of the space to the booth Milo’s claimed. You’re both more jumping than dancing, yelling the unintelligible lyrics of the song into each other's faces. He can’t hear your breathless laughter as Summer spins you in a circle, smile wide and bright, but he can feel it in his ribs. The drums of the song kick in at the same time the swirling lights of the club light you up like some kind of celestial being, just as you catch his eye through the crowd. And everyone else disappears. The rest of the world, rest of the universe, fades into the background. Just like they did the first time he saw you, glaring suspiciously at the ship on the docks.

Summer’s dragging you back to the table when the song comes to a close, the both of you out of breath and laughing, and Ezra has to try desperately to remember how to speak when he watches a little bead of sweat slide down the side of your neck. And stop himself from just licking a line straight up it. His silent suffering only increases when Milo holds out a shot of the most potent alcohol the Pug has to offer and you down it without so much as a flinch, winking at him when you return the glass to the table for good measure. 

Milo calls it a night only an hour later, clearly only having braved the crowds of the club to celebrate the job. Summer and Iras are tangled in each other on the dancefloor, or the booth, as they keep the shots coming. You, at least, decide to keep your wits about you, declining every drink after the one Milo had handed you. Nobody’s going to fuck with a Thanne, even in as seedy a club as this, so you don’t worry about Summer as she gets sloppier and sloppier. But there’s no spiky non-human boyfriend looking out for you down here, it’s just you and the knife you keep at your hip.

You pull yourself from the dance floor, eyes tracking the room for the missing member of your party, until you feel a set of eyes on you from above. Ezra’s leaning on the bannister of the stairs, his unflinching gaze set solely on you. And you can’t help but smile. You follow him up to the mezzanine without hesitation when he glances upwards and back to you. The buzz of the shot has mostly faded from your veins, replaced by something much more dangerous by the way he’s looking at you. The way he’s looked at you since you met him.

It’s not hard to spot your friends from up here, leaning over the barrier with Ezra to people watch. He crafts stories about every stranger who catches his eye. The man hunched over the bar in a beaten up jacket, the waitress who fiddles with her necklace any time her hands aren’t occupied, the pair of lovers tucked away in the dark corner on the other side of the mezzanine. You find yourself sliding closer to him the more he talks, wrapped up in the warmth of his voice even in the rundown club. Your shoulder knocks into his as you mindlessly bop to the music and listen to his made up stories. Utterly enchanted. It’s hard to remember a time when you felt this way with anybody, if you ever did at all. To tell the truth, it’s hard to remember anyone before Ezra. And neither of you have even made a move yet.

He's got his arms braced on the barrier, and you find yourself lifting the one closest to you so you can slip in between them. Surrounded on all sides and you couldn’t feel more comfortable. To his credit, he doesn’t falter in his vivid storytelling about the group now settled in the booth your crew had claimed earlier, not even a stutter as you turn in his arms to face him. He’s decided they’re here to celebrate the beginning of a new job, rather than a successful harvest. His eyes flick to you for the barest moment, enough to notice yours are firmly focused on the way his lips move around his words, before searching the club below for another story. Another way to keep his mind and mouth occupied so he doesn’t accidentally admit all the sinful things he wants to do to you when you press your ass up against him like that. 

“Ezra.”

He shouldn’t be able to hear you over the music, but you’re nose to nose and he’d be hard pressed to ignore the way you practically purr his name. He’s expecting you to make another flirty comment in that voice that sends his mind reeling into all manner of indecent places the same way you have been all night.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t expect you to just outright ask him. 

“Yeah.” Yeah. Hell of a time for his eloquence to fail, not that it matters anyway. You’re on him the moment he stops speaking.

It’s like the sun explodes inside him, the way his stomach bottoms out the second your lips touch his. There’s nothing soft about it, not the way he might have imagined there would be. If he’d been so bold as to let himself imagine what kissing you might be like. You’re all warmth and heat and you still taste a little bit like the shot you’d thrown back earlier, and he finds himself falling. Not that Ezra minds, he hopes his parachute never opens if it means you’ll keep kissing him like this. 

You let your fingers roam under his jacket, twist themselves in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and you sigh into his mouth. God, you knew he’d be good at this. His hands leave a trail of starlight as they trace over your body, never quite choosing a place to rest. They start to settle on your shoulders, only to skim down your arms and squeeze harshly on your waist, to play along the strip of skin he finds just underneath the hem of your shirt, to grip harder than he might mean to onto the meat of your ass through your pants. You gasp, break the kiss for barely a moment, and stop his apology in its tracks. 

He doesn’t protest when you walk him backwards, still groping at each other like it’s just the two of you in the whole club. Ezra only groans when his back hits the wall and you push even closer into him, as if there was even any space left for air between your bodies already. He’s not about to complain. He could kiss you for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. It’’ll never be enough, not for a soul as hungry as his. You pull back too soon, far too soon, and it takes a solid minute for his brain to kick in and break the vice grip he still has a little too low for the public eye.

Oh, that look on your face. He’s in trouble.

“Where are you off to?” Ezra asks, flushed and breathless, a hand stretched halfway out to where you’re backing toward the stairs.

“Home,” You say with a sly smile, “You coming?”

He can’t push off the wall fast enough. 

You don’t live far from the club, a ten minute walk at the most, but Ezra manages to make it a solid twenty with the way he keeps pulling you to him. Not that you’re about to complain. You’ve been waiting a week to let him get his hands on you. At the press of his lips on your neck, the shudder it sends down your spine, you wonder if part of you has been waiting even longer than that. 

You’re trying, desperately, to type in the keycode to your apartment. If Ezra could calm down with the grabby hands, you might have gotten it right straight away. 

“No roommates?” He asks, kissing along your shoulder, and you take the temporary reprieve to kick your brain into gear and remember the fucking numbers. 

“Hugo won’t be too upset if I make him sleep on the couch.” 

The door slides back into the wall to reveal a dark apartment, a strip of light from the hall falling on a very orange cat. He stares at you for a second, clearly not particularly pleased that he’s been so rudely roused from a nap, before he settles back to sleep stretched out on the couch cushions. Hugo. Ezra is silently relieved that the roommate is just a cat, he’s not sure he’s got the self control to stay quiet tonight. Or to make sure you do. 

You waste no time once you gesture for Ezra to walk in ahead of you, flicking the switch on the wall to slide the door shut and pulling him back to your lips. He doesn’t hesitate to crowd you up against the cold metal. 

Although you could devour each other until the closest sun explodes and swallows the station whole, Ezra has to break away. To think, to breathe, to tease you a little about the moan he just swallowed from you. But you beat him to it.

“Gotta catch your breath?” The smile on your face threatens to make his knees buckle, and with you pressed up against the closed door the way you are? He might just let them. 

“What do you want, Sunspot?” 

You left a lamp on in your bedroom, the door cracked just enough to let a little filter through to the main living space. Still, he’s almost completely silhouetted against the warm yellow glow. As if he’s some kind of ethereal being, maybe he is.

“Make me see the stars.” You pull him in as close as you can and let your lips brush over his as you whisper. His next words make you shudder almost as much as the way he drags the zipper of your jacket down, slowly, tooth by tooth. 

“As you wish.” 

And boy, does he deliver.

You’re expecting things to feel more unfamiliar than they do, as you explore each other for the first time, but it’s like you’ve been here before. Once, twice, a hundred times before. Every move feels oddly choreographed. Ezra knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together again, the way he pulls every twitch and moan out of you so expertly. You’re no different, as your fingers map the plains of his chest like it’s muscle memory. 

You shake it off, put the thoughts to the back of your mind. You’ve been around the block a little in your time on the Pug, it only makes sense that he has the same kind of experience. But shared experience or not, you can’t deny how much having him so close feels like a homecoming of sorts.

It’s the best sleep of your whole fucking life and, honestly, you’re not that surprised. Ezra makes a damn good pillow. Even if you both wake hours later into the day cycle than either of you normally would. Even if he’s more of a morning person than you are. It’s kind of nice, to sit still snuggled in your pile of blankets and watch him potter around your apartment as Hugo winds around his ankles like he’s been there for years. 

Your fridge, however, is heartbreakingly empty and renders his offer of making breakfast pointless. Instead, he pulls his shirt on and offers to take you to the best little diner he knows, tucked away in the heart of the marketplace. It’s a hard offer to turn down.

“What kind of gentleman would I be to have so much income at my disposal and not treat such a beauty as yourself to a good meal?” He winks as he flashes his credit chit at you as if you didn’t scan in for your paychecks at the same time. You laugh as you empty a food pouch into Hugo’s bowl, and tell him he better show you all the good breakfast spots. You shrug off his raised eyebrow and mutters of a ‘next time’. As if he didn’t already know.

Still, Ezra takes you by the hand the moment your apartment door secures itself shut behind you, leading you through the hall and out into the street, and you’ve never felt more wanted.

It’s like everything’s brighter, walking leisurely through the bustling market stalls with Ezra. The smells are stronger as spices in the air cling to your nose, the cacophony of vendors calling out almost sounds like music, and you start to laugh. Hand in his, in the middle of the maze of stalls full of food and tools and trinkets. As if it’s just the two of you in the whole universe. 

At least Ezra doesn’t look back at you like you’re crazy. He smiles too, just as big, and you feel bathed in warmth the same as when the sun comes out planetside.

You’re both still grinning when he leads you deeper through the market, down an alley and up a flight of stairs to an unassuming door.

“Is this where you murder me?” You joke just as the door opens to reveal a short older woman with an eyepatch, who pulls Ezra down into a tight hug as soon as he’s in arms reach. He introduces her as Merse, the woman who’s run the best diner no one’s ever heard of on the whole station. She slaps his arm for his cheek, but her grin grows twice as wide when she spots your intertwined hands. 

Ezra pulls you through the doorway after him as he follows Merse, chatting about how she always keeps the best table open just in case he brings a friend and you try not to smile too wide when she wiggles her eyebrows at you. He says something to you, but you’re too distracted by the view from the big windows. 

The far wall is completely glass, overlooking the main docks, lined with booths. A small family sits in one of them, their two children standing up on the seats to watch the ships come and go. You’ve never seen it from this angle before, always down in the masses and scanning the boards for new jobs. It’s kind of beautiful. In a rusty, patchwork sort of way.

Merse points you towards one of the booths with a promise that she’ll bring you the best breakfast you’ll ever have, something tells you she’s not lying. 

It’s not long after you slide into the booth that she comes marching out of the kitchen with two plates, wafting steam that makes your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Rice and vegetables and eggs and all sorts of things you’ve never even seen pile high, and you’d worry you wouldn’t be able to finish it all if you weren’t so hungry. 

“You know I won’t break, right?” You push your fork around in the remaining rice on your plate as you watch Ezra absorb your words. He thinks about it for a long moment, dark eyes over you before settling on your own.

“What’s this about?” He knows, you know he knows. More importantly, you know he’s going to make you say it. In the middle of the day cycle, in this family friendly diner. 

“Just,” You exhale sharply, “Making sure you’re aware.” Your body floods with a shyness that’s alien compared to the confidence you had last night and suddenly, your breakfast is the most interesting thing on the Pug. You can practically feel him smiling at you, but you don’t dare look up to meet it. 

He was right though, the food really is some of the best you’ve ever had.

It’s not until you’ve wandered back through the market, still hand in hand, and found your way back to your apartment that Ezra decides to bring it up. He may have been more than a little distracted last night, but he’s sure he spotted a set of old books sitting on a shelf above your couch. You freeze, ready to go on the defensive about how ink and paper will never be obsolete, until you realise he’s genuinely interested. He’s not judging you by any means. Something about the curiosity shining in his eyes makes your heart flutter more than you care to admit. 

He could watch you talk about your books all day, every day, for the rest of his life. How your eyes lit up when you recognised his interest, a paperback lover himself. You can’t seem to stop yourself as you dive into the intricate details of your favourite classics, two or three hundred year old texts that make you feel like you’ve lived a thousand different lives at once. He wants so badly for you to keep talking but the more impassioned you become, the more he wants to kiss you.

You trail off at some point, he loses track when you climb into his lap to point out notes you’ve made in margins and the books lie scattered on the couch beside you as you kiss him until neither of you can breathe. You’re still a little achy from last night, deep in your bones, and you hiss when his teeth scrape across your shoulder.

“Won’t break, is that right?” Ezra chuckles darkly and nips at your jaw, “Can I try?”

“Please.”

You wake at the creak of your bedroom door, sometime in the early hours. Hugo noses his way through the narrow gap and hops up onto the bed, curling up on the unclaimed pillow by your head. Ezra sleeps deeply, face buried in your neck, and you let the warmth of him wash over you. It ebbs and flows like a tide, that familiarity. The undeniable fact that something about this just feels right. You’ve known this man a week and yet you’re here wondering, as he rests in your arms, if he might want more than just this with you. 

Oh, but you are so afraid. Afraid to put a name to anything about him because what then? Will he tell you that you’re simply a placeholder in his life for something better, or that his heart might bleed through his skin when you’re apart? You’re not sure which is worse. Not that it matters, there is no word in any language that would be able to explain exactly how you feel about the man asleep in your arms. It’s enough, you think, to have him with you at all. In any capacity. Whatever pieces of his soul he bares as your breathing evens and his mind wanders. That is enough, and you will protect it with your life.

You have to part ways at some point, of course. Another week of rolling around in your bed sheets together, on the couch, on your pitiful kitchen counter, up against the wall, and Ezra gets a call from the agency. It’s a last minute job, the crew only need an extra set of hands to fit the safety standards, but it’s several systems out from the Pug. It’ll take him away for at least a month. You trail after him at the docks, with promises of messages in his absence and all manner of unsavoury activities on his return. It’s with a deep kiss and a wolf whistle from a couple of dock workers on their break, that you wish him luck. And ask him to hurry back.

Summer’s message surprises you when it dings through on your tablet. Some gajillionaire on Dallore T53 has found an aurelac deposit on the grounds of his new estate and wants it gone. She’s preoccupied, already out on another dig with Iras and a new crew. But it’s the kindness of her even thinking to offer it to you that makes your heart swell. It’s been a while since you’ve had real, honest to god, friends. 

You’d go in alone, normally, for something like this. But now? Now, you’re punching in Ezra’s comm pin before you can even really register what it is that you’re doing. He only got back a week ago, and you made him settle in back home before he could settle in yours. It’s not like the two of you would be doing any resting on his return to your apartment, exactly. The job was a pain, he’d told you, it ran months longer than anyone expected and you’re sure he’s still exhausted. He won’t agree, but you find you have to ask. Just in case.

“Sunspot?” He sounds happy, rested. And you breathe a sigh of relief, at least he can follow your orders when he wants to.

Hugo snakes around your ankles at the familiar voice, the same way he does any time the man himself walks through the door. If you didn’t know that the little orange devil’s alliances lie in who feeds him, you might think he loves him more than you. 

You explain about the job, make sure to stress that he doesn’t have to come. That you don’t even really need to take it if he’d rather you stay close by. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, but the smile you hear in his words through the speaker makes it known that he’s heard you. Loud and clear. 

It doesn’t matter in the end, not when he accepts before you even have a chance to give him any details. You don’t know why you were so worried he might say no.

“Any excuse to be warmed by your light, Sunspot.” Hugo brushes up against your leg at the same time Ezra’s voice practically drips through the speaker, smooth as honey.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You choke on your breath and he laughs like you’ve told the funniest joke in the universe. He’ll kill you one of these days, you’re sure of it.

You charter the ship you usually take on private jobs, the space a little smaller than you remember with another person on board, but it’s not like either of you aren’t used to being in close quarters with each other by now. At least Ezra has the decency not to be mean about the beaten up exterior, she still flies true. He’d grinned at that, told you how a rough outside often means the opposite of the interior mechanics. The glint in his eye is enough to know he’s not just talking about the ship. 

At least the planet is in the same system as the Pug, so there’s no need to punch through to a lane. You fly in silence for a few hours, the familiar feel of the controls under your fingers as you guide it through the sky. Ezra’s eyes remain firmly on you although you pretend as though you don’t notice, and it takes him a moment to come back to the present when you ask him to flick a few switches and prepare to enter the atmosphere. 

The coordinates the client gave you to land are only a short walk from the house itself, a great stone castle-looking thing. It’s kind of ugly, the way the limestone juts out above the treeline. A big white block among the rich reds and oranges of the leaves. They grow that colour all year round, perpetually stuck in spring and summer. It must be nice to have the kind of money to find somewhere like that and decide you’ll build a house there. The air is breathable, and a quick look at the planet file proves it’s never too hot or too cold. A perfect place to build a house really. Although, if it were you making that kind of decision, you’d maybe go for a design that’s a little less cubist. 

The deposit isn’t huge, but it’ll be a good payout nonetheless providing the cells are all in good nick. You and Ezra wade through swathes of long grass and wildflowers until you find a spot to set up camp. At least you’re not stuck in bulky suits and having to lug around your equipment.

You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect dig if you’d tried. Each of the cells sit far enough away from each other that even if one were to fail, it wouldn’t corrupt a whole mess of the others. Although with both of your talents, it doesn’t surprise you when you collect every last crystal without a single misstep.

You’d told Ezra the profit would be split down the middle, equal pay for equal work. But it doesn’t stop him from sliding an extra gem into your pack to cover the ship charter. After all, you’re the one who was offered the job in the first place. He’s just following his heart, the one that walks around outside of his body and throws itself into deposits mid-corruption.

You hold one of the little gems aloft in the sunlight and watch as it sparkles.

“I used to think it was weird how rabid people go for these. But the more I dig the more I get it, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Ezra tilts his head like he’s studying the rock, but his dark eyes don’t leave yours.

“It’s a close second.”

Sap.

Night falls before either of you realise just how late it is, clearing out the last few cells of the deposit. It’s not worth going back to the Pug now, he reasons, and you find it hard to disagree. The ache of the few days you’ve spent digging has settled deep in your muscles, the thought of having to run through docking procedure when you’re so tired is enough to make you wince. 

You let him take you for all you’re worth under the watchful eye of the heavens, and find there’s more stars behind your eyelids than you could ever hope to see in the skies. It’s all you can do to cry out the name of the only god to ever make you feel this holy. Ezra. 

He wakes with the sun, the same way he always has on jobs, to find you curled so tightly against him that it bubbles up from his toes all the way to his throat and he finds his eyes threatening to spill over. Everything in the universe seems to slot so perfectly together when you’re like this. Ezra sighs, content to never let the moment end. You are so beautiful.

He shifts up onto his elbow a little, still cradling you against him, and lets his free hand trail softly over your face. Tracing the shell of your ear, the curve of your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose. The dawn’s sunlight breaks over the trees and filters through the fabric of the tent, bathing you in soft green light. He could stay here, holding you, until the universe implodes. Ezra doubts he’d notice such an insignificant thing with you beside him. 

But end it must, and he rouses you gently with soft whispers and kisses against your temple. You stretch in his arms, not unlike Hugo, and sigh as your joints pop and settle. Packing up happens slowly, moving around each other so naturally it’s as though you’ve done it a thousand times before. Every time Ezra passes, you drop a kiss wherever you can reach. His shoulder, the arm of his jacket, that little patch on his jaw. He pretends not to blush when you catch his hand and carefully press your lips to the little tattoo between his thumb and index finger, you pretend not to notice when he does.

You’ll be the death of him, he’s sure of it. The way you keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, the way your smile is so bright when he catches you that he can barely stand to look at it. With the tent and equipment packed up, his fingers itch to thread through your own as you start the walk back to the ship, there’s not a word in the universe strong enough to describe just how much he hates that both his and your hands are too full.

It’s odd, thinking about it. How you met by pure chance, hired by the agency just because you were on the same station at the same time. Would he have ever met you if you’d chosen a different career path, if he had? Maybe somewhere, centuries before or after this moment, where you’re meeting again. Different lives, different times, spanning across all of existence. Maybe, right here and now, you’re starting to feel the way he does about you. Just a little. Maybe he’ll get up the courage to ask what you think, how far you want to take things. He’d give himself to you in a heartbeat, without question. In a way, he already has.

Ezra can’t stop himself.

“What do you make of the red string of fate?”

“All you’ve seen of the universe and you still believe in soulmates?” 

“Maybe I’m more foolish that I made myself out to be.” He shrugs, trying not to let his eyes fall to the little finger of his right hand. Trying not to clench his fist to show you exactly how much your disbelief affects him down to his bones, as though his soul itself is frowning. You’re smiling. Uncharacteristically quiet, but you seem appropriately pleased by his answer and stray a little further out into the long grass.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can you see yours?” You have to call out across the gap you’ve unintentionally created, yellow stalks swishing in the breeze between you, and for a moment you’re not sure he heard.

Ezra looks at his right hand, at the thin red string tied neatly at the knuckle of his little finger, and follows the line as it threads through the grass to where it’s knotted at your left. 

“No.” 

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @gotta-have-faye​ @freeshavocadoooo​ @darnitdraco​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @fire-is-catching-always

[vminity21]

The Art of You | myg

Pairing: artist!yoongi x universitystudent!reader, friendshiptolovers!au

Word Count: 1,578

Genre: fluff/soft

Warning(s): None, Rated: pg

Summary: A painting Yoongi has been working on reveals his true feelings that he has for you in the most beautiful way imagined. Dedicated and was requested by @suhdays​ , who also created the beautiful banner for this blurb. Thank you.

A tan apron clings to Yoongi’s frame while he scrunches the sleeves of his sweatshirt halfway up his arms. Converse pat along the plastic flooring while he settles the painting onto the ground. It is nearly finished, and the inspiration is revealed in just the smallest intricacies- details that remind him of you.  Gentle transmits of music reverberate within the small space, and he readies his paint upon the palette you gifted him a year prior before he discovered the budding emotions, he has for you.

Aligning a picture of what he plans on adding to the main canvas, he carefully traces the lining with his fingers, concentrating solely on whatever he intends on creating to make the masterpiece complete. Dark strands flop past his eyes while he positions himself over the canvas, palette steady in his left hand while his free hand grips the handle of a petite paintbrush. Two bracelets decorate his painting wrist, but he is ever so careful than to let them touch any part of the dampened streaks.

Heavy footsteps trample into the room, slinging your bookbag over a chair in the corner, a brief sigh brushes your lips. Yoongi knew you would be due soon from your class at university, and you are too exhausted to fully pay attention to what Yoongi is finalizing. He has been working on a new project for weeks now, but he refuses to tell you who it is for. Sometimes, Yoongi likes to keep to himself, especially when it comes to his art, yet he has been quite successful with some of the artwork he has accomplished and sold within the past year.

His lips grace a small smirk, happiness spreading along his chest with being in your presence- something he has been looking forward to all day. “Yoongi, I’m home,” you bellow, stacking a few notebooks onto the tiny table in preparation to continue the homework you would so graciously like not to do.

“About time you showed up,” he teases, swiping a bigger paintbrush along a plain sheet of paper to observe if this is the color he would like to use. Noticing the palette, he had set down for the moment, you smile to yourself. He really loves his palette- the only one he owns that you happened to give him, yet he refuses to buy more, especially since the one you bought him is covered in faint stains from past achievements. You never understood it, but he takes it with him everywhere he goes, and the one time he thought he forgot it, he almost lost his mind. Thankfully, Namjoon, Yoongi’s roommate, found it behind a dresser where it must have fallen without Yoongi’s knowledge.

“I still don’t get why you are panicking, Yoons. I am sure there are some palettes in one of these stores here,” plus you did not have any issue with purchasing him another one, “Want to check them out?”

“Not really,” he murmured, timidly looking away from you while he anxiously awaited the doting text from Namjoon. What you are unaware of, is that palette you surprised him with is the truest good luck charm he has ever received. Because of you, every time he used that specific palette, his artwork has been recognized by thousands of individuals throughout the country. Because of you, he is determined to continue his passion with the gift you gave him held firmly in his left hand.

“Okay,” you sigh softly in confusion, “Well then would you like to grab some coffee until Joon replies? I’m sure it will turn up.”

Yoongi shakes his head briefly to situate his hair while the memory dissipates for the time being. “How long have you been in here? Have you even eaten anything?” You always worry about him because when he gets too focused into what he is doing, sometimes he may forget to hydrate, as well as eat, yet you can relate due to college being so overwhelming. You notice the white mask tucked under his chin, his earrings gleam beneath the light, and you cannot help but fondly gaze at how handsome your friend is. You met him a year ago, and although you have always had feelings for him, you feared that he didn’t feel the same, and when you stumbled upon his talent for the arts, you were determined to gift him with something related to what he loves to do.

“I was thinking we could grab dinner as soon…” his words trail as he dots the brush along certain areas of the canvas. You can’t help but curiously tilt your head to see if you can figure out what it is, he is creating, but from the angle and distance from where Yoongi is, you can’t quite see it yet. “… as I am…” He is so enraptured in his work that he forgets to finish his sentence and you playfully shake your head at him before turning to your studies.

Uncertain of how much time has ticked away into the evening, you do not understand how Yoon’s thighs cannot be burning from how long he poses in deep concentration. “Who needs exercise,” you joke, running your fingertips along your eyes to awake them if even possible. “You know,” you bring your voice up in volume for Yoongi to hear, “I’m not going to lie, I’m actually excited to see what you’ve conjured up,” you confess; there has not been a completion that you haven’t loved from Yoongi’s extraordinary talent.

“It’s definitely different from what I’ve done before,”

“Oh really?” Your attention is now returned to your notebook and with pencil in hand, you scribble random lines along the sides to prevent yourself from blushing. He has such an effect on you, and you wonder how he hasn’t realized it. “What inspired it? Give me a clue.”

“You mean, who?”

Pausing, with furrowed eyebrows, you ponder through your brain on who Yoongi could be referring to. “It’s a who this time?”

“Believe it or not,” he says, and you hadn’t taken into account the way he places his hands on his hips, longingly staring at you while you rack your thoughts with whatever guess you can muster.

“Okay but where’s my clue?”

“Hm,” he hums to himself trying to not make it as obvious as he would like to, especially if it risks scaring you away. “She loves to getaway. More so when it’s cold and the atmosphere contains the scenery she needs.”

A she? Surprised by the revelation, your heart shatters in different directions, yet you compile yourself enough to remain composure. “A getaway?” You choke, trying to lower your voice to not appear as shocked as you feel. “I’m assuming in the winter?”

“Mhm,” Yoongi responds, “Sometimes she wishes that she could see flowers there though, especially the ones that are her favorite. It’s simply hard when there is always so much snow.”

“Um, is it-?” Despite the tears wanting to burn down your cheeks, you guess a few names that come to mind, hardly being able to realize that Yoongi is talking about you. Exasperated after you have guessed so many wrong answers, Yoongi’s arms drop to his sides while he exhales slowly, gathering himself before sauntering to you. When a soft hand presses to your cheek, you lose all track of sanity; his lips touch yours so gently, it takes you a moment to realize what is happening. Oh! You gasp inwardly. Oh, you want to laugh at yourself for now you see that every fact he uncovered about his painting was him hinting about you.

Your fingers curl into his sweatshirt while you pull him closer, deepening the kiss while your heart flies sporadically along your ribcage. This whole entire time- he has been working on a painting inspired by you. And, this entirety of your friendship, he has thought of you lovingly as much as you have thought about him?

Breathless, he pulls away, but just enough to rest his forehead upon yours, his bangs tickle your face. “Are you ready to see the painting?”

Nodding, you are at a loss for words, the sensation of his kiss still lingering while he takes your hand. Following suit, he bends swiftly to lean the piece against the wall, accepting your hand in his once again as soon as it steadies. Gasping, your eyes widen at the most beautiful scenery you have ever witnessed. Snow capped mountains sketched meticulously with splashes of blues and greys mingle in precise detail to the sparse blades of grass poking from the blanket of white covering the ground. The sky alludes to the beginning of a snowfall, but what your vision gathers in the center of the painting is what touches your heart in ways Yoongi has always been able to prompt.

A bundle of magenta peonies are painted to be growing in resistant to the brutal winds of winter, and in tiny, neatly stroked letters exposes the words you never thought you would hear, or in this case, read.

“I love you.” Yoongi whispers, squeezing your hand as you take it all in.

“Yoongi, it’s- it’s the most beautiful gift.” You cry, him embracing you immediately, the scent of his sweatshirt reaching your nostrils as you cuddle into his frame. “I love you so much.”

And with that, forever awaits, Yoongi expressing his love in a way only he knows how- painted contentedly to the art of you.

[asunshinepuff]

Ao3 Exclusive: Ashes of the Moon

Current Chapter: Six

Word Count: 40K

Luna (@ladynightmare913) and I, have been working on something for a long time. And so, we wish to present it to you.

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Year 1, Chapter 1, The Night that Started it All:

Suddenly, a blinding pale blue light erupts inside the compartment. Warm, comforting, nurturing, protective, gentle— it’s strange to consider these characteristics for light, but it seemed almost reminiscent of home. As the light subsides, the creature has disappeared. The frost upon the window melted as if it was never there, and everything seemed calm once again.

A tall thin figure walks into the door of the booth, lowering a light brown wand as they release a breath. The man had short tawny brown hair, pale skin with three scars running across his face, and bright amber eyes.

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Chapter 2, A Lesson in Detention:

Estelle’s head shook as she looked in horror at the door. Knowing that on the other side, there would be no one to save her from Professor Snape. What was he going to have her do for punishment? Scrub cauldrons? Clean the floors with a toothbrush? Prepare potions? Put her in a potion?

“You know, in order to get detention over with, you have to actually go in.” Cerise encouraged. “I promise that it’s not as bad as you’re imagining it.”

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Chapter 3, Secrets to Bear:

DID YOU HEAR?! SIRIUS BLACK IS INNOCENT!?

Was the headline of the Daily Prophet, one morning at breakfast three months later. Estelle stared blankly at the paper in front of her.

“Twinkle,” Emma called, her hazel eyes looking over her in concern. Placing a gentle hand on the silver-streaked haired girl, “Are you—”

Estelle rose from her seat and ran out of the hall. No one besides her friends noticed.

Estelle burst through the doors of her D.A.D.A. class, Remus Lupin was in his free period, the class having just ended ten minutes prior. He nearly choked on his hot chocolate in surprise as the Ravenclaw girl stared at him with frantic stormy blue eyes.

“Mum,” Estelle’s chest heaving, standing several feet away from the man. “Is it true?”

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Chapter 4, You Left Me a Wishing Star:

He turns down a path and stops abruptly, his eyes wide at the person who stands before him. A young man of around 19 years old, who looked eerily similar to his older brother, with matching black hair, pale skin that held the complexion of an aristocrat, and finally the blue-grey eyes matched Sirius’ own.

“Regulus?” The word slipped out in a breathy voice before Remus even realized it.

Regulus’ eyes were wide in shock, quickly looking over Remus. Remus could see Regulus’ gaze was not as cold as before, but calculating, stopping at Remus’ wider middle. He looks back up to meet Remus’ gaze. He was silent for a moment.

“I see you’ve been busy,” His eyes were heavy, as if he knew a secret but didn’t know how to approach the subject. “…I didn’t take you for someone who would move on so quickly.”

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Chapter 5, Don’t Make Me Send a Howler!:

“Cloud Recesses? Why don’t you just curse me like a normal person?” Rúyì exclaimed as he winced at the mere thought of attending.

Prince took the letter and read it over. “Why don’t you want to go to Cloud Recesses?”

“Four thousand rules is exactly why. No running or shouting? What do they expect to do if there’s a fire? Speed walk to the nearest well?” Rúyì shivered.

“How many clans are there anyway?” Rolf asked.

“Many, but the main clans are Yunmeng Jiang, Gusu Lan, Qinghe Nie, Lanling Jin,” Rúyì pauses as he shudders at the mention of the Jins, “Qishan Wen.”

Xiulin brightens as she interrupts, “I know that one! My mum is a descendant of the Dafan Wen Clan. Apparently, before the SunShot Campaign, one of his ancestors escaped and created a place called Healer Valley.”

“Not surprising,” Rúyì continues, “And finally where our family is from, Jixi Hua. This is just China.”

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Year 2, Chapter 6, I Can Never See You Coming:

Only Emma and one other remain.

They blink awake, red hair is floating in our vision.

It’s difficult to breathe. Movement is impossible. Panic wants to set in.

They are seeing through Emma’s eyes now, Harry is there. Safe. We’ll be alright. The weight is gone.

Grip tight from a larger hand, tailed flukes circle, humming a tune. It’s hypnotic. Hissing as Harry gets too close.

Haziness. Everything feels slow. We’re drained. It’s difficult to breathe.

The pressure begins to lighten. Harry is pulling us to the surface.

We can breathe at last.

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https://archiveofourown.org/works/32771779/chapters/81310849

[srose-foxfire]

“Under An Autumn Moonlight” Damirae Fic

Part: 1

Normally Raven Roth wouldn’t find herself in places like these. An abandoned warehouse, just outside the outskirts of Gotham, smelling of cheap booze and a thick grey fog covering the tall ceiling with cigarette smoke. Too many people were closed in together, leaving little to no room at all to walk through. No, she wouldn’t, Raven rather be spending her Friday nights back at her dorm room curled up in bed reading a good book, getting started on next week’s homework before it even has been assigned, or just stream the latest show on Netflix. Unfortunately for her, Raven had lost an argument to her friend Donna Troy. It started with a little discussion that Raven doesn’t go out much throughout her first three years of college. Now that she was a senior, about to graduate Gotham University, one of the most prestige schools in the country. Donna exclaimed Raven had to start living! Whatever that meant.

Raven countered she hanged with both Donna and their third friend Jinx plenty of times. Though Donna explained that Raven needed more than friends, she needed a boyfriend.Long story short, Raven caved in by asking Donna to back down from her love life by agreeing to accompany her to this warehouse, where Jon -Donna’s boyfriend- was playing with a band. Raven didn’t know much but from what she heard from Donna and Jon, is that his band were known as The Titans. Raven wished she had done some research beforehand; she liked all genre of music but there were times she would catch Jon’s singing whenever he stayed over at Donna’s room. Let’s just say it isn’t the most pleasant sound to hear unmelodic screaming. She hoped not all the band sang like him or else she feared her ears would pop.

Coming back to the present, Raven felt Donna grabbed her arm and pulled her through the thick crow towards the stage. They stood before a wooden stage, looked rackety and almost at the verge of disintegrate if someone dared jumped on it. There were reds and white light fixtures chained on top, fixated on the center of the stage, illuminated three instruments already set up. A set of drums in the back, on the right side of the stage a keyboard, and on the left an red and white electric guitar. On either side of the stage stood some red very worn out curtains, probably that’s where the band members would emerge.

The Titans; were asked to do an opening song to introduce the other bands playing that night, or so she was told by Donna. According to Jon, The Titans had done some live performances already but never at this magnitude and if the band delivered well, they will be able to perform regularly at the warehouse like any other band playing later that night.

Raven was about to ask Donna, what Jon’s part was when the lights went dark and the crowd went silent.

When the lights came back four young men were standing on stage. Three of them were facing the instruments that had been there before. The one behind the drums was wearing some round black shades, with a dark navy-blue jean jacket, his blue shirt underneath with a giant red ‘s’. The keyboard had a man dressed in a complete dark blue denim outfit with black streaks on the sides of his thighs and arms. Behind the electric guitar stood a green hair dude in a white and red jumpsuit with dark green shades. Finally, the one standing right in front of Raven, was wearing a whole outfit of black leather. He had his back turned and his arms crossed from what she could tell. Just then the lights dimmed and someone off-staged shouted through a mic:

“Ladies and gentlemen. I give you The Titans!”

And the music started. First a few notes from the keyboard, then the drummer joined. The first singer; Raven could only assume finally turned; his eyes were covered with a sharp winged domino mask. He brought the mic to his lips and started:

“Hey, you. Yeah, I am looking at you,

You’re the most beautiful being I see,

Let me show you the world through my eyes,

I will show you oceans, lands, and endless blue Skies,

-

Girl, there something

I see in your eyes

That you can’t disguised

Don’t try to lie~”

-

The electric guitar joined.

“Hey – hey

-

Either text or call

you can reach me,

Girl, this is just the start

You will be mine in fall

-

But wait, I am getting ahead,

Let’s focus in the now than the future,

Sun’s gone down; do you know what’s the time?

Well no matter for I have the answer

-

It’s the start of the night,

And babe let me tell you,

The night is ours,

under the beautiful moonlight

-

Under the moonlight we can be lovers

Let’s dream of the tomorrow

Cuz I don’t wanna do anything else

But bring you all the worldly pleasures

-

Under the moonlight, my feelings will be true

Hear as my heart beats just for you,

Babe, you’re the air I need to breathe

My feelings no longer I can conceal

-

Under the moonlight, my heart is yours

For so long I roamed this plane all alone

But having you by my side! Alone I am no more

In you I have found a home…”

Raven couldn’t believer her eyes or her ears! The drummer was jumping into some syllables and he sounded like Jon! But he sounded better. Raven continue to be entranced by everyone’s playing but her gaze kept returning to the main singer who stood in the center of the stage. His voice was almost ethereal, a soft melody that fitted perfectly with the metalcore type of music they were gearing towards. It was so serene that Raven felt she was transported to another plane of existence. At she continues to watch their performance, Raven could have sworn the singer had locked eyes with her for a brief moment before jumping into the second chorus of the song. Probadly her eyed were playing tricks on her, there’s no way she would be noticed among the crowd.

Donna grabbed her arm very tightly and looked at Raven with a huge grin urging her to cheer for the band. Raven smiled at her and shouted at the top of her lungs along with everyone else in the room.

-- -- -- --

“Wow! Give them a hand folks! The Titans performing their song ‘Under the Moonlight.’” The same off-stage announcer said through the speakers hanging from above shouted as The Titans waved at the audience and existed the stage.

“C’mon Rae, let’s go and congratulate Jon!” Donna shouted as she yanked Raven through the crowd towards the backstage. It seemed Donna had been here before and she very carefully navigated them both to the back where a corridor had identical dark wooden doors on either side. Letting Donna lead her, Raven felt an unease consume her. She wasn’t the type to just mingle with anyone and feared she may make a fool of herself in front of Jon’s bandmates. She feared she will be a fool in front of him. The masked singer. She would really like to congratulate him but numerous thoughts were already running through her mind of things that could go wrong.

Both girls stopped before a door, labeled with the band’s name in white paint. Donna knocked lightly before a muffled voice from the inside gave them permission to come in. They stepped in, Donna still grabbing onto Raven’s hand as they saw the guitarist and the keyboard player sitting on a worn-out couch and the drummer standing next to a small round table with an open doughnut box and soft drinks.

“Hiya girls!” The drummer greeted them. That was Jon alright. “Babe, what did you think?”

Donna finally let go of Raven’s arm and ran into Jon’s opened arms. “You were amazing baby!”

Raven just stood there rubbing her arm as she cautiously darted her eyes very quickly around the room to find the masked singer wasn’t here. She let go of a deep sigh and stepped toward Jon, like he was an older comforting brother. That’s how Raven felt, given that she didn’t know who the other two band members sitting down were.

“Pretty amazing Jon. You surprised me.”

Still holding his girlfriend in his arm, Jon chuckled; “ha-ha, thanks Rae. I actually don’t go by my real name here. It’s Superboy.” He then pointed at his two band mates sitting on the couch. “And that’s Beast Boy, Blue Beetle and our leader is-”

“I’m Robin.”

[angelthebedsheet]

“All I Wanted”

a peter 🅱️ parker x gender neutral! reader

a/n: jay’s sexc ass brain gave me the godly idea to make an angsty song based fic for pbp. we both love that himbo so here we fuckin go!!

contains angst, reader wanting pbp, established relationship, cursing but hey it’s fuckin me i curse in every fic i’ve written lmao, angst pbp lovers come get yalls juice

lets get it!

—————————————-—————————————

“Be careful out there, Pete.” You said as you caressed his cheek. He kissed your hand. “I will. I’m sorry again. I know this was supposed to be our date night and I wished I could sta—” You interrupted him. “I know. Just go, Peter. New York needs you.” You mumbled, opening the window. He frowned at you and pressed a kiss to you forehead before pulling his mask down. “I’ll see you, bugaboo. Again, I’m so sorry we had to cancel.” He whispered before jumping out of the window. You watched him shoot his webs, swinging away. You sighed and pulled out your phone to cancel yet another restaurant reservation.

Yet again, another date night was ruined by the crimes that occurred coincidentally each time. You were proud of him. You really were. He was amazing each night you watched him swing onto the scene and risk his life each time to make sure New York was save. But, you wanted to be selfish for once and try to beg him to stay for atleast one night. What did you expect when you decided to say yes to him two years ago? He was a hero and the world didn’t stop spinning. But, god did you wish it did. You wanted him to take a break.

You sighed, sitting down on your cold bed and took off your dress shoes, mindlessly tossing them wherever. You lost track of how many times you did this action. You wiped the makeup you can took your time to do off. Wasted. “All I wanted was a peaceful date night... Is that too much to ask?” You mumbled as you changed into some sweats and one of Peter’s shirts. You let your hair down and fluffed it out before walking into the living room. You plopped yourself onto the couch, toying with your ring. Seeing Peter got more and more sparse as he did his patrols and missions, but this city never slept and neither did he. You missed those nights where he would fall ontop of you and pepper your face with slobbery kisses. You missed when he’d rant about what dumb thing a criminal did or when he’d tell you corny jokes at 2am trying to get a tired giggle out of you.

You missed him. Now he would plop into bed, dead tired from getting punched from criminals and you’d massage his tired muscles, hearing a sluggish “thank you, baby.” You wished New York didn’t always rely on your tired man. He was only one person but was seen as a pillar of strength. Only you knew he wasn’t just that. He wasn’t Spider-Man when he came home to you. He was your Peter B. Parker.

You sighed as you turned on your TV. “Now on the scene, Spider-Man!” The reporter exclaimed as the camera panned to show Peter shooting his webs. Your eyes welled up in tears as you switched channels. I love you’s turned to Stay safe’s and I know’s. Was it so bad to crave more love from him? Was it so bad to want to be his main priority for the night like you used to be? Was it so bad? The world was too much on your Peter, always cutting off hours of sleep as Peter was too devoted to making sure he was blanket of security for the city. You wiped your eyes as you watched the shitty Hallmark movie that came on. You sniffed as the average brunette woman and average brunette man held hands while walking down the streets. That could’ve been you and Peter. If you had decided to beg, would he stayed? Or would he sent you that sad smile and apologize repeatedly before kissing you and slipping through your fingers like loose sand?

You lost track of time and how many shitty Hallmark movies you watched before you fell asleep. It was 1 am when Peter swang home. He cursed under his breath as he slipped through the window. He closed it behind him before noticing how your bed was empty. He looked at the time and groaned. “They’re gonna be upset.” He mumbled as he pulled off his mask. He rushed to shimmy off his spider suit, wincing every so often. He placed his suit in the hamper and he threw on a random shirt along with his grey sweatpants. He walked into the hallway, hearing the noise coming from the TV. “Baby?” He called out before walking into the living room.

He frowned as he noticed your sleeping figure, slumped to the side as your head rested on your hand. As he walked closer, he noticed the dried tear streaks on your cheeks and felt his heart break. He lost track of many nights he found you waiting for him to come home. He gently shook you, regretting the fact he had to wake you up. Your puffy eyes and bloodshot eyes fluttered open. “Hey, lovebug...” He said with a sad smile. “Oh... you’re home, Pete. Let me go get the first aid kit.” You mumbled as you got up. He sighed, knowing you’d fight him on the topic if he even tried to debate with you on it. He reached over and turned on the lamp. You tiredly walked to the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit and sat back on the couch. You started to patch up the cut on his cheek, mumbling a small apology each time he winced.

“Baby I....” He started off. “Save it, Peter. I get it.” You said as you dabbed peroxide onto the cut. He winced again. “No but I need to make it up to you. I’m so sorry we haven’t been able to be with each other that often.”

“Peter.”

“And I know how much you miss spending time with me and trust me I miss you too.”

“Peter.”

“And I know how much you wanted to have this date night—”

“PETER.” You exclaimed as you shut the kit closed. His eyes widened as he looked at you. “All I wanted was you! All I wanted was to at least have one night to ourselves and everytime you promise me that you’ll find a night off you never fulfill your promise. I get that you’re Spider-Man! I know you have to save the city! But can’t you try to take a break?! I’m so. So tired of patching you up every night! I’m so tired of massaging your aching muscles every night. I miss you.” You exclaimed. He opened his mouth to speak but you held your hand up. “2 months.” You said. “What?” He questioned. “It’s been 2 months, Parker. 2 months since you’ve came home to me unharmed. 2 months since you’ve held me close. 2 months since we’ve even ate dinner together. I’ve been trying so hard to not literally get on my knees and BEG you to stay! Each time you always tell me ‘The city needs me’ but have you even thought that I need you too? I miss my husband. The citizens out there see you more than I do. I’m tired of being your medic!” You cried out as you gripped your shirt, holding the place over your heart.

Peter’s eyes watered as you continued. “Sometimes I pace around this damn place wondering if you’ll even come home to me. I always wait for you, Parker. I even start to dream about having a date with you again. I fear that one day you won’t come home and I’ll regret never begging you to stay more. Regret never holding onto you. I always have you so close then at the end of the day you always manage to slip through my fingers. When we first started dating I knew you wouldn’t always be able to stay home but I was fine with it because I was willing to wait for you. I was fine with being the second choice because you were doing so much good.” You said as you got choked up. “No no no baby you were never the second choice.” He said as he reached to wipe your tears away.

You sniffled and slapped his hands away. “You and I both know that was a lie. You never take breaks anymore. You’re so devoted to your city but is it so much to ask to have you stay home and make fun of those shit Hallmark movies with me again? Would it be so much to even ask if you could skip patrol? I feel so stupid pining for you to kiss me again, which I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be wishing for my husband to... to show me more love when you’re out there. Saving lives and I’m here staring at that damned clock waiting for you. All I wanted was you and I know that’s already so much to ask for. I’m going to bed, Peter.” You said as you stood up. “Baby please.” He said as he stood up with you. You ignored him and walked past him. He watched as your figure disappeared into the dark hallway and heard your bedroom door close behind you.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he pushed his unruly hair back. He let out a shuddering sigh as he sat back down. He ran his hand down his face. “I love you.” The man on the screen said. Peter watched as the woman said it back before pulling the man into a kiss. That used to be you and him. All you wanted was him and he couldn’t even give that to you fully. He missed you too. Now the kissing couple was there mocking him. “Oooh look at us we’re so happy while you just got into an argument with the love of your life. Fuck off.” He grumbled as he roughly wiped his cheek and grabbed the remote. He shut the TV off before turning off the lamp. He sniffled and got up, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He walked down the hall and quietly opened the door. The moonlight shined through the curtains as they lightly blew from the nightly breeze.

He saw your figure facing the window under the covers as he quickly walked to his side of the bed. He carefully got under the covers and looked at your back. He scooted closer to you and gently caressed your side. “I’m sorry...” He mumbled, making you gently shrug his arm off. “Sorry loses its meaning when you repeat it again and again. Save it and go to bed, Peter.” You said quietly. “I love you.” He said as he scooted away, laying on his back. “I know.” You whispered as tears rolled down your cheeks. He wiped his eyes as he stared up at the ceiling.

“All I wanted was you.”

[thatesqcrush]

Fall From Grace, Pt. 8

Bryan Kneef x Reader. Fandom: The Good Fight. Reference: S4, E.4, “The Gang is Satirized and Doesn’t Like It.” CW: Angst, language.

AN: Our lovely REE was on The Good Fight for all of 3 minutes so I am taking lots of liberties. I am obsessed with the anti-Barba. He was just delicious.

AN2: I may have been inspired slightly by that horrible Barba episode that I pretend doesn’t exist - you may recognize what Barba said to Liv. So credit to SVU, S.19, E. 13, The Undiscovered Country. 

AN3: Bryan’s outfit was inspired by Chef Harry. So if you don’t know what that looks like, may I present you...

--

Reading your text caused Bryan’s heart to lurch.

He slammed his glass of whiskey back, swallowing it hole. He was tempted to respond but instead he did not. Not right away at least. He mulled over what Marissa had said: “All this fussing to say you care? Sounds like love to me.”

Love.

He wasn’t one for love. Life was like an old black and white movie; he was absolutely sure who were the good guys and the bad guys – nine times out of ten, he was the good guy in court, but the bad guy in relationships. And then you had weaseled your way into his world and black and white became different shades of gray. And then it became blues and greens. 

He then recalled Marissa’s other advice: Be honest about what you want. All it takes is some communication.

But it seemed you didn’t want to have any opportunity to talk to him.

Never one to back down from a challenge, he decided he was going to make his own opportunity. Bryan knew he fucked up and he vowed to himself to make it up to you – if only you’d let him.

And he hoped you would.

--

You walked up the sidewalk to your apartment, hands full of empty boxes. You had made sure to get to the market early so you could get the good boxes – otherwise you were stuck with the boxes that smelled like melon.

You made your way back into your apartment. It wasn’t that hot yet, so you opened the window to let the morning breeze come in. You asked Alexa to play your favorite playlist and then tied your hair into a pony-tail.

Packing sucked. But you had movers coming in three days and you needed to get your affairs in order.

Hours later, you still had a ways to go but you had a good section done. You needed more boxes so you made plans to pick up some more, resigning that some of your stuff would smell like melon after all.

Exhausted, you collapsed on your couch with a cool compress on your forehead. “Mmmm, just need a nap.” You mumbled to yourself.

Your eyes felt heavy and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you were out. You sighed contentedly, ready for the sleep to settle in when the loud roar of a motorcycle startled you awake. Annoyed, you walked over to the window to close it when you noticed who was getting off the motorcycle.

It was Bryan.

He looked up towards the apartment windows and you immediately ducked your head, hitting it on the head of the window frame.

“Son of bitch!” You moaned, rubbing your head. You could hear your phone buzzing in the distance and you knew it was Bryan calling. You didn’t pick up, instead choosing to head downstairs to meet him outside.

With every step down, you felt the knots in your stomach grow.  With a deep breath, you opened the main entrance door and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Bryan looked up from his cellphone and gave you what you were certain was a genuine smile.

You didn’t let it sway you.

You looked both ways before crossing the street. You felt woefully under-dressed – more of a hot mess if you will. You were in grey sweat shorts and a dark blue fitted t-shirt. And you would be damned if you didn’t admit how good he looked. Especially in the leather jacket. He wore faded black jeans and a dark grey Henley. A gold chain glinted under the few buttons of the Henley that were undone.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed at Bryan.

“We need to talk.” Bryan replied, removing his helmet. “Can I come up and talk to you for a few minutes?”

“About what?” You asked, with a sneer. You crossed your arms under your chest. “I don't think that's a good idea.

“Because of what might happen?”

“Because it's not a good time.”

“You’re quitting. You’re leaving.” Bryan tossed his helmet from hand to hand. “You’re not leaving me with much of an option.”

“I told you – there is no reason for me to stay.”

Bryan sighed and placed his helmet on the seat of his bike. “That’s not entirely true. Can we please go upstairs and talk?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Fine, but don’t get any funny ideas. I hope you know that I hate you from the bottom of my vagina.”

Bryan cocked his head, covering his mouth that was threatening to twitch into a smile. “Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes and the two of you made way back into the apartment. Bryan felt his heart sink further as he took in the sight of your half-packed apartment. You really were leaving. And it was his fault.

You looked over your shoulder. “Do you want anything to drink? I have vodka in the freezer, soda and water.”

“Water is just fine.”

You stood behind your breakfast bar – the idea that somehow it served as a barrier between you and Bryan was almost laughable. There was a part of you that wanted to fling yourself over and kiss him. But you held your ground.

Bryan took the water and drank it before sitting on your couch. You eyed him warily; you could feel your heart thumping in your chest and your stomach was in knots. Bryan reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through to your text, and murmured the majority before speaking at full volume: I picked NYC because the man who doesn’t love me isn’t there.”

“I know what I said Bryan.” 

“The implication is that I don’t love you. That couldn’t be farther from the truth.”

“Don’t you dare say it, Bryan!”

“I love you.”

You felt all the air get sucked out of your lungs. 

“Goddammit Bryan! You broke my heart!” You turned your back to him and roughly opened the fridge to grab something for yourself to drink. You used the tip of your nail to open the can of soda. “You think you can waltz in here on your bike, looking good…because damn, you do look so good… say these things and have me pretend like what happened never happened? You were an asshole!” You shout as you pivoted back to face him. And instead you came face to face with him. Your mind flashed back to your initial run-in with him – the start of everything. Your eyes welled with tears.

“I was.”

A tear escaped your eye. Bryan used the pad of his thumb to wipe it away and you bowed your head slightly, in near defeat.

“I think you love me too.” Bryan replied softly, cupping your chin to face him. “I feel fairly certain that there is still something between us. I know that you're angry. You have every right to be. I fucked up.”

You didn’t respond. 

“I miss you. I've missed you. You should know that. I lie in bed at night and I think about us, I think about all of our time together. I should have told you how I felt. How I feel.” Brian continued. 

You jutted your chin out of his grasp. “Don’t. You don’t get to do this to me.” You scanned your apartment. “I have to finish packing.”

You turned to move past Bryan, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you flush against him.  You had a sense of déjà vu . The last time you were this physically close to Bryan, he kissed you hard and you smacked him in response. The kiss this time was deliberately soft. Bryan’s cologne overwhelmed your senses. You pressed yourself, leaning up to return the kiss. Bryan groaned as your tongue swirled around his and he wrapped his arms around your waist. It was so easy to get caught up into the kiss and to lose yourself in the passion.

You forced yourself to break the kiss. You looked up at Bryan, searching his green eyes. Tears streaked your cheeks. “I’m sorry Bryan. I can’t. I… just don’t know if I can trust you anymore. You treated me like shit for no reason.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Please.” Bryan near begged. “We can work this out. Please don’t leave. Give me a chance.” His voice cracked.

You shook your head. “No. I’ve got to move on. Please leave.”

Bryan’s face, once somber, turned stoic. He cleared his throat. “Fine. Good luck with the move.” His voice was clipped and inwardly you winced.

You walked Bryan out and shut the door behind him with a click. For good measure, you made sure to bolt the door. You watched him get on his motorcycle from your window and as he kicked it into gear, you burst into tears.

Because Bryan was right. You were in love with him.

--

Days later, the last of the movers had packed your boxes in their truck. You reached into your pocket and left your copy of the key on the breakfast bar. You checked your phone to make sure your boarding pass was loaded. It was and you used the opportunity to check into your flight.

There was a knock on the door. “Ms. Y/L/N?”

You jumped, startled. Turning around, you eyed the delivery man. “That is me. Can I help you?”

The delivery man smiled in relief. “Oh good. I managed to catch you before you left. I have a delivery from a Mr. Kneef.”

You frowned. “Okay. Let me get my wallet to tip you.”

“No need, already taken care of.” The delivery man replied. He set the bag on the breakfast bar, by your key. You wished him well and then turned to the small delivery bag.

In it, was a box of English toffee from Cora Lee. It was your favorite candy that only came around during firm victories. You wondered how he knew - but at the same time, it didn’t surprise you that he knew. In addition, there was a long red box from Cartier, which contained a delicate diamond tennis bracelet.

There was also a note. 

NYC is so lucky to have you.

Yours – always.

BK

--

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[trinuil]

The King’s Favor: Part X

Even in death she was breathtaking. 

Misadora lay peacefully on a white marble catafalque in the middle of the great hall. She was dressed in a long, white lace dress that draped over her feet and overflowed into the floor. Her pale hands were clasped over her stomach, her fingers adorned with many of her favorite jewels and the sigil of the house of Durin held the lace collar at her neck close, concealing the gash. The morning light that streamed through the large stained glass window above the altar lit up her cascades of golden ringlets that surrounded her in a halo. Her thick, dark lashes rested on her cold cheeks and her full lips, for once, weren’t twisted into a scowl. 

You breathed as quietly as you could. The smell of burning incense wafted towards you beckoning your eyes to a couple of priests walking around the room swinging gold censers, purifying the room for prayer and ritual. From across the room you saw Irida and another handmaiden arranging flowers at the altar. You had managed to calm her down and convince her to continue tending to her duties lest she should rouse suspicion. It was evident by her tightly set jaw that it took everything she had to keep her nerve. You had promised to help her but in truth you hadn’t the slightest idea how you could when your own innocence was in question. 

Your gaze wandered to Thorin who stood on the other side of the catafalque. He was dressed in black, hands clasped behind him and his expression unreadable. You couldn’t even see a shadow of remorse. None of this was your fault, but you still felt nauseous. You didn’t want to be present for the burial and have the accusing eyes of the people of Erebor on you during the Queen’s funeral. Taking a deep breath you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts but was startled into holding your tongue as the main doors swung open in haste. 

Shrill whispers and a struggle was heard before you saw a dwarrowdam in black fight off a stocky dwarf who tried to restrain her. Her teary, harrowed eyes fell on Misadora and a stricken wail echoed against the stone walls of the vast hall. Her knees buckled under her and the dwarf steadied her before she ran across the room to throw herself on Misadora and weep bitterly. Up close you could see they shared the same shade of blonde hair, except the older dwarrowdam had streaks of grey in her’s. You didn’t have a lot of time to get a good look at her face but from this display of affection, you could only guess that this broken dwarrowdam was Misadora’s mother.

The dwarf, who you assumed to be her father walked up behind her slowly. He didn’t acknowledge Thorin. You were surprised to see them here, after their betrayal and their plot to take Moria...after Thorin had slain their son, Dorvari in combat. Thorin must have pardoned them to come here. 

The plump dwarrowdam’s body shook under the force of her sobs. Your heart wretched in sympathy for the loss this mother felt for you knew that there was no consolation. The grief of losing your child is unimaginable, so you couldn’t say that you were surprised by what followed next. 

“Y-you!”, the dwarrowdam uttered between sobs as she tore herself away from Misadora’s corpse and spun around on her heels and struck Thorin square on the cheek. He didn’t flinch neither did he protest. Her husband moved to put his hands on her shoulders which she shrugged off and continued to stare daggers at Thorin.

“Taking one of my children wasn’t enough for you?!”, she yelled vehemently, “You have taken everything from me!”, she grabbed Thorin’s tunic in her fists as her husband tried his best to yank her off him, “Just take my life too! I have nothing left!”.

“You and your harlot! You will both rot in hell for this!”, she cursed in a frenzy, “Mahal shall show you no mercy! He will spite you and yours!”, she struggles against the restraining hands of her husband as tears spilled from her pained eyes. 

You swallowed hard.

Misadora’s father shouted some orders in Khuzdul amidst the chaos and a few handmaidens rushed in to escort her out. Using the last of her strength she lifted her head to look up at Thorin, “You will wish you had killed me when you had the chance”, she looked at you, “As long as I live, I will see to it that you will never know happiness. Just like my daughter”. The guards at the door stood to attention, ready to take the offending party to the dungeons. Thorin raised his hand and ordered them to stand down. A threat to the king is not taken lightly, but Thorin was willing to let this go for his conscience wouldn’t let him do otherwise. 

“Look at her!”, she yelled at you, “Look what you’ve done! Are you happy now?!”.

“Take her outside”, her husband ordered before turning to Thorin.

The doors shut behind the handmaidens and silence was once again restored to the hall. 

“My King”, he bowed with hesitance, “Forgive my wife. She is distraught”.

“I understand”, came Thorin’s somber reply.

“You couldn’t possibly”, said the dwarf glancing over at his daughter. 

Thorin didn’t reply.

“I wish to take her back home”, the dwarf said after a pause, “I wish to bury her with her kin”.

Thorin directed his gaze at the older dwarf and without hesitation he responded, “I cannot allow it. You are aware of our customs”.

“Yes”, he sighed. Following another brief pause, he came to terms with it and spoke, “As His Majesty wishes”. He took his leave and made for the door. 

You released your breath as the door closed after him. You felt light headed and sicker than you felt before. 

Thorin’s attention shifted to you as if he was expecting you to throw a tantrum at him too.

“I would like to remain in my chambers today”, you said softly.

“You don’t need to hide. If you don’t wish to attend the funeral, you may go wherever you please”.

Except home.

“But it would be in your best interest to make an appearance”, he said gently. 

All of a sudden the air felt thin and you needed to get out.

The last push took everything you had causing your body to go limp with exhaustion. 

Your body screamed in agony. But you felt numb at the same time; you didn’t feel the blood between your legs or the cold sweat on your brow that drenched your hair and thin shift. Taking deep breaths, you tried to gather enough strength to lift your head off the pillow and make out the figures in the candlelit room. You could barely hear the faint cries of your baby.

“W-where’s my baby?”, you cried out, partly in pain and partly in fear.

“Shh, my love”, you felt the bed dip near your head and a kiss being placed on your forehead while strong hands supported your back, “you need to rest”.

“My congratulations, it’s a girl!”, the midwife grinned as she handed you a tiny wrapped bundle, “A blessing from The Maker”.

Gently, you nestled her into the crook of your arm and gazed at her red face. She was crying in protest, clenching her tiny fists in the air. Soft, fine dark hair stuck out in all directions tempting you to smooth them down. 

You were overwhelmed. You felt afraid, happy, sad and excited. 

“Hello, darling”, you whispered as she settled down and groggily blinked at you. 

Her eyes took your breath away. They were an instant reminder of Thorin’s same sky blue orbs. She innocently blinked at you, completely unaware of the lives that have been turned upside down in order for her to be born. Tears brimmed in your eyes. How you wished for her father to be here.

“She’s perfect”. Another kiss fell on your hair, arms pulled you and your baby in a tighter embrace. 

“Yes, she is”, you smiled, “I won’t let anything happen to you, my little one”.

“Neither will I”, said Bo. You glanced up at his shining grey eyes, his soft hopeful smile. He was in love with her already: “you have my word, ‘ibine (my gem)”, he vowed. 

“Marcelle!”, you gasped as you saw your daughter tumble head first into the fountain. 

You had been talking with Irida and the other handmaidens after the funeral rituals. Surprisingly, you had managed to escape the eye of most people by staying close to the shadows and holding your tongue. Misadora had been buried in the royal crypts in the mountain; a grievous event for her family but managed to only elicit respectful silence from others. It went without saying that the Queen won’t be missed by most in Erebor for she had not touched the hearts of her people. 

You had remained with Irida in the hall while the crowd began to dissipate. A few noble men and women stayed to engage in matters of politics which never ceased even at an occasion such as this. You had turned your back on Marcelle for but a second, only because she was in the company of Nain. You had been certain that her curiosity for the marble fountain would pose no threat. 

Neither you nor the prince had a chance to react before Thorin scooped her up in one fluid motion. He gently held her in his arms, inspecting her for any visible signs of damage. Water pooled at his feet from her drenched dress and hair, his royal tunic was clearly ruined but all of his attention and care was for Marcelle. 

In a flash you were pulling her into your arms. 

“I-I-I’m sorry! I didn’t know she would fall”, Nain hurried to his father while fumbling for words.

“It’s not your fault prince Nain”, you said feeling your pulse return to normal, “She’s alright. Just startled me is all”, you said placing Marcelle on her feet. She stood very still, hiding her face behind her sopping wet locks.

“Marcelle”, you began pensively. 

“I know”, she said quietly, “I’m sorry”.

You sighed, there was no use trying to reign in her spirit. “Are you hurt, love?”.

“No”, she looked up at you with apologetic eyes. 

“You should still take her to the healers’ wing”, Thorin said stepping closer. 

“I have to change her out of these clothes”, you said dismissively, you were quite able to tend to your child. 

“Come, Marcelle”, you took her hand and bowed your head at Thorin.

“If you’re feeling better later, I would like it if you will bring your mother to dinner”, Thorin smiled at Marcelle. 

She flashed him a toothy grin and nodded.

You put down the hair brush and admired your handiwork. Your hair was neatly braided back in tiny fishtails around your temples to join a loosely done braid that reached your thighs. You had managed to find the simplest dress you could in the armoire; a soft cream dress with lace sleeves and gold trimmings. You thought you looked ridiculously overdressed for dinner but everyone in the palace was overdressed for everything. 

“Marcy?”, you walked into the bedroom and found her curled up on the duvet, her braids askew, her silk dress all wrinkled and fast asleep. You had given her a warm bath and a tincture to stave off any cold she might get from her dunk in the fountain. The excitement of the day must have finally exhausted her. You quietly changed her clothes again, unbraided her hair and tucked her in snugly. 

“Your Majesty’s presence is needed in the dungeons”.

Thorin looked at the guard who had strode into the dining room and interrupted his conversation with Nain. 

“Can this wait till later?”, the King asked a little vexed.

“I’m afraid not your Majesty”. He dismissed the guard with a nod and rose to his feet.

“Pass on my apologies to Lady Y/n and Marcelle for my absence”, he told Nain as he made his exit. 

Soon he was standing before Ozzul who was furiously flipping through records and scraps of paper. This particular holding block was dimly lit with a few burning sconces on the worn, stone walls, all the cells appeared to be empty except for one. Dwalin stood in front of the cell with this hands folded over his chest, when he saw Thorin he acknowledged his presence with a nod.

“Ozzul”, Thorin called out, bringing the dwarf back down to earth.

He bowed low, “Your Majesty”.

“What is this all about then?”.

“Ah, I do believe you would like to know that we caught a particularly interesting criminal”, he gestured towards the dark cell with its single occupant. 

Thorin neared it without much curiosity but found himself with many questions after the first glimpse of this dwarf’s face. He was hunched over on the floor, his blond hair was disheveled and his clothes torn. He tilted his head just enough for some light to hit his angry grey eyes and reveal a bloodied nose.

Thorin seethed in anger.

“What are you doing in Erebor?”, he asked through clenched teeth.

Bo didn’t have time to answer when Ozzul interjected, “The guards picked him up. Found him wandering the markets looking for Lady Y/n”.

A million thoughts flooded Thorin’s mind and all of those thoughts ended with the urge to bash Bo’s skull against the walls. 

“Let him go”, Thorin said firmly.

“Thorin, he needs to be punished for disbanding his duties and betraying the crown”, Dwalin countered in disbelief. 

“His presence here isn’t a coincidence. Just like Lady Y/n’s isn’t. I need to question him further, I only thought that His Majesty would like to know that his former captain of the guard has been found. I’m sure His Majesty understands how this might shed light on the matter of the Queen’s death”, Ozzul finished. 

“If the lad’s story about the inheritance is true”, Dwalin said scratching his beard, “Y/n was not here to kill the Queen”.

“Of course not”, Thorin shot, “I told you that before. Leave her be”.

“Then why keep her?”, Ozzul asked looking up from his papers.

“That is not your concern”, Thorin bit out, eyes still fixed on Bo.

Dwalin gestured Ozzul and Thorin closer and in a lowered voice he stated:

“Thorin, we need to know what happened and these two appearing on the day of Misadora’s assassination stinks to high heaven”, Dwalin held up his hand to stop Thorin from interrupting, “Supposing they had nothing to do with it, you know how this looks. It looks bad for you. The King in the middle of a conspiracy to dethrone the Queen and replace her with his secret lover. You’ll lose the clans for good”.

Ozzul nodded, “My only wish is to preserve your reign. My King. The way I see it, understanding the plot will help us protect your name. Letting Bo out will not do you any favors, especially when people start to realize he has returned”.

“Besides, something must be done about his desertion. It is the way”, Dwalin said gruffly.

“I do not want him here”, Thorin growled. 

Ozzul and Dwalin moved to protest but Bo beat them to it, “Does my presence threaten you?”.

“Hold your tongue boy!”, Dwalin banged his fist against the cell.

“You should be”, Bo continued unfazed. 

“Leave us”, Thorin commanded. Ozzul hurried out but Dwalin hesitated before complying, 

“Why should I be?”

“Because you are a coward. You lock Y/n in a room, keep her here against her will because you’re too scared to face rejection”, Bo said with a slight smirk as he leaned his head against the wall. 

“I suppose not all of us can be brave as you; not all of us are treasonous rats”, Thorin sneered, “Is that why you came back? To steal her away from me again? Look where that got you”.

“I would do it again for her”, Bo breathed, wincing in pain from his broken ribs.

Thorin took a few steps closer, “Do you love her?”.

Bo chuckled lightly, “From the second I laid my eyes on her”.

“So have I”, Thorin retorted.

“No”, with much effort, Bo climbed to his feet and grabbed hold of the cell’s bars to support himself, “You used your status to influence her. You were bored. You toyed with her”.

Thorin glared hot daggers at his dwarf who so boldly accused him, “You must think so little of Y/n to assume that she could be so easily manipulated”.

Bo laughed, “You must think so little of her to assume that she would want you after everything you put her through”.

“I had nothing to do with it!”, Thorin yelled grabbing hold of the bars so hard that his knuckles turned white, “YOU took her from me! IT WAS YOU!”.

“She came to me”, Bo said flatly. Thorin fell silent.

“She begged me to take her away from here. She begged me to take her away from you. In this palace, you condemned her to a life of sin. Out there, you condemned her to life of alienation. But we were finally happy. We had our corner in the world..her..our child-”

“Do NOT say that! She is not your child!”, Thorin spat out in unbridled fury.

“I was there when she was born. I was there when she cut her first tooth, it was I who held her in my arms when she cried after a bad dream. It is I who she calls Adad”.

Thorin’s hands were lightning fast as they reached through the bars of the cell and grabbed the collar of Bo’s tunic. With all the strength Thorin could muster, he slammed Bo’s face against the bars, splitting his lip open and causing another stream of blood to pour out his broken nose. “I will have you hanged!”, Thorin bit out through barred teeth. 

“Do it”, Bo grunted, “Surly then, Y/n will welcome you into her bed”.

“You took my life from me”, Thorin said, hate dripping in every syllable. 

“And you took mine, hers and Marcelle’s”. 

Thorin uncurled his fingers from around Bo’s throat and stepped back.

“Let us go”, Bo said staggering on his feet, “She can’t have a life here, neither can Marcelle. Sooner or later the death of the Queen will be pinned on her and the people will call for her head. How will you protect her then without dooming your kingdom?”.

“That is none of your concern, bastard!”, Thorin shot back. He was aware that unrest in his kingdom would question his rule and in turn he would lose allies.

“You are not worthy to walk the same ground as her”, Bo said wrinkling his nose in disgust, “I can smell it on you. Don’t even think about going near my Marcelle when your brain is addled with opium”.

Thorin was shaking, he couldn’t stand to be around him anymore but he was right. If you found out that he had killed Bo, you would never forgive him and the fire that the Queen’s death has started does not need more fuel.

“Guards!”, Thorin roared.

Three guards marched into the room, single file.

“No food for the prisoner. Help Ozzul force any information out of, by any means necessary”. He knew Bo had nothing to do with the murder, but he wanted him to suffer somehow. 

Thorin stormed out of the holding block. He needed to do something about his pent up rage but he didn’t know what. He hated that Bo had slipped under his skin and feared that he would lose you again. Whether he was free or in a cell, as long as Bo was here, he was a threat. 

He needed some time alone.

You had been thankful for the quiet evening you had spent in your chambers and had been glad when Thorin didn’t send anyone after you when you didn’t show to dinner. You had curled up with a book and a few slices of peach and lost yourself in a thrilling tale of heroes. You had hoped that sitting here, you would somehow miraculously come up with a way to get out of here. Instead you found yourself punishing yourself for wanting to see Thorin again, to feel his touch. You were being selfish; you had other people to think about.

It was nearly midnight and you were about to put your book down and turn in for the night, but a brief knock had you making your way to answer the door. 

“M’lady. I beg your forgiveness for rousing you at this hour, but the King demands your presence immediately”, the guard at your door said politely.

Your heart raced at the urgency of the request. 

“Of course, I shall leave at once”, you said tying your heavily embroidered robe more securely, “But please, will you make sure my daughter doesn’t wake and miss me?”.

The guard nodded, “He awaits you at the library, M’lady”.

Your eyes wandered the room, looking for the King. The large, familiar room was on complete darkness, save for a single fire that burned in the far corner. Amidst the dancing shadows you could make out his silhouette where he was perched on a luxurious settee with a goblet of wine in hand.

“Thorin?”, you asked confused as you strode over to him, “What’s happened?”.

Thorin lazily threw you a glance before shifting in his seat. He gestured for you take sit next to him and you patiently complied. You watched him take another sip as he stared at the flames engulfing the firewood.

“Thorin?”, you tried again, what on earth was the meaning of this?

“What can I do to make things right?”, he asked quietly.

The question took you by surprise. What were you supposed to say? You couldn’t begin to imagine a way to fix this, “I wish I could tell you”.

He moved his feet from the ottoman to the floor and placed the goblet on the table before him. Turning to you, he placed a warm hand on your knee, “Tell me how I can make you stay”.

Your gaze moved between his hand and his eyes.

“I...I can’t”, you said twisting the edges of your sleeves in frustration. Thorin’s sharp intake of breath broke through your frantic thoughts which made you look over at him. His lips were set in a thin line and his eyes looked pained.

“How did I miss that before?”, he spoke almost inaudibly. 

You followed his gaze and quickly covered your hand when you realized that he had spotted Bo’s ring, “Thorin..”.

“What? No bead to match?”, Thorin chuckled darkly. He retrieved his hand and picked up the goblet once more.

“It’s not like that!”, you began.

“I see why you’re in a hurry to leave now. Bo is waiting for you”.

“How did you know it’s Bo?”

“Who else would it be? The two of you stole off into the night like two lovers”.

“What was I supposed to do?! You’re right he was the only one who’d have me..”

“That is not what I mea-”

“No one wanted a pregnant dwarrodam. No one wanted to rent a room to an unwed dwarrowdam with a child...no place safe at least...I had nowhere to go. It was hard but Bo helped me...we made it work”.

You raised your head and looked at him who had been stunned into silence, “I couldn’t carry a torch for you forever, Thorin. I had to live...if not for me, for her..”.

Your words hit him hard and lifted a veil from his eyes. You fell silent once more and resolved to fidgeting with your ring. The warmth from the fire and the soothing crackle relaxed you as the tension between the two of you eased. But it returned with a vengeance.

“Did you sleep with him?”.

“Thorin, that is hardly decent”.

“Answer me”, he snapped in frustration but forced himself to take a gentler tone, “please”.

“A few times”, you admitted quietly. 

“Are you married then?”, he asked without meeting your gaze.

“No”.

“Then stay here”. he tried again, “Do you still love me?”.

You took a deep breath, “Don’t do this to me”.

“Do you still love me?”, Thorin pressed harder.

“Mahal damn us all! Yes, Thorin!”, you fell back into the settee, “I haven’t loved anyone else. Are you happy?”.

“I am”, he smirked smugly.

His hand was back on your knee as he gazed at you lovingly.

“No. You have to think about Erebor”.

“Let me think about what I want for once”

“That’s what got us here”, you bit your lip in fear.

“If I thought about what was best for us, you would have been Queen long ago”.

His hand moved to yours and gave you a gentle tug in his direction, “Come to me”.

Your mouth went dry and your body froze, “I-I can’t..I am his”, you stammered.

“You are mine”, he pulled you against his body and you let out a gasp. He waited for you to protest or pull back but you couldn’t. You had to battle years of yearning to resist him now and you just couldn’t find the strength to. 

“I’m not losing you again, Y/n”, his breath was warm against your flushed cheek, the tip of his nose gently grazed your skin as he fought the urge to ravish you right there. The scent of your flesh drove him to the brink of madness, he needed you touch every bit of you once again to satiate his hunger. 

His hands traversed up yours and gripped your shoulders, pushing you flush against his broad chest. You felt his heart beating in time with yours and you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers curled in his thick head of hair. His lips captured yours in desperation, they were warm and he tasted like wine. How you’ve missed this.

You knelt on the settee and took his face in your hands, your tongue played with his, “Mahal, I’ve missed you”, you mumbled between kisses.

He abruptly broke the kiss and lifted you off him. He raised to his feet and helped you to your. “Come with me”.

He pulled you after him as he hurried down the halls, you did your best to keep up and stay quiet. 

You quickly ducked your head when you approached a familiar door with guards on either side. Thorin didn’t seem to care, instead he pushed the doors open and pulled you in with him. 

“Thorin”, you gasped when the doors closed, “People mustn’t know”.

“I don’t care”, he grabbed your jaw in his hands and picked up where he left off at the library. You didn’t fight it. You let his hands roam your hips and up your chest to untie your robe which fell around you in a heavy ripple of gold. He stepped back and took in the picture of your body in a thin loose shift. He could make out every curve and dip of your body and the way your breasts pushed up against the material was all too inviting to him. His fingers traced the curve of your hip and rested on your waist where they curled into your skin, eliciting a gasp from you.

He closed the distance between the two of you once more and kissed down your neck, stopping to suckle on the base. You wanted to lose yourself in his embrace but you couldn’t help my feel guilty.

“Thorin”, you mumbled, he didn’t reply as he continued to explore your body.

“Thorin, I can’t do this”, you panted as your shoved against him. He didn’t budge, instead he placed a smattering of kisses on your collar bones, “Tell me you want me to stop”, his hands pulled you closer to him possessively, “Tell me you don’t want this”.

“Oh, Thorin”, your eyes rolled back in your head as you felt his teeth lightly bite your flesh, “I-I made a promise”, you said trying to focus.

One of his hands wandered to your and gently slid the ring off your finger and let it fall to the ground, “You didn’t”.

You felt like a big weight has been lifted off of you and you were almost relieved. “Tell me you don’t want me to make love to you”.

His fingers pulled your loose braid undone, never stopping his affectionate assault on your neck. You wanted this and you couldn’t feel remorse about it.

“My King, I need you to make love to me”, you said raking your fingers through his hair. That was all he needed to hear; he grabbed you by your hips and lifted you up, making you wrap your legs around him. You couldn’t kiss him enough to make up for all these years. He moved swiftly and soon you were laying on your back watching him pull his tunic off.

“I wish to lay next to you like this forever”, Thorin murmured into your shoulder, “naked, carefree and in bliss”. You giggled as his fingers drew circles on your hips from under the bed covers. 

“It seems too good to be true”, you admitted. You could spend the rest of your life curled in his embrace on this bed.

“So, what do you say?”, Thorin asked kissing the shell of your ear.

“To what?”, you asked sleepily gazing into his deep blue eyes.

“Will you be my Queen?”

The air left your lungs and you felt wide awake all of a sudden, “What?”, you whispered.

“Let me give you the life you deserve. You hold my heart, don’t take it away from me again. I couldn’t bear it”.

You squeezed your eyes shut and took deep breaths. 

“Thorin, you can’t”, you said opening your eyes, “You can’t take a wife so soon. And I have nothing to offer your kingdom”.

“I don’t need anything. Only you”, he reasoned, “Please, tell me you’ll stay”.

You buried your face in his chest and breathed in his scent, of course to leave would destroy you but the implications and the consequences were not to be taken lightly.

“Do you think we deserve to be happy for once?”, you asked softly.

“You and I”, he began, “have spent our lives making sacrifices for the benefit and happiness of others. Maybe this one time we can allow ourselves to be happy”, he replied, running his fingers through your hair.

You smiled, “Even if our happiness might not be the best for Erebor?”.

“Aye, I won’t let anything happen to you”, he chuckled.

“You were always good with your words”, you half smiled.

He laughed making his crow’s feet at the edges of his eyes crease in the most charming way, “A requisite for politics”.

You hummed in agreement but didn’t reply to his initial question.

“What will it be, my love?”

You bit your lip and thought for a few more seconds, “Give me some time”.

He smiled in relief for you had given him hope, “Alright, take as much time as you need My Lady”. He placed a kiss on your forehead and moved to get up.

“Where are you going?”, you asked confused.

“It’s nearly daybreak”, he smiled.

You gasped, “Is it truly?”, you haven’t slept a wink; why must palace life begin so early?

“Sleep here for a while longer”, he suggested.

You mulled it over for a moment and nodded, “Maybe for a bit”, you said groggily.

You slept well for a few hours and woke at the thought of Marcelle waking up alone and looking for you. Blinking at the golden brocade that hung above you under the canopy, you stretched with a big smile on your face as you recalled the night you spent with your lover. Your hand brushed against something cold under your pillow. Retrieving the object you inspected it closely; a small tusk of an animal with carvings around it and a a wooden stopper sealing the opening. 

You sat up in bed and wrestled with the stopper till it popped open and a ghastly scent invaded your senses. Flinching you held it away from you face and peered inside to find a murky yellow powder, coupled with the smell, you recognized it instantly. Throwing the sheets off, you quickly dressed yourself and walked over to the large ornate table that held glass bottles of Thorin’s favorite drinks. You pulled a couple of drawers open and easily found what you expected to find: jars of opium. You sighed in disappointment. 

Slipping the tiny container you found under the pillow into your pocket, you quietly walked back to your chambers. As you approached your doors, you found Irida desperately trying to convince the guards to let her in. 

“I’ve told you, she ain’t in there”, the guard repeated. 

��It’s alright, I’m here”, you said walking up to her. 

“Y/n”, she breathed a sigh of relief. 

You beckoned her to follow you in.

It was almost eight in the morning and Marcelle should be waking soon, but in the meanwhile, you did your best to talk in hushed voices.

“What is going on? You are drawing too much attention to yourself, Irida”, you berated her. 

“I need to leave, Y/n. They’ve questioned the handmaidens for the third time so far. I feel I shall faint the next time I am called on”, she said wrapping a hand around her middle. 

“You can’t. You know that will make you the prime suspect instantly and they will hunt you down”, you warned. You didn’t believe that Irida was an evil person who deserved to be hanged. Misadora had been abusing her for years and she had the scars to prove it, and you found yourself sympathizing with her. 

You sighed as your attention moved to her many scars on her arms which lead you to recall when you found her in her room. “She locked me in her room without food or water for days at a time”, she had sobbed to you that night in her room. Things had changed dramatically for Misadora since your departure; Thorin had forbade her from sitting in on council meetings and being involved in any of Erebor’s politics. Her visitors were restricted to family; she was in all but name a prisoner. To her, losing her power was like losing her identity and she must have felt like she was in hell. A hell of her own creation. “I asked to be dismissed and I wrote to my family. I didn’t even know they came here for me. Later, I found out that she had told them that I had eloped with a stable boy and that they should forget about me and not come looking for me again”. She wiped her face with her sleeve but the tears kept on coming, “I ran away. She had me brought back, whipped till the skin peeled from my body and I fainted from the loss of blood. Y/n, I couldn’t take it anymore”.

You shook your head.

“Listen to me”, you said grabbing her by her shoulders firmly, “You need to remain calm. You cannot let her win. Just for a few days, you need to keep this up and I promise you that I will get you out of here”.

She looked at you with pained eyes, a flicker of hope passed through them briefly, “How can you be sure?”.

“I have a plan”, you squeezed her shoulders and smiled trying to be reassuring, “You won’t like it. But I give you my word I won’t let anything happen to you”.

You quickly gathered some sheets and handed them to her, “Act like you were cleaning my room. We shouldn’t be seen together so often, take these to the laundresses and keep busy”. 

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

Two days passed by.

You couldn’t find the time to confront Thorin about any of the things you wanted to. He was always busy with one thing or another and you were getting a little worried about Bo. You had sent him a letter addressed to the house you had agreed that he would wait for you at just outside of Dale. You had not heard back from him...what’s worse was that you found yourself feeling a little relieved that there was no word. 

Marcelle seemed to like it here better than she did when she was brought here. She had picked up a routine during the past few days; she would have breakfast with you, Thorin and Nain, follow Nain around for a while before he had to attend to his studies and then she would either play in his play room or wander the enormous halls of Erebor with you trailing behind her. She had plenty of questions and insights to keep you well entertained for hours and you did enjoy teaching her the history of Erebor. She was especially fascinated by Smaug. 

“Woah”, exclaimed Marcelle, completely at a loss for words. Her mouth fell agape as she fell back in her chair and stared at Thorin in complete awe. 

You stifled a giggle.

Dinner had been had, Nain had turned in for the night but Marcelle had proceeded to attack Thorin with a million questions the second he walked through the doors. Thorin had suggested moving the company to the library to show her books and paintings of legends from the stories. She had enjoyed your stories but now she wanted to hear it from the source. The protagonist of many of the heroic deeds you had recounted to her. 

“And Smaug was right here?!”, she asked spreading out her tiny arms, gesturing to the vast library.

“Well, not in this exact room, but yes...”, Thorin said with a twinkle in his eyes. He was loving every moment of this.

“And you fought him”, she gasped in disbelief.

“Well...yes”, he said trying to be modest, “I did have help”.

“That is so amazing!”, she almost yelled sitting up in her chair, “You are so brave! “, she paused for a moment, “More!”, she demanded grinning. 

“More?”, Thorin repeated with a small smirk.

“More stories!”.

“Hmm”, Thorin mused, “Well..how about the story of when your Amad punched an Elvish royal guard in the middle of a treaty banquet?”, he smirked deviously at you while you flushed red.

“What?!!”, Marcelle squealed in disbelief.

“I didn’t punch him, it was barely a slap”, you said defensively. You weren’t particularly proud of that moment but he had it coming. The elvish thwat had been rude and intolerant the whole night and his snide remark about you being “fuckable for a dwarf” had sent you over the edge. It had caught the attention of many a noble present that day, even the Elven King.

“He was practically bleeding, Yn.”, he chuckled, “I was quite amused”,

“I’m sure you were”, you said with a light laugh.

“Adad would have found it amusing too”, Marcelle giggled.

Thorin’s mood visibly changed. Your muscles tensed but Marcelle went back to flipping through a huge tome, looking for another picture to question. In the distance you heard the rumble of thunder and the muffled sounds of a storm beating down on the mountain. You tried to smile and diverted your gaze to the warm, crackling fire while attempting to think of what to say next.

“Your..Adad”, Thorin spoke cautiously, “what is he like?”.

Your pulse quickened and you felt your lungs threatening to collapse.

“Well..”, Marcelle thought looking up from the book, “He is kind and smart..and he knows how to catch turtles! One time he caught the biggest turtle I’ve ever seen!”.

Thorin chuckled lightly, “Did he now?”.

“Um..I like how Adad lets me ride on his shoulders when we go to the market and he always remembers to get me sugar apples when he comes home after he goes to work. He reads me the best stories at bedtime”.

He was wounded and you could tell from the look in his eyes. He met your gaze and you his pained blue eyes pleaded with you. You shook your head, pleading with him in return to keep your secret a little longer.

“He sounds like a good dwarf”, he said gently. 

“He is”. Marcelle smiled.

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

“He needs to be executed”.

“Thorin, listen to yourself”, Dwalin snapped, “This will raise suspicion”.

“Fine! Then take him down South and leave him to starve”.

“What has gotten in to you?”, Dwalin asked with a frustrated look, “Just leave him be for now. We will carry out a proper execution once this situation is taken care of. Give the people some time to forget this mess. I promise you, I will swing the axe myself, but give it time, I’m begging you”. 

“Every breath he draws, I feel my sanity slipping away”, Thorin paced furiously up and down one of the many walkways in the dungeon. 

Dwalin sighed, “If we play this right, you can come out of this unscathed and happy. You can have her too”.

“I have done my share of waiting. I just want to to be over with”, Thorin stated firmly. 

“Brother, you must trust me”, Dwalin said grasping Thorin’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze. 

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

“Nain?”, Marcelle called out as she wandered down a hallway. Pausing at an especially ornate wall with gems and carvings of all sorts, she shook her head and resumed her search. She had so much to see and appreciate but she was on a quest. 

“Nain, I’m going to find you!”, she giggled bounding down a set of stairs that led to a big, foreboding door. Ever the curious cat, Marcelle gave the heavy door a firm nudge. To her utter delight, the door begrudgingly creaked open by a fraction. A smile crept to her lips as she whispered “I’m going to get you Nain”. She was certain that she wasn’t supposed to be here but if Nain had gone down there she had no choice. Or so she convinced herself. 

The door opened into a stone stairwell that spiraled into the depths of the mountain. It was dimly lit and oozed mystery just like something from a story her Amad would tell her, hence the allure. 

She quickly but carefully made her way down the stairs to yet another door. Behind the door, it wasn’t any brighter down there but it surely was colder and damper. She quickly ducked behind a wall as soon as she saw a few guards coming her way. Once she was sure that it was clear, she began exploring again.

She felt a little uneasy as strange sounds grew louder the deeper she went. It sounded like people in pain. She passed many, many cells and she wondered what they were for. 

“Miss?”, she jumped, “Can you help me?”, dirty hands reached out to her from behind the bars of one of the dark cells. She jumped back, not knowing what to do or say. “W-who are you?, she asked softly. 

“Please?”, the voice rasped.

Marcelle bolted. She ran through the maze of cells, confused and lost. She was trying not to burst into tears at the thought of never being able to get out of this place when she spotted a door. This was her way out.

Imagine her disappointment when she found herself in just another dark room. “No..”, she whimpered, feeling the tears set in.

She took a step back at the sound of rattling chains, her heart was pounding in her ears, as she stared into the barely lit cell in the room. 

“H-hello?”, she called out weakly, “c-can you p-please tell me how t-to get out of here?”, she said between sobs. 

“Marcelle?”, a hoarse voice from the cell called to her.

She knew that voice!

<<<Previous 

[suntumarchive]

A commission for @cafesotenbori ! Thank you so much~

Fandom/s: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Character/s: Yoshikage Kira x gender- and appearance neutral victim Kink/s: Fearplay, vore CW: Graphic swallowing, implied fatal

Plot: Yoshikage Kira is an unmarried man, and he has no intention of changing that anytime soon. But sometimes, going on “dates” is a great way to get to know his freshly chosen victims... especially when he invited them over for “dinner”.

___

Dark, heavy rain clouds weighed down on the peaceful city of Morioh, and enveloped the buildings in a grey haze, as if they wanted to warn the inhabitants of the approaching storm coming in from the south. Occasionally, thick rain drops landed on the still warmed up asphalt streets, causing ghostly swabs of mist to creep up from the ground. The low rumbling of Kira’s stomach cut through the gloomy silence like a sword, and he checked his wristwatch for what felt like the millionth time. Did his date decide to just not show up in that weather? That would truly be a shame… He’d been looking forward to having them over for dinner.

Eventually, though, the man was pleased to see their silhouette in the distance, getting closer in a rather hasty manner. Clearly they wanted to protect themselves from the downpour, which would soon hit the area of Morioh where the villas were located. Yoshikage Kira gestured towards his house, and greeted them with a small chuckle.

“Looks like you barely made it in time!”, he made it sound like he was talking about the rain, but honestly, there was a slight sense of anger inside him about how late they were. Kira was someone who liked it when everything was tidy and smooth, and being two minutes late was something he personally couldn’t condone. He always made sure to arrive at least five minutes early. But in his 33 years of age, he’d very often experienced that other people weren’t living their lives the same way he was… and it made his fingernails itch for murder. If nobody else was going to do it, it was up to him to get rid of the vermin among humanity, and keep Morioh as beautiful and peaceful as it should be.

“I’m so sorry, my bus was a little late”, his visitor panted, and shot him a bit of an awkward smile as they approached his house with him. Kira knew he was obligated to forgive them, but he found himself staring at the wetness that was pooling on their forehead, debating if it was sweat or rainwater… would he have to wash them…?

“Please, no need to apologize… a few minutes don’t make a big difference, do they?”, Yoshikage smiled and took his shoes off before entering the building… luckily, his date was smart enough to do the same, or he’d have gotten pretty pissed off.

Just the thought of having them in his home made him pretty uncomfortable… Kira glanced down at his fingers, and noticed his nails had  already grown several millimeters from the stress. He felt disgusted… every time he let vermin into his house, he was extremely relieved once he erased them entirely. The unlucky person who happened to be the “vermin” Kira had laid his eyes on looked around his house with great curiosity, eyeing the furniture and decorations… Hm, surprisingly simplistic. The man was quick to gently pull them aside, and guide them to his living room.

“I’m so happy you made it”, he insisted.

“Please, have a seat while I prepare dinner for us.”

“Wonderful! Thank you, Yoshikage!”, the person plopped down on the couch rather loudly, making the office employee cringe inside. He hated being called by his first name by anyone but his father. Once again, his fingers began to itch, and he had to remind himself of why he was doing this… he had to stay calm if he wanted this to go smoothly. This kind of stress wasn’t good for him… Yoshikage needed to avoid anything that would cause him to lose sleep at night at all costs. He wanted his life to stay nice and quiet… inviting vermin to his house was the closest he’d ever get to committing risky murders.

But admittedly, he felt kind of excited thinking about the part that was still waiting for him… the best part of tonight. Dinner. He’d share an appetizer with his unwelcome date, mix a carefully prepared shrinking potion into their food, and have them as a little snack before the main course. He hummed to himself as he removed a wisp of blond hair from his face, and skillfully cracked open the top of the soft boiled egg he’d made before… Half of the still runny yolk was removed, and replaced with a few drops of the potion. Luckily, only a sip would be enough for his visitor to shrink to the size of a little mouse. Once again, he felt his stomach growl as he toasted the bread that he’d serve with it. Kira hushed his own belly and almost lovingly ran his hand across it.

Just be patient, my dear…

Before his visitor could snoop around his home any more, the serial killer brought the appetizer with the added potion to the table. He’d cut the bread up into even slices, and even brought a bowl for the shell, and a tiny spoon in the perfect size to eat the inside of the egg without spilling anything. His guest was pleased to see this, and chuckled lightheartedly.

“Oh, how cute! Thank you, Yoshikage!”

Once again, his first name... He dug his nails into his thighs as he sat down, hoping to prevent them from growing again this way. His urge to kill was almost unbearable at this point, and he found himself eyeing their throat, wishing to see blood gush out of it.

“Of course. I hope you enjoy. The soup will be finished soon.”

They seemed to be satisfied with that… Kira stared at their fingers as they broke the bread and dipped it into the egg… It felt like ages until they finally brought the slice towards their mouth and started eating. Yoshikage felt terribly on edge, like he was just waiting for something to spill… that would probably be what would cause him to spill as well.

“So, I take it you like to cook? Since you know, we could have just gone to a restaurant too! Not that I mind when you cook for me, don’t get me wrong! In fact, it’s nice to be here with you and not have to worry about the rain!”

“Please, be careful with the yolk, or you’re going to spill it all over yourself.”

Once again, the killer watched them drop the bread into their mouth… some orange liquid ran down their chin, which they quickly wiped up with their finger and sucked it off.

“You’re so prudent”, they chuckled, and began to dip more bread into their tiny egg… Kira could almost hear the shell cracking a bit farther, and the single drop of potion land on his table. He gritted his teeth.

“Careful. That’s messy.”

“Oh, ‘scuse me…”, and again… they wiped it up with their finger. There was a streak of yolk and potion visible on the wood of his table… Kira barely had the patience to wait anymore. Lucky for him, they’d swallowed enough of the potion for it to take effect at this point, and the blond man was delighted to see that their hands began to shrink.

For a moment, his date wore a confused expression on their face. Was it just them, or did the bread feel a bit bigger all of a sudden? And the egg? The entire table??

They looked over at Yoshikage Kira, and back down at their body. While watching the sleeves of their shirt growing longer and longer, they started stammering something the man couldn’t understand, but it made him chuckle. He had a feeling he knew what it meant.

“Oh dear… Looks like the main course is going to be served soon.”

“M-m-main- course-“

The helpless person desperately watched the world around them grow, including their date, who soon looked like a giant as he looked down at them with his sharp, blue eyes. Pretty soon, the poor soul was so tiny that their clothes pooled around them like an oversized blanket. Still confused, they attempted to squirm out of the fabric, but partly covered their body out of shame and fear when they saw Kira crouch down next to them.

“You’re bigger than I expected… I suppose I didn’t use enough of the mixture. But it’s alright. I can still swallow you with ease.”

Finally, it began to dawn on Kira’s victim. This guy…! They were the main course!!

“You lured me here because you want to eat me?!”, they squealed, and flailed about, trying to move away from him. How cute… as much as Kira wasn’t a fan of small animals, he always found it quite endearing when shrunken vermin was afraid of him.

“No, no. I didn’t lure you anywhere. You came here at your own accord, because you wanted to.”

“M-my people will notice when I don’t come home, you know?!”

“Oh, will they…?”, Kira chuckled lowly, the tone in his voice sent a shiver down his guest’s back.

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll just have to eat them as well, wouldn’t you agree?”

The serial killer reached out for the still squirming, tiny person, and firmly grabbed them, leaving them no room to escape. No matter how much they squealed, kicked and bit him, he made it pretty clear that he wasn’t going to let go, and firmly pressed his continuously growing fingernails against their small form to remind them how easily he could kill them.

“Y-you wouldn’t dare to…”

“Oh… Believe me, I would.”

Yoshikage lifted them towards his face, and made direct eye contact with them for several seconds before he parted his lips. Terrified, the person in his grasp stared at his teeth, his wet tongue, and the saliva dripping from the roof of his mouth… When they felt his warm breath on their skin, they immediately began to squirm again. They’d rather be pierced by his nails, or at least crushed than eaten!!

“No, no!!! Don’t eat me!!”

“No? What a shame”, Kira cooed.

“I remember you saying you’d do anything for me…”

“W-what?!”

“Don’t you remember?”, his icy gaze made them shiver.

“You said you’d do anything for me if you could only go on a date with me a single time… well, here you are… we went on a date. And now it’s your turn to give me what I want.”

“I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D FUCKING EAT ME!!!”, their piercing screech hurt Kira’s ears, and he honestly couldn’t wait until they’d be silenced by the strength of his stomach… but no, not yet. He squeezed them a bit tighter, and lowered his fist towards his belly, forcing the tiny person to push their head against him.

“Shh… do you hear this?”, Kira was almost whispering when he asked that.. The poor soul in his hand had no choice but to listen to the noise coming from his gut. Constant bubbling vibrated against them from underneath his belly button, and with the aggressive churning from his audibly upset stomach, it blended into a terrifying mixture. Was this where they were going to end up soon…?

“You’re making me feel stressed…”, the killer continued, and lifted them back up towards his face, giving them a surprisingly calm look.

“I don’t like feeling stressed at all. It influences the quality of my sleep at night… I hope you’ll be quieter once my stomach takes proper care of you. Squirming makes me very gassy… I hate waking up from my own belches, it’s rather embarrassing.”

“You’re nuts…!!”

That response only caused Yoshikage to chuckle, once again forcing the poor thing between his fingers to look at his teeth…

“Is that really how you’d like to be remembered? Don’t you have any… nicer last words to say?”

“No…!! No, please, don’t do this!!!”

He liked the sound of that much better already… The more Kira lowered them down towards his mouth again, the more they squealed and squirmed, but they had no chance against his powerful grasp… or his strong jaws. It was a little uncomfortable to slip them past his lips, but once he bit down and his teeth shut around them like an unbreakable metal door, the poor soul in his mouth knew their fate was sealed, no matter how much they struggled and kicked. All it got them was more thick saliva that coated their body, more wetness they slipped on, and more liquid that brought them closer to the throat they feared so much.

“Please, Yoshikage, I love you-“

Their voice didn’t even reach the predator’s ears anymore… After tilting his head back, Kira gulped down audibly, and the tiny person in his mouth slid down his throat as if it were a dark, tight waterslide. The strong muscles of his esophagus continuously worked them down, past his heart and lungs, and down into his stomach, where they were immediately greeted by humid air and deafening noise. Several of their bones had been broken on the way down. The scent of death crept up their nose, and made them want to vomit… All they could do was desperately gasp for air, and kick the lining of Yoshikage’s stomach. But their panic only coaxed out a small, pathetic belch, which could easily be covered up by three of his fingers.

“Excuse me. Your panicking makes me feel a bit bloated”, he chuckled to himself. Not that they could hear him from out there… his voice probably just sounded like intense rumbling to them. Finally, the blissful silence he enjoyed so much settled in his home again… Well, besides his active organs getting to work underneath his shirt. He patted his belly, satisfied with his meal… Now Kira had a tough decision to make… would he let them suffocate? Or would he immediately crush them with more food?

[jemej3m]

Bro. I love your writing. Will there pls be a part 3 for the radio show ficlet 🙈♥️

yes because im trash here it is

p.1 / p.2 / p.3

*

The first time Andrew stopped by Neil’s recording studio, FM-OX Studios, it was a brief moment of panic. He had a coffee in each hand, and buzzed his studio with his elbow. The door made a beeping noise and slid open for him, and he was confronted by the dark inners of a radio station. 

It occurred to him that despite his qualifications in media and communications, he’d never traversed into a real station. The reception desk was empty, the stairwell behind it scarcely lit. Andrew could still see the various photos, awards and promotional posters. It was odd connecting faces to voices: He hadn’t expected to recognise any of them, but one photo had him standing still. 

Kevin and a middle aged man with full sleeve tattoos were standing side-by-side at some sort of award ceremony. Kevin held an award. They shared the same tight-lipped smile and shadowed gaze, Kevin’s dark hair a youthful version of the man’s grey streaks. 

Andrew would ask Kevin about it, if he remotely cared about anything to do with Kevin’s strange realm of fame and glamour. The intrigue passed like a cold chill and Andrew kept moving up the stairs with no more than a disinterested huff.

He sidled past various closed offices and let himself into the main recording studio. 

It only occurred to him as he looked through the com-glass that he’d never realised how insane this was. Yes, Neil was a public figure, and if anything happened to Andrew, records of their calls would be on the working phones and presumably recorded in this public space. 

Still, Andrew had no idea what the man looked like. There was almost nothing on FM-OX’s online page on him, and there were certainly no photos of him. Andrew wasn’t going to know if he acted differently whilst on and off air. Andrew had almost no information on him, so what the fuck did he think he was doing, waltzing in like this? 

And then Andrew had looked through the glass. 

There he sat. Sitting under only the light of a lampshade, face illuminated by a programming screen as his hands moved across a soundboard. A phone sat to his left, and his hand tapped nervously by it, as if waiting for bad news. 

Movement through the glass had Neil looking to where Andrew was stood, frozen. A look of slight shock flit across the man’s face and he stood to let Andrew into the recording studio, taking the coffee from Andrew’s free hand. 

He was barely taller than Andrew was. 

“Hi,” He said, a little mesmerised that Andrew was actually there. 

Andrew only had to take one look at his decadent red curls, the dazzling blue eyes and distorted scars across his cheeks and hands before knowing he was absolutely fucked. 

Shit.

*

Neil cocked his head to the side as he considered Andrew, who dozed lightly in an armchair he’d dragged into the studio with his feet up on the recording desk. 

It wasn’t the first time Andrew had come in: He’d been here upwards of a dozen times by now. Neil was no less perplexed by the man, who spent most of his nights tending one of Columbia’s downtown bars. 

Neil had actually looked into the man’s qualifications. He’d come through at the top of his class and denied various offers for positions in news presenting and show hosting on various stations across the east coast, as far north and prestigious as New York. Andrew even turned down down a Los Angeles placement that would have put him on a path akin to Kevin Day’s. 

Neil was at a loss about the man. He never talked about presenting. He never considered a different life other than the one he’d garnered and bartered for. 

Really, Neil couldn’t quite pin down what they spent their time talking about. All Neil knew was that it was easy, just as entertaining as it had been over the phone. Andrew listened in on the phone calls with him and made rude remarks under his breath, of which Neil muted but wished he could keep on air. 

With November brought the holiday season, which always left Neil feeling a little hollow. Dan and Matt had invited him to spend Thanksgiving at theirs, but it felt like a little more than an intrusion: Neil still couldn’t see himself as their awkward, flighty coworker that they put up with because they didn’t have much of a choice. Radio didn’t stop for the holidays, but they’d insisted that he should put a pre-record on for the night and stay over. 

It lead him to some intriguing topics of conversation. Who was going to see their families for the holidays? Who’s family drama was the most insidious? What awful gifts have you received? What are you thankful for?

Neil talked about these on air, but the most coveted discussions were those with Andrew. Andrew, who looked at Neil from under his lashes as he let his fingers brush over the soundboard. Andrew, who texted Neil songs he’d found that fit the theme or style of Neil’s show. Andrew, who was both brutally honest and impossible to read. 

“What about you?” Neil asked one evening, letting his microphone go on mute as Billy Joel began playing. Andrew didn’t look at him or even acknowledge he’d spoken aside from the arch of a singular eyebrow. “What are your holiday plans?”

“My mother died when I was sixteen, I never knew my father, I havdn’t spoken to my brother since he moved to Chicago for med-school and my cousin lives away from his God-fearing parents in Germany with his husband.” Andrew said, spinning the Rubic’s cube in his hand. “Does that give you a clear enough answer?”

Neil hummed. “My father got locked up for life because of various reasons. My mother’s death was one of them. My only relations run gang operations between France and England. I think we’ve got the same sentiment there.”

Andrew finally stopped his fiddling and graced Neil with a heady gaze. “Let’s not talk about family.” 

“Let’s not.” Neil agreed. 

Andrew’s fingers reached out: They only just managed to brush gently across the scars on Neil’s cheek, the ones where his father and his assistant had cut bloody revenge onto his face for speaking out against him. 

Neil smiled hesitantly with the odd gentleness in Andrew’s touch. Censure passed between them, until Andrew jerked his hand away like Neil’s skin was scalding to the touch. 

The odd moment passed, being one of many. Eventually, he found that Andrew’s presence made his shifts pass quicker than normal: The toughest hours were the last, when exhaustion began to settle in. Andrew brought good coffee and quiet conversation, filling up the dark space that always swathed Neil whilst hosting. 

It’d been a long while since routine like this, involving and revolving around someone else, had felt comfortable, rather than paranoia inducing or guilt-inspiring. 

Neil put it down to the loneliness of the night shift, and assumed Andrew was there for the same reasons. 

*

“You should co-host with me one night.” Neil suggested, as they turned off the lights of the studio and checked the pre-recorded hour of music would carry over until Renee’s morning show. 

Andrew was particularly lethargic that night: He’d been growing more accustomed to the later schedules and was almost fully nocturnal at this point. But that night at Eden’s had been particularly gruelling, the slowness of the evening as people became more reluctant to go out due to the weather and the holidays. 

That was the only reason Andrew gave a half-hearted shrug, rather than a flat out no. It wasn’t that he’d already entertained the thought. It wasn’t that he’d watched the way Neil came alive when recommending music and talking to various callers, letting his sharp tongue kiss the cheek of death as he pointed out prejudices and subjective opinions. 

Neil’s hesitant smile was practically too good to deny. 

But being a co-host meant being administered into the payroll of Wymack’s various presenters. His studio wasn’t loosely run, but it wasn’t exactly a commandeered ship either: Andrew’s presence had been mostly unnoticed for about a month and a half. 

Six weeks, since Andrew had first walked in with coffee. Six weeks had been all it took for Neil to work up the nerve to ask him to present alongside him. Like presenting was a taboo between them, when they were together exclusively whilst Neil hosted his show. Andrew didn’t hate journalism and presenting. He couldn’t find enough interest in it to hate it. 

Andrew did hate Neil, though. He hated that he’d wormed his way past Andrew’s exterior and persisted, until Andrew’s resolve crumbled and Neil could see all of his ugly truths and scars. 

“I told Wymack I want to bring on an irregular co-host. That I’ve already found one.” Neil continued. 

“Didn’t think to ask me first?”

Neil raised his chin. “You can say no.” 

“Shut up.” Andrew muttered, angrier at himself than anyone else. If Kevin found out about this, Andrew was moving to New Zealand and studying fairy penguins for the rest of his life. “Fine.”

It’d only be temporary. Nothing more. 

“I thought that was my line.” Neil snarked, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. He looked relaxed. Andrew really wanted to lean over and kiss him. 

Oh, he thought vaguely. It wasn’t a new desire, but it’d never been so definite. That’s new. 

“Fuck off, Josten.” 

Neil only snorted.

He looked back to the phone that sat on Neil’s desk, and wished he’d never fucking called in the first place. 

*

we will get there I PROMISE