#although i thought i should try to minimize the ones that just boiled down to ‘weird rural family’

[yeahimaloser]

Wingless

Hello! So this was the fic I've been working on, and I just wanted to quickly say this is an AU-based fic (Kinda).

WARNING MANGA SPOILERS

So I understand what's going on in the manga, but I started this fic when Keigo was injured. so I wrote a fic about how Keigo and you would deal with him losing both his wings and a part of himself.

this story contains manga spoilers, as well as warnings of mental and physical abuse (kind of), hurt to comfort, mentions of Depression, blood, someone gets glass stuck in their hand, and therapy.

no pronouns are given to the reader. Word count: 7k

. . .

You practically ran through the hospital, not listening to the nurses and doctors as they told you to slow your pace. Your mind only screamed out for him, screaming for him to be alive, for him to just be okay. You could hear your heart thumping hard against your chest, tears spilling down your cheeks.

As you ran near his room, a doctor finally managed to stop you.

“Please, calm down! He’s in this room but I can not allow you in if you act like this. You will only stress my patient out more, and we have just managed to sedate him.” the doctor held out his hands as he spoke, trying to calm you.

Although, it clearly wasn’t working. Your eyes only shone more with brimming tears, your hands shook as the doctor spoke.

After a few minutes of you catching your breath and calming yourself down, the doctor told you that you were able to see him.

You felt as if your whole body was on fire as you walked through the doors to his hospital room.

The window that overlooked the city gave an impressive view (if it wasn’t in a hospital, you probably would have stopped and looked down at the city below). The bathroom, you could see, was on your left. There was even a vanity and a television in the room as well.

But you really didn’t have time to look around, your eyes were already focused on the man that lay on the hospital bed.

Machines were hooked up to him, tubes ran out of his skin every witch way. He was flipped on his stomach to accommodate his wings or lack thereof. Bandages covered almost every area you could see, the blood on them was minimal, yet they looked new, meaning they had been changed.

You rushed to his side, stopping only when the line of his IV almost collide with your foot.

“Keigo,” you said it so lightly you were afraid only you could even hear it.

But Keigo’s eyes shot open, looking up at you, “...Y/N?”

God, his voice was a raspy mess, it sounded as though it wasn’t even his.

If you could, you would break down right then and there. Crying over him, telling him you were there for him, that you would always be there for him, no matter the hardships he was sure to overcome. You wanted desperately to hold him, to whisper love-filled words to him, to wipe away the pain you knew he was feeling.

But you didn’t, you couldn’t.

You knew you had to be strong for him in that moment, and for all the moments yet to come. You knew that what was going to happen to you two would not be easy.

So you couldn’t cry, no matter how much you wanted to.

You lightly stroked his cheek, “I’m here Kei, I’m right here. I won't leave you.”

Silent tears ran down his face as he spoke, his voice cracking, “I’m sorry.”

----

After what happened with Dabi Toya, the commission tried their best to cover everything up, telling the public that Dabi had to be wrong. But the public eye was persistent.

The truth was out, there was nothing you or Keigo could do to stop it. Everyone knew about his name, his father, and what he had done to Twice, as well as the fact that he had lost to Dabi. You knew it would be hard for him to come back to that.

The media had always been a bit ruthless when it came to Keigo, but now, it was up by tenfold. They talked about how they believed that Keigo was not worthy of his hero title. A false hero they called him.

And Keigo?

Luckily, he didn’t hear very much of it. You made sure of that. You wanted him to rest, to let what had happened wash over him little by little, and you knew if he heard what the news had been saying about him, that he might never recover.

When Keigo was a bit more stable, he still rarely talked.

His eyes didn’t shine like they used to, his face, once so uplifting and beautiful, was marred with a long scar that he had on his face.

But no matter what, you stayed with him, no matter what, you would be by his side.

But seeing Keigo like this? It was unbearable.

He would only eat if you were there to persuade him, he would only look at you if you practically begged him to.

You knew it was a selfish want, you knew it was, but you wanted your Keigo back. You wanted the man who held you in his arms, telling you he would fly to the moon and back if it meant you would give him your love. You wanted the man that stopped at nothing to protect others, you wanted the man that smiled when the going got tough, you wanted Keigo.

But you had to accept that this was Keigo.

And you wouldn’t leave him, you couldn’t. He was always there for you when you needed him most, and you weren’t going to do the same.

After what had happened with Keigo, the commission thought it would be best to send him away, let the media storm die down, letting him also take time to heal his wings.

You had to fight them in order to come as well. At first, they told you that Hawks should just be concerned with getting his wings back and becoming “hero ready”.

You should have known. You knew, of course, that the HPSC was corrupted, but you didn’t think they were heartless. Yet, you were proven wrong.

You wished they could understand, you wished everyone could understand. Keigo was so loving and kind, you just wished people would understand that about him. What Keigo had to do to Twice… you knew he didn’t want to kill him, Keigo wasn’t like that. He didn’t take pleaser in violence, all he wanted was to see others happy.

And it made your blood boil that the higher up’s couldn’t understand.

You told them how Keigo needed someone to be his caretaker, and you would be the best candidate. You knew he wouldn’t object, you told them that you would work for free, seeing as he and you had been dating, as well as living together for the last few years.

Finally, with a lot of persuading, they agreed.

They sent you and Keigo to a remote location near the shores of Japan, seeing as they wanted Keigo to not remember the effects of the fight, and thought the best course of action was to send him so far out that he would have nothing to remind him of, “The Incident”.

The house was a small little thing, a lot smaller than what you and Keigo were used to at least.

It was close to the ocean, giving it a more country feeling rather than the city vibe you and Keigo used to live in. The smell of the ocean hit you full force when you two arrived, the salty, yet homie smell was a nice difference to the fullness of the air of the city.

The home had a total of seven rooms, all on the same floor.

The master bedroom had enough space, it fit a bed, a vanity, and a closet as well as a connection to the master bathroom. The walls were painted a low white, you wouldn’t call it cream however that was the closest rendition. The floors were all wood, you could feel the sand beneath your feet, you had a feeling the stuff would get everywhere.

There were three bathrooms, a guest room, a living room, and a kitchen.

The whole house honestly just felt...nice.

The floors felt grainy against your feet, but it felt weirdly cozy, kind of like how a beach house should feel. The carpeting was a bit musty for your taste, you had a feeling that would be your first project to do with the house. The couch was a bit too firm, you expected that, but still, it just needed to be worn in. The kitchen wasn’t big, but for two people, it would do.

You spent the first week moving in, all by yourself.

Keigo would only stay in bed, looking out the window, in some far-off world he was in.

You wanted to cry when you would walk into the master bedroom and see him upright on the mattress, not doing or saying anything, just staring, a shell of the man you once knew.

It made your heart clench though, normally, Keigo would always be the first to lend a helping hand, that was just his nature, to want to help. But this, this was something that broke you even more.

-----

The first few weeks were rough.

Not hard, just rough.

The only way you could even describe Keigo was just numb.

His eyes were sunken, his hair a tattered mess. His face was droopy, the once perfect-looking man now sat alone in bed, looking as though he was almost near death.

And his scar.

It served as a perfect reminder of what had happened, a symbol of the pain Keigo had gone through. You knew what he felt when he saw it, you knew what he was probably thinking when he looked in the mirror to have the long stripe of red and pink looking back at him.

Yet, you pretended not to notice.

He would barely say anything to you, choosing instead, to be silent.

For the first few days, it was hard to get him out of bed, hard for him to even eat anything.

On most days you found yourself sitting alone when you ate, going on walks by yourself on the sandy beach, watching TV all alone.

You missed him, it was hard not to. But you knew that this was hardest on Keigo, so of course, you let him have all the time he needed. Letting him sulk and wallow in his self-pity, letting his feelings shroud him. You felt as though you had to, he had every right to feel this way.

But it was hard.

It was hard having Keigo sleep in the master bedroom while you slept all alone in the guest, it was hard to be so silent in the house, it was hard living with someone who was basically a ghost.

One day though, you found him crying.

You quickly ran over to him, scared that he had somehow hurt himself. But he didn’t, nothing had happened to him.

But he sat straight up in his bed, shaking like he was cold, his hands wrapped around something you couldn’t see.

“Keigo, honey?” you asked carefully as you stepped into the room, “Is everything ok hun?”

But it was like he couldn’t even hear you, whatever he was holding, it certainly had his attention.

You walked slowly over to him, reaching out to him, like he was a wounded animal, “Keigo? What is it?”

Finally, you managed to see what it was.

It was a picture of him, of him with his beautiful red wings, smiling at the camera in his hero outfit, with one hand giving a thumbs up and the other around your waist.

In comparison to the picture, you could barely tell it was Keigo anymore. With his sunken eyes and hollow cheekbones, the scar is a stripe of change.

“Keigo I-” you took a deep breath, what were you supposed to even say? How could you even console him? How could you help ease his pain?

You couldn’t.

So you just held him, held him in your arms, trying to hide your tears from him, so he wouldn’t see you hurting as well.

. . .

But one day, when you were sitting on the porch of your borrowed home, watching the waves hit the sandy beach below, watching the sun as it hit the horizon.

It was bitter-sweet, you were all alone, watching the beautiful sight without anyone to share it with.

You sighed, contemplating whether or not to go back inside, but then... Keigo came.

It startled you, you weren’t expecting him to come off his bed, much less to see you.

He sat down in the nice little chair that was right next to you.

He didn’t say anything for a good few moments, but then, all of a sudden he spoke.

“The ocean looks really pretty, I like...I like being here with you.”

You were shocked, to say the least. Keigo had barely acknowledged your presence during this time, he hadn’t spoken to you at all during these few weeks. So to hear him say that...

You damn near cried.

You had been holding in your anxiousness and, overall, depression of not having Keigo back to his regular self. It was hard, that much was certain, but still, he was going through such a difficult time, you had to be there for him.

You quickly brushed the tear that had feel from your eye, “I-I like being here with you too.”

----

After that, things were...different.

Keigo was a bit more clingy, although, maybe you should say protective.

You would go out on your walks and would come home to him being upset, asking where you were, and fussing about you going out.

“Well, what if something happened? Just stay here.”

You asked the doctors about that, they told you how some patients latched on to certain things or people after a traumatic event, most of the time clinging desperately to what they felt was the only thing they had left.

They told you his newfound desire to be near you could be a sign of him getting worse, or it could be a sign he was getting better.

The doctor told you it was much more likely that Keigo needed something to hang on to, a sort of attachment. And again, they told you Keigo needed to see a therapist, he had so much trauma after the battle that you probably wouldn’t be able to handle it.

You knew that you should listen and that you probably couldn’t deal with Keigo all on your own. But still, you wanted to move at Keigo's pace, and you knew he needed time.

. . .

The first night you and Keigo spent in the same bed after what had happened was...strange.

Although you two lived in the same little beach house for a month now, you two haven't slept next to one another, you weren’t sure Keigo was ready just yet.

And yet, he was the one who asked you.

It happened on a normal day, while you were making dinner when Keigo spoke.

“Hey...Y/N..” you turned back to him, giving him your full attention, “Could we….could we try sleeping together? I know...I know it’s been some time but-”

“Yes!” you hastily accepted, “I mean...only if you want to.”

And so, you found yourself curled up next to Keigo, feeling him cuddled up to you, which was nice of course, but his body felt stiff like it didn’t want to be close to you.

The whole experience was… different. Normally, Keigo would wrap his arms around you, holding you against him, holding you securely and tightly, like you knew he wouldn’t let you go.

But this, this was different, but you should have expected that by now. You should have known that, now, it was so unlikely that you would ever see the old version of Keigo again.

And then it was there again, that slap of guilt, that pang of hurt at your own thought. How could you think that? Keigo was hurting, and you were upset that he was in pain?

You bit your lip, quietly willing yourself not to cry.

------

Keigo’s mood swings would happen randomly, with no merit at all.

One moment, he was blindly looking at the TV, the next he would be offering to help with dinner, then the next he was screaming at you to add more pepper to the onions.

When his first outburst happened, you blamed yourself.

You had left Keigo for what only seemed like a moment, going outside to feel the air on your face, wanting to just get out of the stuffy little cottage.

You were just watching from the porch when you heard it.

The sound of glass shattering.

You whipped your head to the sound, to find it coming from inside.

You rushed inside, running towards the kitchen.

“Keigo!” you cried out.

You stopped at the doorway to the kitchen, looking down at Keigo on the floor.

A glass of some sort had broken in Keigo’s hand, from what you could tell. It seemed like he had gotten some of it stuck in his hand, blood dripped onto the floor, sticking to the hardwood floor.

Keigo just stared, his eyes the most lively you’ve seen them in weeks. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even acknowledge your presence, just staring at his hand, looking at the blood as it dripped...dripped...dripped.

And then, he screamed.

It was so loud and so unexpected you quickly covered your ears, trying to block out the head-splitting sound.

When you finally regained your composure, you rushed down to Keigo's side, trying your best to help him.

But Keigo shoved you away.

“No! Stop! Go away! I-I don’t wanna hurt anymore! Stop it, leave me alone!” he scooted away from you, holding out his palms, trying to make you leave.

But you wouldn’t.

Slowly, you spoke, “Keigo, I need to help you, ok? I’m not here to hurt you, baby, I’m Y/N, I love you.”

You inched closer and closer as Keigo hiccuped and sniffed.

“Stop it! Don’t c-come any closer!”

You stilled, only for a moment. Then, you moved forward again.

“Honey, I have to clean your wound, please baby.”

Keigo’s breath still raged, but he let you come closer.

Before you even looked at the wound on his hand, you gave him a light kiss on the cheek. Keigo was shocked, flinching a bit at first.

You carefully picked up his hand, observing it lightly. The glass pricked his hand, but the overall damage wasn’t all that bad, it might have been worse if you hadn’t rushed to him.

You took a deep breath, “Keigo, I’m gonna need to remove the glass-”

But Keigo cut you off, “No no no no no, please. Please, I don’t wanna get hurt again. Please.”

“Keigo,” you stroked your cheek lightly, “it’s ok, it’s me, it’s Y/N.”

You purse your lips, thinking for a moment, “Remember when I got that splinter from the hardwood at that crummy hot spring? And remember how you had to pull it out? And remember how scared I was?”

He thought for a moment as if the memory was buried deep inside him, a lifetime ago. He nodded, tears still running down his face.

“It’s gonna be like that, ok? Quick, and I’ll be right there with you, just like you were for me.”

After a moment, Keigo nodded.

You made quick work of the glass, helping Keigo through the little whimpers and hiccups he let out.

Keigo was never like this before, never fighting over glass in his hand, he was a hero, he dealt with pain daily. But this Keigo was beyond damaged. He was ripped in half, put through more pain than you would ever understand, the mental strain of that had to be so much, it had to weigh on him.

The thought only made your resolve stronger, only made your need to see Keigo get better that much more secure.

After you had bandaged his hand, kissing his knuckles and wrist softly in order to calm him down, you noticed how exhausted he was.

“Do you wanna go and take a nap, Kei?”

He nodded.

You walked him to the room, helping him to bed.

You planted a small kiss on his lips before moving away to leave.

But Keigo caught the fabric of your shirt, pulling on it lightly, “Wait.”

You turned back to face him, “Yeah. what's up Kei?”

“Um, could you...join me?”

Your body perked up. This was one of the first times he had seemed...needy for contact with you. Sure, he still slept next to you, but you figured that was mainly due to some comfortability. But the way Keigo was looking at you right now? His eyes softened with desperation, his body, while still heavy with drowsiness, had enough strength to pull you to him. He seemed to genuinely want you to stay.

You smiled, a real, genuine smile, “Of course I can Keigo.”

You slid into the spot next to him, and Keigo had his arms immediately around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His face nuzzled softly into your neck, his whole body trapping you in a needed embrace.

You played with his hair, giving yourself a mental note that you needed to wash it and brush it out later.

That's when you heard the sniffling in your neck.

“Kei,” you said gently, “what’s wrong?”

It took a few labored breaths for Keigo to respond, “I’m sorry.”

At first, you were confused. What did Keigo have to be sorry about? He had done nothing wrong to you, he hadn’t said anything bad to you, the most he had really done was worry you. But he continued.

“I’m sorry for being so weak, for letting myself get like this, it’s all my fault. And I’m sorry I’m a burden for you, I know how much you loved me, how much you loved being with a strong hero,” he took another shaky breath before continuing, “But I can't. I can’t do it anymore. It hurts so bad. And now, no one wants me. I’m a failure, they’re right,” Keigo squeezed you tighter as if you would leave him too, “I’m a false hero. I failed everyone, the commission, my friends, Tokoyami. And you,” he looked back up at you, “why are you even here? I’m useless now, why can’t you see that? Why won’t you just leave? It would be better for you.”

You hadn’t even realized you had been crying before you felt how shaky your voice was, “No. Keigo that’s not true, I love-”

But he cut you off, “No!” he bolted upright, “Stop it! Stop it Y/N! I’m not who you love, that Keigo is dead and gone, look at me! I’m a shell of who he was, I’m the failure he left behind! Christ Y/N, I fucking broke down because I had fucking glass in my hand!”

He cupped his ears, seemingly trying to block out some sort of noise that you couldn’t even hear. Rocking back and forth lightly, his bandaged hand squeezing hard on his left ear.

“Keigo stop it,” you tried to get his hand away, “you're going to hurt yourself!”

After fighting him for a moment, you finally got him to put his hands down. You pulled him to you, placing his head on your chest as you calmed him down.

“Kei,” you said after a long stretch of silence, “I love you, and I’m not leaving you.”

Keigo hiccuped, “B-but.”

You shushed him, “No but’s. I’m here to stay, it’ll be hard, I know that, but I can’t leave you.”

For the first time in God now’s how long, Keigo reached up and kissed you.

It wasn’t a light, small little peck either, it was a sloppy, desired-filled kiss. You were shocked at first, seeing as how he was yelling at you a second ago, but you let yourself indulge a bit. You craved Keigo, missed his lips, his strong, protective hands that run up your body, you just missed him really.

Your hand moved down to his chest, pulling him deeper. His hands grabbed onto your hips, pulling you more in.

His teeth clashed against yours, and maybe it was because you two haven't done this in so long, or it was because neither of you cared.

You couldn’t help but let out a small moan as Keigo pushed more against you, pushing you near the head of the bed.

After a few moments of the kiss, you pulled away.

“Please,” Keigo whispered lightly, “Please don’t leave me.”

------

After that, the situation with you and Keigo became so much more complicated.

Keigo would become so irritable, that you had to stand outside for hours just for him to calm down.

But the worst was when he acted so apologetic afterward, saying his, “I’m sorry”’s over and over again, sputtering about how he would, “do better.”

Of course, you felt like absolute shit, wanting to scream, to cry, to leave even. But you couldn’t. Keigo was in so much pain, you had to be strong now, you had to be there for him like he had been for you. You shoved down your tears, fighting the urge to scream and cry, waiting out your feelings.

Was it a bad coping mechanism? Yes. But you already felt so useless, you didn’t want to be a burden too.

For a while, you had hoped that he would help himself get better, you had hoped that he really was trying to get better and understand how to help himself more, but as time went on, you saw how naive you were.

You realized that Keigo was almost beyond repair, some days he would be silently upset, not talking or saying anything. While others you could hear it in his voice.

While some days you came into your shared room to see him curled up on the bed, crying and whimpering. And then there was you, unable to help, unable to tell him how, “it would be ok,” how, “I’m here for you, Kei.”

Because you knew he wouldn’t listen.

And yet, he would never yell at you, never scream or degrade you, he would only seem to be mad at...himself.

Yet, it was strange, because he seemed to grow more and more protective of you.

If you were to leave the house, he would become upset, saying how; “You could have gotten hurt, next time either take me with you or stay...please.”

It was strange how he always asked, how he never demanded.

But today, today was different.

You had noticed that Keigo was especially irritable, so you decided to just stay out of his way. Deciding to work on meal prep, because of Keigo’s accident the doctors told you to watch his meals carefully, making sure he eats a well-balanced meal each and every day.

Maybe Keigo would calm down, maybe today could still be ok, maybe you could salvage the day and make it a good one.

But that was before the broadcast.

. . .

You were outside that day, watching as the sun showned on the ocean.

You wished silently that Keigo could have enough strength to come out and see it with you. Yet, you didn’t push him.

Keigo, on the other hand, was watching some TV. Well, "watch" was a strong word. Keigo’s eyes were far off again, You never asked him what he was thinking about, but you knew it had to be something but what happened.

As you watch the waves crash against the shore, and the sun slowly sets, that's when it happened.

The broadcast.

At first, the broadcast was only just a news reporter talking about how; “us as a society must look forward, through these dark times.” Talking about the loss of certain Hero’s and civilians alike.

but the segment right after that, that's what sent Hawks into his spiral.

“And now, what has happened to the pro hero known as Hawks? And I posed a question to all of our viewers out there, should he be forgiven? Can a man who ruthlessly killed someone, even a villain, be considered a hero?”

You weren't there when the news reporter posed the question, you were only there for the aftermath.

At first, Keigo was in shock, and then, his outburst happened.

It was the worst outburst since the accident. He was screaming, yelling, hitting anything, he just needed some way to get his anger out.

When you heard the commotion, you immediately ran inside, worried that something may have hurt him. But as you went inside, you realized that there was nothing wrong, at least not from what you could see. But to Keigo, everything was wrong.

When you came in, all you could hear was yelling, “What was it all for?! I just...I just wanted to help!”

You were stunted into silence, only being able to watch from afar.

It was like you couldn’t move, your body glued down to the floor, unable to help Keigo.

And then, he hit the TV, hard.

And that's when you finally spoke.

“Keigo stop!”

You rushed forward, grabbing his arm from hitting the wall.

You latched on to him, “Keigo please, please honey just calm-”

But it was too late, and before you knew what was happening, Keigo had thrown you on the ground.

You landed on your hands, cushioning your fall, but that didn’t mean it hurt.

For a moment, everything was still, everything was silent. Keigo wasn’t yelling, he wasn't screaming, and when you looked back up, the only thing you saw was true horror and guilt.

You panted lightly, your eyes blown wide as you stared back up at Keigo.

“...Y/N-”

What was he to say?

He didn’t know.

“K-Keigo,” you were at a complete loss for words.

After a few more minutes, you stood back up. You took one, shaky breath, before you spoke.

“Keigo, I’m sorry. I-I...I can’t do this right now. It’s just… this is all too much for me right now. I think I need to clear my head.”

You moved past him, not even looking him in the eye. How could you? Your mind was a mess, a thousand thoughts jumbled through your brain.

You opened the door quickly, taking your car keys before you left, refusing to look back.

----

The ocean waves looked stunning in the sunlight, it might have been the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

At least, you would have if the tears in your eyes weren’t blocking out your vision.

And your head wouldn’t stop spinning. Was Keigo ok? Should you go back? Could you even go back? What would you even say to him?

No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself that leaving Keigo behind was for the best, that you two just needed to be away from each other, you felt like your heart was being slowly stabbed through with needles, one for every second away.

You sniffed, wiping away your tears with the back of your palm.

There had to be a way Keigo could get better, some way you could help. But every thought eluded you, how could you help someone so far gone?

You thought back to the doctor's suggestion of getting a therapist, maybe it was time. Keigo was getting too out of hand for you, and as much as you loved him, you knew that this was hurting him as much as you.

A sigh escaped your lips, why did this have to be so difficult?

And that thought came to you again.

Why couldn’t he just be himself again?

You shivered at your own selfish, hurtful thoughts. Keigo was still him, he just needed help, and thinking about how much you wanted the old him back wasn’t going to help him or you. And it wasn’t fair either, to expect that after what happened he would just be fine.

You knew you would always be there for him, but you supposed you didn’t think it would be this hard.

You placed your face in your hands.

How the hell could you help him? You felt as though Keigo was on the edge of a mountain, and you were the only thing he could grab onto, but now, he was pulling you down with him.

A small, shaky sigh escaped you.

Crunch, crunch.

Footsteps. Fast approaching, almost running.

You cocked your head up, preparing to be kicked off whoever's land that you were on (considering how you just decided to drive to the middle of nowhere).

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought that this was public-”

But you stopped mid-sentence.

There stood Keigo, tears streamed down his cheeks, his panting breaths and sweat glistening from his body must have meant he came all the way out here on foot.

Your eyes widened in surprise, but before you could get a word in, Keigo had bent down to you.

“Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, still in shock, “N-no.”

He sighed, but his face concentrated like he was thinking too hard, “I’m sorry.” and then, a long, silent pause, “I don’t...I don’t know what else to say.”

“...I don’t either,” you looked back up at him again. “You could have really hurt me, and I just don’t know how to deal with all this. I don’t know how to deal with...you.”

Keigo flinched, the implications of your words stung.

“It’s just...I want to be there for you, I really do, but it’s so hard,” you looked down tears threatening to escape, “I love you s-so much, b-but,” a silent hiccup went through you, “I don’t know how to help anymore.”

Keigo stayed silent, his words trapped under his tongue. He also didn’t know what to do, he didn’t know what to say. He wanted to help himself too, but he knew deep down he couldn’t. He didn’t know how. But he hated what he was doing to you, he hated what he was making you go through.

“Keigo,” he looked back up at you, “Do you still love me?”

Keigo stared wide-eyed back to you, his words at a loss. “I- of course, I do Y/N-”

“Then why don’t you say it?”

He paused, “...What do you mean?”

You sighed, “Have you noticed that ever since what happened, you’ve not been able to say ‘I love you,' to me? Because I have. Each morning I wake up, and I always say, ‘good morning Kei, I love you,’ and you never say it back. It feels like I’m just invisible to you. I don’t want to look at you as something to fix, or as something to make me feel miserable, but I can’t live with someone who just sees me like a ghost.”

It took a while before Keigo finally responded.

“I don’t see you as a ghost,” he said, his voice as low as a whisper, “it’s that I see me as the ghost. I lost...I lost a big part of me in that fight.”

Subconsciously, he reaches back to his used-to-be wings, his fingers flinching when nothing is there.

“Keigo, you are not your wings.”

“How can you say that when everything I was...was built off of them?”

You leaned forward, a hand placed lightly on his cheek, “Your wings did not build our relationship, we did. And we still have each other. Your wings were never the reason I loved you, your wings were always just a part of you, they were never you.”

Keigo looked back at you, placing a hand on top of yours. After a few, dragged-out moments, Keigo leaned into you. But not before whispering lightly on your lips, “I do love you, Y/N.”

. . .

Things were hard, but they were better.

It had been three weeks since the accident that happened with you and Keigo. He agreed to go to a therapist, after what happened with you two, he wanted to get help.

What neither you nor he expected though, was for his therapist to also recommend you get help as well.

In his words; “After understanding the stress that Mr. Takami has gone through, as well the details that he has shared with me, I believe that it is necessary for you to also have some sort of mental treatment. Keigo was not in the right state of mind for a very long time, and you were the only person here to look after him. I believe you first need to talk about your problems separately and then move on to couples therapy. Some of the actions Mr. Takami has put you through may have had negative effects on your psyche.”

Although that was a shock to you, Keigo visibly became more saddened after that.

After the conversation with the therapist, Keigo even offered to move out of your shared room.

“If- if you’re uncomfortable with me being here, I can take the spare room.”

You only shook your head no, saying, “I’m not uncomfortable sleeping next to you, Kei, we’re in this together.”

And you were.

Keigo went to his therapist, as did you. At first, you weren’t sure, seeing as Keigo and you would see the same person and how that may make a conflict of interest, but he assured you that Keigo dealt with trauma relating to his fight, as did you of course, but your trauma and anxiety was more based upon him.

So, you made it work.

After a while of one-on-one counseling, you moved to couples therapy.

It was hard, mostly for Keigo, because he didn’t want to admit to himself, or you, that he had hurt you as much as he did.

So, you opened first.

You talked about how scared you were of losing Keigo, not just physically but mentally, how it hurt you that some days he wouldn’t talk to you. You even opened up about missing the old him.

It seemed like when you first opened your mouth, everything just came pouring out.

And so, after you explained your side, slowly, Keigo started to explain his.

He explained how he didn’t want to hurt you, but how he just couldn’t help himself in that moment. He felt like everyone was turning on him, abandoning him, he thought it was only a matter of time before you. And he couldn’t handle how that thought chased him, his mind just became so jumbled and uncertain.

But he wanted to get better, to show you the man you deserved.

Soon, you came to realize how your relationship would never be the same since that day, how you had lost a part of Keigo, and how Keigo had lost a part of himself. And that part, that part split you two, like a deep cut, and now you two had to sew it back together, and you both knew it would be hard.

Losing that part of your life took time, it took practice and understanding, it took watching Keigo wake up in a nightmare, watching as he screamed and all you could do was hush him and stroke his cheek softly as you told him how you were there, even as tears slipped down your cheeks as well.

But you let them, you let yourself show him that you were sharing the pain, that you were together in this.

Keigo was hurting, you knew that, but as your therapist told you; “You are grieving, grieving for that Keigo that died in that battle, and not only are you grieving, you are also trying your best to take care of someone who was already so broken that now they might as well be shards of the vase they once were.”

But that didn’t stop you from explaining how you felt selfish and terrible, how you felt like you were a bad person for feeling upset, for wanting Keigo to go back to you.

After each therapy session, you two would go out and sit on the porch, not doing or saying anything, because you both realized you had said plenty before.

. . .

After a year since then, things had gotten significantly better.

Keigo and you understood the inner workings of your relationship, not only that, you both understand each other a lot better. Understanding how you both needed one another, how you two could only grow to help each other.

Almost a year has passed since the incident with Dabi, a year since Keigo “lost” his wings.

But his wings were back, and he was back.

Although, maybe not fully.

Keigo was almost like a different vision of himself, a more, down to earth, real version of who he was.

Maybe, it was the person he always was, but just never could show it.

With you, he was the most caring he’s ever been.

Watching as you fell asleep in his arms, creasing your body oh-so-perfectly as he kissed you deeply, his sing-song praises in your ear. He loved you so much.

And you, you helped him grow as well. Being there for him, watching him, helping him.

You never left him, you carried out your promise to yourself, keeping him with you no matter what. You loved him so much, and you were so happy to see how he healed.

And here you both were, Watching as the sunset, as the ocean waves tied down, the sun Illuminating the water passing over.

You watched as Keigo’s eyes lit up in the bright light, his scar’s still reflecting the hard past that he's been through, and yet, reminding you how lucky you are.

At that moment you leaned in, giving him a light peck on his cheek.

Keigo turned to you, before laughing, “Why did you do that?"

"Because... I just realized how lucky I am to have you. Thank you, Keigo.”

"There's no need to thank me, dove," he said, kissing you as well "I'll always love you, and I always will be thankful that I have you as well."

[thenextchapter22]

Angel of the Three Realms

Description: You were an Angel who went to the human world to escape punishment for loving Lucifer only to be brought back into his life, this time in the Devildom where you pretend to be human.

Warnings: Unrequited Love, Angst, WIP

Pairing(s): Lucifer/Reader

Word Count: 5334

Link to my AO3: Click Here

Author’s Notes: I’m pretty happy with how this story is going so far, and I really hope you enjoy reading it. I posted all the chapters I had written on AO3 here in one post, so expect a different post for the new chapter coming soon ;)

_+_

You had been in the Devildom for 6 months and it was going pretty well. You did above average in classes, got along with all of the brothers and the other students (although Solomon was strange and trusting him was a bit of a stretch). The only difficult part was being around one specific demon brother… Lucifer.

He had no idea who you really were. And how could he? It had been centuries upon centuries since he’d seen you, and he probably thought you dead after all that happened. He, in all probability, forgot all about you. That made you a little bit sad considering what he was to you.

Long before the Great War you had lived in the Celestial Realm. You were an Angel of God. A pure-hearted, innocent creature born with nothing but kindness in your heart. And the Angel assigned to you at your birth to train you and show you the way of the world was Lucifer Morningstar, the Light of the Heavens.

He brought you up. He was your whole life, always there to correct you if you were wrong, praise you when you were doing well, and he never failed in making you smile. Yes, you knew his brothers. Mammon especially, he was a good-hearted being who always protected you. And he did the same in the Devildom, so nothing had really changed there. But Lucifer was your main protector.

When you fell in love with him, you knew things would be difficult. How could you not fall in love with such a kind person, who always looked after you and his brothers, who always showed you so much attention despite what else he had to do?

It was forbidden for Angel’s to fall in love with other Angel’s. Why, you did not know. Love was something that should be allowed for all. It wasn’t easy living with this love, knowing if you let it free, that if you did tell Lucifer you loved him, you might be punished. Maybe even erased from existence. Your father wasn’t usually so cruel and hate wasn’t often found in Angels, but you hated him. You never wanted to hear him speak to you again. And so, with no way around it, you had to leave.

You fell to the Human world where you started a new life. And a new life again. And another new life after that. Always moving, changing, adapting. Humans were inventive and inquisitive by nature. You never lost the love in your heart for Lucifer, but you had a new life on Earth’s surface that you fell in love with, too. Eventually, this love favored the first, and you moved on, albeit regrettably. Occasionally you wondered how he was doing, and if he ever thought of you.

To say you were shocked when you first got dragged into this realm was an understatement. And you made the split second decision to go along with it all, pretending to be human. Was it stupid? Maybe. But you had spent so long being human, you couldn’t stop now. You knew of the war, you knew of the Angel’s falling to the Devildom, but seeing Lucifer, two wings less and darkened, ruby red eyes still as bright, and a curious black crystal on his forehead, was a shock. He was so beautiful in his new darkened form.

The love sprouted once more. And once more, you hid it. The pain in your heart was tenfold being close to him again in almost the same roles as before. He was your confident, your go-to in this Realm. He made sure you were treated well. Lucifer looked after you like his own blood, stricter than he used to be, and he looked tired most of the time. His newfound loyalty for Diavolo was strange, but you supposed it was a good thing being close to the eventual Demon King (where the current one was, no one knew).

Now, sitting in your quaint little room, looking at the sky, all you could think about was home. Home, the human world home.

One thing you missed was flying. In the Human realm you could visit the snowy mountains and fly around with some of the magic you were able to hold onto to cloak you in case humans saw. Before cameras you didn’t care to do that, but now you couldn’t risk it. Here it was impossible. Someone would sense the magic and find you out, and then what would happen. You didn’t want to think on it.

Another thing was your wings were itching. Grooming was hard throughout the years, but you found friends in the animals of the world, mostly the winged creatures. Owls were your closest friends in the animal kingdom. They helped pluck the old feathers as well as the twisted ones, and in turn you helped them however you could. Having not groomed them in almost 7 months now…

You longed to let them free, but could not. 6 more months and you would go back. But did you want to? Leave Lucifer, this place? You were learning so much from everyone. Lord Diavolo really wanted peace between all and it was incredible how he was connecting all types of beings. Demons, humans, warlocks, Angels.

Angels. Surprisingly, Simeon did not realize what you were. Or if he did, he never spoke up. Angels were pretty observant of other Celestial magics and you were using that to hide your wings daily and nightly here. At first it was only daily, up until Mammon barged into your room and demanded to sleep with you (not in that sense, thankfully) so you very quickly hid them. Lucky you hadn’t been asleep fully.

Wincing, you stretched your arms above your head. It was nearing midnight and you could not sleep from the pain that was ever growing the more you moved around. Maybe a late night snack would help, or something warm to drink.

Venturing to the kitchens, you were unsurprised to see Beel stacking a plate, his mouth stuffed with food.

He quickly swallowed and smiled at you. “Hi. It’s late, can’t sleep?”

You shook your head, smiling softly. “No, I thought I’d get something to eat or drink.”

Beel was so kind to you. You never had many interactions with him above, but when you saw him he always smiled and waved at you, his younger twin attached to his hand. They were inseparable. Nothing had changed with that. Only that Beel ate a lot, and Belphegor slept a lot. It was quite adorable.

“There’s some milk if you want to heat it up. I heard human’s do that to help them sleep. Or I could ask Belphie to help you?”

No, that wouldn’t be a good idea at all. Who knows what being put under by him would do, it may release the magic on your wings from too deep a slumber. “Thank you. I’ll try the milk first and then see.”

He nodded. “Okay. Night then. If I doesn’t work you can come to our room.” And he walked away with his plate of food, munching as he walked.

Chuckling, you shook your head. “Goodnight!” you called to his back.

The pain in your back was growing worse. Warm milk wouldn’t help much, you needed your wings to be freed. You grit your teeth as you moved about the kitchen, feeling the veil of magic rippling at your back. You set a pot of milk on the stove and heated it.

Moving about the kitchen was making you pant, and you had to brace your arms on the counter, keeping your back straight to try and keep the pain minimal.

“Hnng. Fuck.” Yes, in the human world you grew to love curse words. Your father never took your wings away or your immortality, so he must not have cared. Or maybe he didn’t notice.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Lucifer’s voice rang out in the echoed kitchen.

You stood up so quickly the pain was incredible. You felt your body tremble, and you longed to sprout your wings to ease some of the aching.

Lucifer wrapped his arm around your waist, and you held in a scream. He furrowed his brows and let go, instead taking your hand and squeezing it. “What can I do to ease your pain?”

You panted. “N-nothing. Please just g-go.”

He shook his head. “No, I won’t leave you like this. What ails you?”

Damn him and his kind heart. “You can’t fix it, I just have to deal with the pain for now.”

He helped you sit, but you did so stiffly and kept a perfectly straight posture. His hand never left yours. “I won’t accept that. There must be something we can do. Tell me what happened. Did you fall? Are you ill?” He pressed the back of his hand to your forehead, then down across your cheeks. “You have no fever but your face is contorted in pain.”

This was unbearable, having him coddle you when all you wanted was to jump into his arms and have him take care of you. He used to groom your wings when you were growing up, and he showed you how to do the same. His gentle fingers running through your feathers put you in a trance and he used to tease you about it.

Lucifer only wanted to see you well. The problem was, you could not allow it, lest he find out your secret. “I’m sorry, Lucifer,” you whispered. “Really I am. If I could let you help me, I would in a heartbeat.”

The pot with milk was over boiling now, and he quickly stood the take care of it. You lowered your face to the table and grit your teeth, sharp pricks at your back causing spasm after spasm. Tears fell from your eyes. The pain was steadily increasing, and you did not know why the timing of this had to be this way. Why he had to be the one to see you in such a state.

His hand on your shoulder squeezed lightly once before letting go. “Let me at least help you to bed.”

Bed, yes, that sounded fantastic. “Okay…”

He held your hand and kept one hand wrapped around your lower half, resting on your hip. It wasn’t near the area where your wings sprouted from so he could place his arm across you there without making you cry out in pain.

The trip back to your room was long and grueling. Lucifer kept a good hold on you, whispering softly each time you sobbed out a curse word or cried.

“I have you, sweetheart, take your time.”

You wished you could just tell him everything. How you were not human, why you were in so much pain, that all you ever wanted was to kiss and hold him and express your love. But you could only press you cheek to his chest and have him guide you to your room where he tucked you under the sheets and comforter.

You curled on your side, gazing at his dark figure towering over you. “Don’t leave me, stay…”

“I’ll stay with you, I promise.” He stroked his fingers over your trembling brow, and, with shock on your pained expression, he kissed the very same place gently, lips soft and warm.

You began to cry, overwhelmed with pain and emotion. He shushed your cries and wiped away the wetness under your eyes. “Don’t cry, my dove, just sleep and rest.”

Lucifer’s kind face, hovering inches from your own, was the last you saw before you fell asleep. The pain luring you into a dreamless slumber.

Waking up some hours later, you felt exhausted. The sun was rising through the window. Sweat gathered on your body. It was apparent what would happen the second you became aware. You had trouble keeping the magic holding your wings in. You shut your eyes with a sigh, and succumbed to the feeling of letting it all go. The choice was no longer your own, the magic was leaving you, and the wings you kept concealed away would burst free any minute.

They would all know. And you only hoped they wouldn’t despise you for what you hid from them. You prayed for the first time since falling from the skies that Lucifer would forgive you.

_+_

Lying in bed, coated in cooled sweat, waiting for the inevitable to happen, was honestly one of the worst things you had experienced. Considering you had chosen to fall from Heaven, that said a lot. It was right up there with loving Lucifer and not having the ability to tell him lest you be cast out or killed, and with the first days you had on the surface world where you had been so lost and alone, scrambling from town to town trying to find a place to belong.

The agony suffocated you. It effected your breathing, which was staggered and strained, and your muscles were tense. You felt a fever building inside of you as you tried to hold on and not go into shock. Your magic was like a thin sheet of breakable glass waiting to shatter. With all your strength, which was not much, you grasped onto it, wanting to keep normal for even just a little longer.

You shivered as you watched the sun rise higher in the window above your bed. It was red and bright and large, blinding you, but it kept you focused on one thing instead of being reminded of what would happen in the next hours, or even minutes.

The secrets would be out for all to see. You would either be cast out of the Devildom, possibly struck down by Diavolo for your lies, or maybe Barbatos would erase you from time itself. The thought was terrifying.

The only people you knew who wouldn’t hurt you or despise you were Simeon and Luke, and that was only because they were Angels. The possibility they would hate you was 1 in a million.

You moved to lay on your stomach. Slowly but surely you found a position that wasn’t too excruciating. Now you just waited. Time wasn’t something you looked at, even with the clock right there on your bedside table. It must’ve been time for everyone to be heading to breakfast by now. Lucifer would probably come to check on you as he had put you to bed last night. But you wondered who would see you first, and how they would react.

The magic was rippling, shaking around you. If you let it go voluntarily or not it would be the same result either way. Maybe if you had just let it go a few nights ago it wouldn’t have been so bad. But it was too late to dwell on the past.

Celestial magic exploded around you, and your wings burst from your back. You screamed, fingers clutching the pillow you pressed your face into. Your head spun, and your wings felt like the most fragile part of you, as if it was the first time they had been free. There was a scent of your blood in the air along with the scent of Celestial magic, a bitter coppery smell with a hint of cool air and crackling lightning. White feathers scattered around you, some tinged with blood. The air was like static electricity. Your wings lay limp, cascading down the bed to the floor. Tears filled your eyes, and you were sure you bit your tongue.

“Nnnggg…” you groaned, keeping still so as not to cause any more pain.

You had no idea how long you lay there. Twitching occasionally, throat clenched and burning. Eventually frantic knocks came on your door, and although your ears were ringing you heard the demon brothers’ voices asking for you, making sure you were okay, wondering what had happened. Why they couldn’t get in was strange, until you realized your magic had exploded outward and created a barrier that blocked the door.

“Move so I can open the door.” Lucifer. He sounded angry.

His infernal magic pressed to your own, and his power was greater than yours so it took no time at all for the door to fall.

You blearily glanced to the open doorway, the door flat on the floor broken off the hinges. And there he stood in all his demon glory. Light bringer Morningstar reversed, dark energy radiated from him. You watched as a smoky fog emerged from the diamond on his forehead. Was this the source of his power, where he held all his magic? The other’s stood behind him in a bundle, all in demonic forms, and all with shocked expressions at seeing you as you truly were meant to be. An Angel, albeit a broken one.

“H-how—?” Lucifer stepped in further, confused and wary. He glanced at your bent and bloodied wings, and then at your face. Searching for something, an answer maybe. You knew that there was no halo, that was something that disappeared as soon as you fell, but your skin was most likely changed, glowing with the light of Heaven, and your eyes no doubt were brightened as well. “How is this possible?”

You shut your eyes, your body shutting down. You couldn’t keep awake, it was as if the energy in your body was totally gone.

Your last words before you passed out were spoken softly and only towards one person. “I’m sorry…”

Darkness took you away, and you floated into it, happy to finally escape the pain.

_+_

Burning, you were burning when you came to. Did they shove you into the flames of Hell? Was this the repercussion you truly deserved for all the lies? It was harsh, but there was nothing you could do but burn.

Whimpering, you tried to move but a force held you down, a cool sensation on the back of your neck. You cried out, afraid of what would happen next.

“Shh. Your safe, calm down. It’ll be all right.”

Simeon? “Wh-what?” your throat ached, it was so dry. You tried to focus, and felt no flames licking at your skin, but a cushioned bed beneath you, where you lay on your stomach. You tried to open your eyes, but they felt glued shut from tears that dried up.

“Here, you need to drink water.”

A straw pressed to your lips, and you sucked in the refreshing liquid. Swallowing was hard to do, but the cooling feeling overtook the pain.

His hand was a cool on your forehead, you sighed in the brief relief of the heat. “You have a high fever. You need to rest some more.”

You trembled. “They hate me, don’t they?” the words were hard to speak, but you had to ask.

He hushed you once again, stroking your hair. “Just sleep now. When you’re well again we will talk.”

So you went back to your dreams, or rather, the nightmares that plagued you. Memories turned dark and evil, some of your time on Earth with friends, others of your time with Lucifer in Heaven. All happy memories that were altered to fill you with nothing but pain.

Your first day of flying, Lucifer cheering you on, clapping and smiling as you floated higher. Then, you fell, and kept falling down and down despite how strongly you flapped your wings. Lucifer was never coming for you, never reaching a hand to pull you back to him and into his arms. You ended up in a dark hole with nothing but bones around you of your once human friends. They die so quickly, humans. You were always alone. Meant to be alone forever. Never able to love and live with that love for the entirety of your lifespan, for it always faded and died. The only true everlasting love you had in your heart was never meant to be.

Voices sporadically came and went as you tossed in your dreamland.

Simeon. “She’s not doing too well. I’ll try my very best to heal her but holding this in for so long was not good for her health. Her wings are… in absolute disarray.”

Lucifer. “Why did she lie to me?”

Asmodeus. “She looks so pale and fragile. Poor thing.”

Mammon. “I remember her... we always looked out for each other. She was always so happy to be around you, Lucifer.”

You heard them speaking and longed to respond back, but you couldn’t find a voice. Drifting in and out, hearing voices, feeling soft touches on your skin and cool hands on your wings. There were moments of sharp pain sometimes when the fingers pressed to the spot where your wings sprouted from, but you were always quickly given a remedy of healing magic from Simeon’s talented hands. But you just wanted this to end and for the suffering to be done with.

It was many days later that you opened your eyes. Like a newborn for the first time, wincing at the bright lights of the room, struggling to focus. Glancing around, it was obvious that this was not your room. It was larger, with tall ceilings, and this bed was huge, your wings barely touched the floor compared to the bed at the House of Lamentation. Where were you?

“You’re in my home.”

You turned your head, still in a position on your stomach. It was Lord Diavolo. He was alone, strange as he usually had Barbatos with him. He wore his usual red suit, but his arms were crossed and he watched you with concern in his bright golden eyes.

You tried to move, to sit up and be a little bit respectful of the Prince, but he quickly strode to you and placed his large hand on your head gently. You froze. “No, don’t try and move. You’re still recovering.”

“I-I don’t—”

He sighed, and pulled a chair to sit next to you, careful of your drooping wings. He gestured to a pitcher of water on the side table. “Are you thirsty?”

You nodded shyly. He helped you drink some water with a hand lifting your head. You were sure you were blushing from feeling the demon Prince’s touch so delicately on your cheek. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He looked at you for a moment, and sighed, his eyes downcast and thoughtful. “This is an interesting circumstance we are in.”

You swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt anyone.”

He frowned. “My dear, all you did was hurt everyone.”

You winced. He spoke bluntly, and the truth, but it hurt a lot to hear it from his lips.

“Lucifer told me who you are. He thought you dead long ago. He was your mentor in the Celestial realm, correct?” You nodded slowly. “Why did you leave there to pretend to be human? He told me you were always so… cheerful. That you both were practically inseparable. The brother’s tell me the same. So why leave all that behind?”

You couldn’t answer him. He just sighed again. “I see. Well, I suppose that will be a conversation once you are fully healed. For now, I’ll have Simeon tend to you now that you’re awake.” He stood up and looked down at you. Diavolo’s gaze seemed to pierce right through your very soul. “Perhaps you will tell me more… or perhaps not. Only time will tell, I suppose. Rest well, my dear. We will speak again soon.” And his footsteps echoed the large room as he left, and you were alone with your thoughts.

What did he want from you? Would he let this be? Would he allow you to stay here? Doubtful, as it was an exchange program for humans and Angels, and you were one of two humans. And were you really counted as either, or both? Were you some strange hybrid being to them, because you lived under the guise of being a human?

There was one question that haunted over you ever since you felt your magic faltering. Would Diavolo take you away from the one place you truly felt at home?

_+_

You felt deflated when Simeon entered the room. Lord Diavolo made you worrisome for what would next happen, or at least what would happen once you were healed again. You found yourself avoiding the Angel’s eyes as he looked at you from his seat on the chair Diavolo just was in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

You blinked at him, and licked your dry lips. “Sore. Tired.”

He nodded, his hands waving over your upper body, a soft glow emanating from his fingers. “Your feathers are a right mess, darling. Will you allow me to help?”

Help with your wings? You knew what he meant by that, and the question wasn’t startling as you knew it would come considering the damage your magic had done. But this was a very personal thing, letting others groom your wings. You only ever allowed one person to touch your wings: Lucifer. Outside of the creatures on Earth, that is, but they were only animals and it didn’t have as much meaning to you.

There was something inside of you that spoke a loud and firm denial, that no one’s hands would pluck your broken feathers unless those hands belonged to Lucifer Morningstar.

“I-I can’t…”

He sighed, and his gentle hand stroked up and down your exposed arm. “It has to be done. Tell me, then, who will you let help you?”

You felt burning tears fall down to drop onto the pillow. “H-he w-won’t…”

Simeon hummed. “He won’t, hm? I can take one guess as to who that person is. And he’s been so worried for you he has barely slept a wink, pacing the palace floors at all hours, and questioning me constantly on how your health has been.”

You perked up, sniffling. “H-he has?”

Simeon smiled kindly, and his healing magic coursed over your back, soothing the pinpricks of pain caused by your movements. “Lucifer cares about you. I may not have been around him as much since his fall from Heaven but I can tell he never stopped caring for you, my dear.”

“He forgot about me.” You said so dejectedly. If he hadn’t, he would have recalled your face the second you appeared in the Devildom, as the only thing that was different was you had no wings, halo, or heavenly glow around you.

“Dear, we all thought you dead. I assumed your soul was wondering the skies. I am truly sorry I never searched for you to make certain of that.”

Simeon wasn’t present like Lucifer was for you in the Celestial Realm, but he did watch over you when Lucifer could not. It was rare, but it did happen. You occasionally saw him floating around the sky doing work for Michael and your father, but mostly he wasn’t a part of your world, not like Lucifer or his brothers.

“Simeon,” you whispered. “He hates me. Don’t lie to me.”

The Angel’s light was blinding, and his true form revealed itself. You gasped in shock at the sight, it had been quite a while since you had seen any other Angel this way.

He had stunningly pure white wings that expanded outwards behind him, and his blue eyes shimmered like a bright burning star. The halo hovering above his head would cut anything that it touched, a perfect circle of glittering gold, showing his status in Heaven as one of High Regard. His dark skin was encased in an outline of magic so pure it stung your eyes as you hadn’t seen anything like it in so long. He was fierce looking, and yet not, being a creature of pure light. Simeon was as old as Lucifer, if not a bit older even, and he held strength like no one else.

He spoke with authority in his kind voice, booming almost in your ears. “I will never lie to you, nor to any other being. Hear my words because they are the wholesome truth. Lucifer will always have a place in his heart for you even though he has been brought to this darker world.”

You shook from the might in his words. He brought tears to your eyes from the power he spoke with. “Simeon…”

He cupped your cheek, the warmth shocking and overwhelming, his thumb caressing under your eye. He spoke softer, then. “Dear one, if you’ll allow me to I’ll bring Lucifer here to help you. Please let me do this for you. I don’t like seeing such a kind soul in so much pain.”

You pushed into his hand, craving the touch. His words put you under a spell and you couldn’t help but think, maybe he was right. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have Lucifer here. Would it be like old times? You thought not, so much had changed. But you couldn’t deny the pounding in your heart that said you had to see him, and the truth that you really had no choice that if you wanted to heal, you had to have him aid you.

“Okay,” you answered softly.

He held your cheek for a moment longer, and you felt his magic cascade over you like a protective blanket. “I shall return soon with Lucifer. Keep still until then, your wings should not move lest they become more tangled. Don’t move, do you understand?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Good girl. I’ll be back shortly. If you need me for anything, just call for me. I’ll hear you.”

He meant a prayer. He wanted you to pray for his help. You could not recall the last time a prayer had actually worked for you. Father had forgotten you, Lucifer had forgotten you… Praying was a waste of time.

The seconds ticked by. You let your mind wander to what-ifs, even though it hurt. What if Lucifer was so angry at you that he would take one look at your battered body and leave? What if Lucifer didn’t care for you like Simeon said, and instead hated you so much his magic would tear you apart? What if Lucifer, instead of plucking your feathers, he tore your wings from your body in a rage? These might have been insane imaginings, but they were not impossible. Lucifer had been a demon for a long, long time, and it was true he was still caring towards you while you acted human, but how would he react now? There was no way to know for sure.

Yes, he was your protector above. He was your everything; your father, your confidant, your friend, and your heart longed for him to be your lover.

Now he was something else to you. Still he looked out for you, kept you safe from other demons (not knowing you could if needed use your celestial magic on any who meant you harm), and he made sure you did well in RAD, and he, along with his brothers, thought of you as family. It was all you wanted, after years of searching for something to have as your very own.

Would it all disappear?

The door to the bedroom opened slowly, and you heard Simeon speak. “She’s exhausted emotionally and physically. Please, do what you can to make her well. She needs you.”

He entered the room. It was silent, and he didn’t move, simply watching you from where he stood before the shut door.

So you spoke for him. “Hello, Lucifer.”

Heels clacked and eventually he stood at your bedside. What an imposing figure he made. He looked at you with deep dark red eyes, near black at the pupils, and a massive aura of magic erupted around him. It wasn’t frightening, it wasn’t overpowering or dark. It was just… him.

He reached a hand to touch your hair, smoothing it back from your face to really look at you. “Hello, my dove.”

[minyoonmeme]

Normalcy of the Pretty Posse

Chapter 4

Word count: 3232

Pairing: Jeongguk x reader, ??? x reader

Description: Stupid Jeongguk and his cute sweaters and pretty posse of hyungs

Genre/Warnings: Min Yoongi is not very good at meeting people, but Park Jimin is. 

Tag List: @luvtaeha @holaaaf 

Previous Next

masterlist

“Do you know what’s going on?” 

“Nope.”

Jeongguk and Hoseok whispered to one another huddled over a family size bag of chips, crumbs falling each time they shifted. Their eyes danced between (Y/N) to Yoongi while they mindlessly shoveled chips into their mouths. Yoongi had let Jeongguk and (Y/N) into the studio twenty minutes ago and beyond introductions not much had happened. Hoseok almost pouts from disappointment. Where's the flare? The dramatics? Why hasn’t Yoongi pissed himself yet from nervousness? 

“Are you love birds gonna stand outside holding hands or are you gonna come in before you waste time?” Hoseok’s grip on the door was light as he narrowed his stance and let the two past him. “Hi (Y/N), you look cute today. Jeongguk you look cute too, I guess.” Hoseok smiled to himself as (Y/N) skirted past him with an embarrassed smile. Jeongguk followed suit with a wave to Yoongi, who was too occupied trying to make himself look busy, and a pinch to Hoseok’s arm for the added embarrassment. 

“You speak Korean right?”

“Hyung!” Yoongi barely spared Jeongguk a glance as he glanced toward (Y/N) from his seat. Yoongi noted that she was a small thing with her head barely past Jeongguk’s shoulder. Her head bobbed up and down before she fell into a bow. 

“Hello, My name is (Y/N). I’m a commercial music and production major at KNU. It’s nice to meet you, please take care of me.”

Yoongi blinked a few times and shook his nearly empty coffee before responding. “So.. do you speak Korean or..?”

“Hyung, she just spoke Korean!”

“Jeongguk-ah, you and I both know she could have prepared that.”

“She goes to a Korean university in the middle of Seoul, I highly doubt that.”

Yoongi gave a small shrug before reaching his hand out. “You shake hands where you’re from right? I’m Min Yoongi. It's nice to meet  you.”

Hoseok was loving every second as he watched from the couch. 

“Should we say something?” Jeongguk watched as (Y/N) tapped her fingers against the table. Jeongguk recognized a few familiar hand positions from the few piano lessons Yoongi had reluctantly given him his sophomore year. 

“I don’t know. I’m kind of intimidated right now. Hyung looks like he wants to jump out a window or run out the door any minute now.” Jeongukk shrugged and leaned closer to Hoseok crumbling the chips between them in the process. 

“It would be great if we could hear what they were listening to instead of listening to each other finish an entire bag of chips. Did you know you eat with your mouth open? Fucking heathen, I didn’t raise you this way.” Jeongguk smacked his greasy crump covered hand across Hoseok’s shoulder for that. Hoseok just whines and rubs at the spot tenderly. 

Yoongi and (Y/N) sat adjacent to one another as Yoongi’s soundboard desk shuffling through the drive she had brought. Yoongi had asked (correction: forced) Hoseok to wheel in another chair for (Y/N) to sit in while they listened, but her feet barely reached the floor as she swung them back and forth with nerves. Jeongguk was sure she was overwhelmed as Yoongi usually chose to sit in silence while he listened to tracks and Yoongi’s silence was nothing short of intense. A plain matte black pair, a pair Yoongi had pulled out from a random drawer, sat on top of her head just slightly too big. Jeongguk had never seen the pair before and felt a small flutter on his stomach at the thought that Yoongi had bought a new pair for her to use. He knew Yoongi tended to shy away from leading or teaching, but felt grateful his hyung was willing to even try. The flutter had nothing to do with the fact that he thought she looked cute as the headphones slipped around repeatedly off of her head. Nope, none at all.

“How many songs has it been? Like 6? My back is starting to hurt from this couch. Hyung should really get another one.” 

“It’s uncomfortable for a reason, you brat. How long are you trespassers going to keep talking?” Jeongguk and Hoseok jumped up, effectively smacking their heads against one another at the sudden voice. Both met Yoongi’s stare as he looked over his left shoulder, one ear free from his headphones.

“Sorry, Hyung we’ll stay quiet.” Hoseok nodded along with Jeongguk’s words, even going so far as to mime zipping his lips closed and tossing a key over his shoulder. 

Yoongi rose his eyebrows up before lifting his headphones off of his head with a deep breath. (Y/N) followed suit, although slightly more hesitantly. “You guys can leave, actually.” 

Jeongguk’s eyes darted over to (Y/N) as he watched her body freeze. The hand that had been tapping chords onto the table unplugged her headphones before stiffly beginning to neatly wrap the cord. He wished he knew what was going on in her head as he watched her eyes dart back and forth along the floor. His hand itches to stop her small trembles as she reached to pull out the usb drive. 

“Yoongi-hyung don’t you think you’re being too harsh. It’s only been like twenty minutes...”

Yoongi threw a confused look at Hoseok before spinning his chair fully to face the couch behind him. “I kick you guys out of my studio like twice a week, this is nothing new. Now out.” Yoongi emphasized the “now” with a flick of his chin towards the door before turning back to his monitors. He hadn’t even acknowledged (Y/N). 

Hoseok loved his friend, he did, but watching Jeongguk beat himself for bringing (Y/N) here made his skin boil. A look at (Y/N) left him even more mad. Her shoulders were squared inward as she shoved her things into her bag as quickly and quietly as possible. They weren’t close in any way, but Hoseok had grown up with a sister and hated seeing anyone, especially girls, cry.  

“Fine. we’re leaving you hermit. Don’t think we won’t be having a talk about this later when you get home.” Hoseok heaved Jeongguk up from the couch by his elbow and did the same for (Y/N). Their eyes met and Hoseok mentally cursed in his head for Yoongi’s asshole tendencies. He knew Yoongi wasn’t an actual asshole, nor was he intending to be mean, but this just is how Yoongi was. ‘All think, few words' is how Hoseok described Yoongi’s communication style or lack thereof. Yoongi could feel a million things and somehow sum it up in twenty offensive words or less. Looking at her again Hoseok leaned down and whispered, “Let’s get some ice cream, yeah? My treat!” His heart eased little when a small smile and a squeeze to his hand on her elbow were returned. 

“Where are you going?” Yoongi looked up from his now blank monitor confused and blinked in (Y/N)’s direction. All think, few words indeed.

Jeongukk, Hoseok, and (Y/N) looked between each other. Jeongguk had his head wrapped around the door’s handle ready to storm out toddler style while Hoseok’s hand slid from her elbow to her wrist. 

(Y/N) shook a little while she stuttered, “I thought that you-- I mean you said to--” 

“I thought you said you could speak Korean?”

“I can! I’m-uh just confused, I think. You said to get out?”

Yoongi met her eyes for a few seconds before furrowing at the ground. “I meant them. Why would I kick you out? That’s dumb.” 

(Y/N)’s hand swung to Hoseok's wrapped around her elbow and threw him a brief bright smile. Hoseok, confused but slowly understanding the situation, smiled back just as big and gave their hands a small shake in victory. Another crisis avoided, he supposed.

“You’re right, I’m sorry for misunderstanding Yoongi-shii! Where were we? Let me get my hard drive back out!” 

Yoongi handed her a reconnected pair of headphones, keeping his hand out for the usb drive she had taken back. Her hands left hoseok as she excitedly ruffled through her bag. The usb fell onto the open palm before her as she threw the headphones over her ears. She made sure to throw a smile and thumbs up to Jeongguk still standing by the door. Crisis very much so avoided, actually.

Hoseok patted (Y/N)’s head before grabbing Jeongguk’s elbow in tow. “We should probably get out before Yoongi-hyung starts throwing pens at us. I think he started sharpening them down after Jin-hyung took an HDMI cord.” 

Jeongguk opened his mouth to reject Hoseok’s idea, but was interrupted by (Y/N) spinning her chair away from the soundboard to face him halfway. “I’ll text you when I’m done and let you know how it went okay?” Jeongguk nodded, mouth a little too dry from the smile lingering on her lips, and tried to return it. “Bye Hoseok-shii, we can get ice cream later maybe? Bye Jeonggukk-oppa!” 

Hoseok kept his giggles in as he dragged a flustered Jeongguk out the door. 

_______________________________________________________________________

God he was intimidating…

Yoongi had chosen to forgo any excessive speaking and instead settled for minimal verbal explanations with lots of subtle grunts and pointing. It worked for a bit as Yoongi pulled up the tracks of my songs in a much more advanced version of Logic Pro than I owned. College budgets don’t really allow for excessive spending these days, ya know? 

“Uh Yoongi-shii, I really appreciate everything we’ve done today, but I have no idea what you’re saying right now.” Yoongi, I had noticed, tended to mumble and despite having spoken for Korean for a couple of years now satoori and mumbled things tended to make understanding someone very difficult. 

Yoongi looked at me sideways and blinked before taking a deep breath. He had looked more sure of himself when Hoseok and Jeongguk were here, so I chose not to mention how his shoulders seemed to move inward as he inched to face me. “You distorted this sample right?” I nodded in response. “Right, well I was just wondering why you added so much reverb if you’d already added distortion. It throws the whole thing off after the second verse, no flow really. You should probably scrap it and start over.” 

“Oh uh, I mean you’re right actually. It’s kind of an overkill. You’re very honest, Yoongi-shii.” 

I watched as Yoongi finished off the last of his now mostly water iced coffee with a nod. “You could say that.”

“In that case, I’ll be honest too. I think you’re being a little picky because you don’t know what you’re doing or what to do with me, specifically.” 

Yoongi narrowed his eyes and leaned backward in his chair, the joints squeaking slightly as he did so. So much for a cool guy move. “Picky? Did you expect me to graze over your mediocrity? I’m a professional kid, we don’t take mediocrity in the big world and Daddy’s money isn’t gonna get you far.” Yoongi whipped his hands on his pants as he clicked around. 

My arms tingled as a heaviness settled in my chest, something akin to disappointment and failure making a home. “Daddy’s money? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Yoongi turned and refused to look at me any longer. “It means I can smell the money rolling off of you and I don’t think working in a cafe can get you the program needed to mix music like this.” 

My chest felt heavier than before as I geared myself up to respond. “You’re right. That was expensive and maybe I do come from money, but that song was made in 2014 and I’ll have you know that I’ve been living on my own in Korea since I was fucking shipped off in 2015. I didn’t come here to get profiled Yoongi-shii, I came here because I thought you were a professional who knew how to scroll and find my recent tracks.” Fuck Min Yoongi if he thinks he can walk all over me.

Yoongi clenched his jaw with a slight tilt of his head to the side before visibly gulping down whatever was in his throat. His free hand meanwhile gripped the mouse and clicked into another folder. _______________________________________________________________________

To: JJK-Oppa 

Heading home now Yoongi-shii is weird and mean 

From: JJK-Oppa

How was it? I’m sorry about earlier by the way. Yoongi-Hyung isn't the best at expressing himself or talking really

To: JJK-Oppa

I figured as much, he seems harmless though just a little idk??? So much attitude in a tiny body Don’t tell him I said he’s tiny oh god I already kinda sorta maybe went off on him

From: JJk-Oppa

Secrets safe with me :) Why did you go off on him???  I’ll beat him up for you >:)

To: JJK-Oppa

Jeongguk-oppa, I don’t think you could hurt a fly but thank you <3 Do you think Hoseok-shi would still get me ice cream? I’ll give you all the juicy details later

From: JJK-Oppa

Hyung said he’s always down for ice cream We can pick you up..?

To: JJK-Oppa

Say less <3 

______________________________________________________________________

“(Y/N)! Over here!” My head flew right as I looked in the direction of the voice. Jeongguk stood half in the back door of a black SUV. I threw a hand up and waved back noticing he had changed from a casual oversized sweater and jeans to a matching baggy grey sweatsuit. 

“Hi Jeongguk-oppa, it’s nice to see you again.” I gave a small bow of my head before ducking beneath his arm holding the door open and sliding in. I released a happy sigh when I felt the heat coming from the vents. “Hi again Hoseok-shii, thank you for picking me up.” 

Hoseok and scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Back it up women, what’s this “Hoseok-shii” business all about? You call Jeongguk Oppa and not me? You’re soon to be dance captain too?”

I smiled and leaned forward to place my cheek against the side of his seat. My eyes fluttered and smiled up at him. “Would you like you to call you oppa hoseok-shii?” Hoseok turned to face me and pinched my other cheek with a scrunch of his nose

“You brat, it’s Hobi-Oppa now okay? You’re gonna be trouble. I can tell already.” I rolled my eyes and pulled his hand from my cheek before slumping back. “This is Jimin, by the way. He wormed his way into the car before we could stop him, so I apologize for anything he does beforehand. He is also trouble.” 

Jimin, for what it's worth, only smiled and turned from the passenger seat to smile at me as I buckled my seatbelt next Jeongguk. “I heard there would be free ice cream and gossip about Yoongi-hyung, so I had to come.” His eyes melted into crescents as his smile grew in a way that I can only describe as heart clenchingly cute. God dammit another member Jeongguk’s posse.

“It’s nice to meet you Jimin-shii. Free ice cream is the best kind of ice cream, so I don’t blame you for tagging along.” 

Jimin studied me for a few minutes with a small smile before Hoseok yelled at him for not wearing his seatbelt. 

“You think I want your dead body on my hands if we get into an accident? I’m all up for living on the edge Jimin, but please put your seatbelt on so Jin-hyung doesn’t have a heart attack, please.” 

“I’m too cute to be a corpse.” 

“I hate to break it to you, but being cute doesn’t constitute not dying Jimin.”

“God clearly has his favorites, look at me! I’ll be fine.”

“Do not tempt me into killing you with this car to prove you wrong. I’ll do it. (Y/N) tell him I’ll do it.” 

“(Y/N) sweetie, you stay out of this okay? Just sit there and hold Jeonggukie’s hand while Hobi-hyung and I sort this out.”

Jeongguk, most likely used to this kind of conversation, was glancing out the window in thought as a nudged him. Though the flush on his cheeks that matched mine told me that he was still listening. “Is this normal for you guys?”

“Hm? Oh you mean Hobi and Jimin hyung? Yeah, all of my hyungs bicker like old married couples. Says is what they get for raising me.” 

Before I could respond, Jimin was tapping my knee closest to him with a pout. “Ya! Weren’t you listening? (Y/N), you’ll call me Oppa right? Hobi-hyung and Jeonggukie aren't the only ones, right?” Hoseok and Jeongguk both scoffed from their seats.

My eyes widened as I gave a quick glance to Jeongguk only to receive a shrug in response. Just great, thanks for the help. “Uh yeah Jimin-shii, I guess I’ll call you oppa one day.” 

“One day?” Jimin scoffed and pinched my knee. “You call me Jimin-oppa right now, young lady. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other more often. Us cute people have to stick together against people like Hobi-hyung.” The hand that pinched my knee returned and gave it a few pats. My mouth hung open slightly before I nodded and fought off a few giggles as a response. 

Things settled down for a few minutes before Jugguk shifted in his seat away from me slightly. His head was no longer facing the window, but now towards his lap as he flipped his phone between his hands. I was happy to see him not ripping at his fraying sweater sleeves, but curious as to what was causing the furrow between his brows. The atmosphere was light as Jimina and Hoseok continued to bicker about ice cream shops, so his look only made me worry. I snuck a glance at the two up front and decided texting was probably better than announcing any worries out loud. Jeongguk seemed like the private type anyways.

To: JJK-Oppa

Everything okay?

Jeongguk blinked as his phone lit up with my text message. He read it before furrowing his eyebrows deeper at the screen. I motioned for him to text me back with a pout. 

From: JJK-Oppa

Why are you are texting me

To: JJK-Oppa

Do you not want me to text you? :( 

Jeongguk looks at the screen with wide eyes before shaking his head no at me. It’s dark but I can still see the pink dusting across his skin nonetheless. Cute.

To: JJK-Oppa

I’m kidding, but really what’s up? 

Jeongguk goes to type again, but freezes his fingers a couple of times before typing and erasing a few times. Trying not to overwhelm him and give him some peace, I look away to listen to Hoseok and Jimin talking about which chores are overdue at their place. A chime of my phone brings my attention back to my phone.

From: JJK-Oppa

It’s nothing

To: JJK-Oppa

It’s okay. Sprinkles make everything better :)

Jeongguk’s small giggle eases the worry in my chest and any residual hurt lingering from my meeting with Yoongi as his eyes crease at the ends. It’s then that I suddenly remember why Jeongguk and his friends were so well known around campus. He’s so pretty. I hear Hoseok and Jimin cackling from the front and give my chest a few pats as it races. Correction: they’re all pretty.

[A/N: Hello~ I feel very ehh about this one, but honestly props to me for putting this out despite working two jobs, being a full time student, AND being major depresso espresso lately. Let me know what you guys think!]

[jethro-pride98]

With a side of Jealousy

Summary: Reader goes on these little dinner dates with Fornell. One time Gibbs goes to the same place and gets jealous and soon realizes his feelings for her. They have a confrontation then eventually Gibbs and reader get together.

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut.

A/N: it’s my first time writing. Please be honest and let me know what you think!❤️🖤 Thanks @alkow for the title idea and for giving me the confidence to post and start writing again

Y/N always enjoyed it when Tobias Fornell took her out for dinner. She was pretty sure that he knew there was little chance of luring her away from NCIS to join the FBI. For all that he could offer in the way of a well equipped lab and electronic toys to play with, the deal breaker that NCIS had and the FBI never would was Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Although she had pondered more than once that if Gibbs' rule 12 was ever the only thing standing between the two of them, then her leaving to work for the FBI and having Gibbs to come home to at night might turn out to be a girl's dream. But with the likelihood of Gibbs ever seeing her that way pretty minimal she'd settle for appreciating his company at work and enjoying the perks of a slap-up meal at a really fancy restaurant on the FBI dime at irregular intervals. Although Y/N didn't fancy him in the slightest, Fornell was pleasant company and she suspected that he rather liked her company too, they weren't above a little harmless flirting at their meals, both knowing that it would never lead to anything. Whether he realised Fornell was also a goldmine of tiny details about Gibbs, having a shared ex-wife between them, and Y/N was a master at teasing such snippets out of him.

She also enjoyed Fornell's tales of his young daughter. Y/N knew Gibbs had a soft spot for the girl because her mother was the ex-wife that Gibbs shared with Fornell. So as the nights drew in and the weather grew harsher foreshadowing the approaching winter Y/N was delighted to accept Fornell's invite to dinner. It was also an excuse for Y/N to dress up in an elegant and formal way that she never bothered with in her real life. Now the two of them were enjoying an intimate meal at an exclusive restaurant, tucked away in an alcove by the wall, with a very attentive young waiter that Y/N idly noted was getting on Fornell's nerves.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was happy to cultivate his reputation as a bastard, but what he didn't advertise too widely was that he could also be a gentleman when the moment arose. He could be quite charming when he wasn't distracted by little things like his job. So when the widow of one of his Marine buddies contacted him to say she'd be in town for a few days and would he like to take her out to dinner he knew just the place - small and expensive - and when he put his mind to it he could spruce up pretty good. He'd known Amanda - a redhead - and her husband well, years ago when he still had a wife and a daughter of his own, but had not seen her for years.

When he arrived at the restaurant Gibbs had routinely surveyed the entire room, spotting Fornell at his table, but not quite recognising the dark-haired woman in the elegant dress who sat opposite him with her back to Gibbs. Briefly catching Fornell's eye he had nodded to him as they were shown to their own table across the restaurant. As Fornell had done, Gibbs seated himself with a view of the restaurant - looking out for trouble - leaving his date with her back to the room.

As Gibbs held the chair for his date to sit down, Fornell leaned conspiratorially across the table and indicated across the room to Y/N. "Well look what the cat dragged in." Y/N twisted round in time to see Gibbs seating his date and taking his own seat, neither looking their way while they were occupied. Her stomach flipped and "Wow" slipped from her lips as she took in how handsome he looked and the flame red hair cascading down the woman's back. Fornell smirked, "Yeah, not often we see Jethro dressed like that, must be a special occasion."

Y/N turned back to their meal, trying to put all thoughts of Gibbs out of her mind - which was difficult because this was the last place she would have expected to run into him and her mind was busy trying to parse what he would be doing here and who the woman he was with could be. She had no claim on him, he was her boss, and what he did in his personal time was no business of hers even if she would like the situation to be otherwise. Fornell had been taking Y/N to dinner for a number of years, partly in the vain hope that she might leave NCIS to come and work for him but also partly because he enjoyed a meal in her company and an added bonus was that he could justify the occasional expensive meal with her on expenses. It had become a routine that they shared a dessert, aimless flirting notched up a ratchet or two as they shared a spoon and even fed each other a mouthful or two.

Gibbs' attention kept being drawn to Tobias and his date. There was something familiar about her, but the loose hair and evening dress conspired to confuse him, leaving a niggling familiarity that he couldn't quite place. He wasn't aware that Tobias had a girlfriend currently and was intrigued at the apparent intimacy as the FBI Agent shared a strawberry sundae with the woman opposite him - they had to know each other well to behave like that in public. Sadly while Gibbs' brain grasped for what he hadn't quite taken in about the situation across the restaurant from his table, he wasn't really paying adequate attention to his own companion. It was only when Y/N excused herself to go to the powder room once she and Fornell had finished their dessert, that Gibbs suddenly realised what had been niggling at him, why the woman had seemed more and more familiar. A shaft of what he refused to acknowledge as jealousy stabbed through him and he excused himself from his own table to follow Y/N.

Y/N left the bathroom with her attention on the purse she clutched, snapping it shut, so she didn't immediately spot Gibbs lurking in the darkened hallway, not until he grabbed her wrist far too tightly and pulled her round to face him. "What the hell are you doing here with Fornell?" he growled. His expression was as menacing as she'd ever seen on him, though she wasn't accustomed to it being levelled at her. Years of reading the man came into play and she could sense a possessiveness to his anger. 'Well screw you mister, I might want it otherwise but you have no claim on me,' passed through her mind and before she could stop herself she'd slapped him across the face. He dropped her wrist and took a small step backward in response. She idly noted that he didn't put his hand up to where she had slapped him. "Not that it's any of your business, but I get a free meal from the FBI every now and then in an effort to recruit me. You know all about it and you don't generally care, but if you are going to behave like this then perhaps I should consider the offer. Fornell is always a perfect gentleman, unlike you." With that Y/N brushed past him to return to the table. Pausing to catch her breath after the angry outburst Gibbs had provoked she didn't want Fornell to know about it and start asking questions. Gibbs watched her return to her table, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Only once she had gone did he allow himself to ruefully rub his jaw. 'O.K. Marine, that was a stellar performance.'

Y/N tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep,pondering who Gibbs' date could have been and why the hell he thought he had any right to be angry at her night out with Fornell. She picked up the phone several times only to put it down again - toying with talking it over with Ducky or even phoning Gibbs himself but finally coming to the conclusion that Gibbs owed her an apology. Finally she decided that Gibbs could stew in his own juices the next day while she had a day off to go Christmas shopping. Unless a case came in the next day she was up-to-date on all urgent work, so a day off would work well for all of them - especially with Christmas fast approaching - and maybe she'd be less angry with Gibbs by Monday. If Gibbs was going to apologise she'd make him work for it and if he thought a cup of black coffee and a "Good job, N/N" was going to cut it this time he was wrong. Across town, Gibbs had delivered his date back to her hotel having just about managed to be an attentive companion for the remainder of their evening, and was sanding a little too roughly on one of the ribs of the half-built boat in his basement. He didn't know quite how he'd come to upset Y/N so badly earlier, but every time he thought of her feeding a spoonful of that dessert to Fornell his blood boiled. Tomorrow, he'd talk to her tomorrow.

Finally in the wee small hours they both managed a few hours of fitful slumber. First thing the next morning Gibbs approached Y/N's lab with a cup of coffee in hand by way of apology, only to find the room quiet and lifeless in her absence. Which left him growling and snapping at his team with barely supressed frustration through a slow day of paperwork. Tony's muttered: "Geez, the boss *really* needs to get laid." earned him a headslap from Gibbs hard enough to make him truly see stars after which all three of them kept their heads down below their computer monitors where Gibbs could barely see them.

Y/N spent a pleasant day buying Christmas gifts for all but one of her friends, losing herself in the thoughts of what they would like and successfully pushing aside all thoughts of Gibbs whenever his image or his behaviour the previous evening threatened to intrude. She knew men generally, and Gibbs in particular, well enough to recognise that his behaviour the previous night seemed to be sparked by jealousy. But he'd never had a problem with her having dinner with Fornell before, she'd never hidden it from him, and besides he'd had a very attractive date of his own with him from what she could see, so he had no claim over her, no right to get angry. Every time she thought of it she got angry herself and truth be told a little jealous.

When Y/N returned home, laden down with bags and gifts, and tired from her day out, the very last thing she expected to find was Leroy Jethro Gibbs sitting quietly in the darkness on her sofa. He was so quiet that she'd dropped all of the bags in a corner, hung her coat in the hallway and shed her boots before entering her lounge turning the light on and coming face to face with the man himself. Her Y/E/C eyes flashed angrily when she saw him, the annoyance she'd been trying to squelch all dayreturning in extra force at his unexpected presence.

"So it's breaking and entering now, is it...? Jethro." His uninvited appearance seemed to encourage the informality of using his first name, in the scornful tone she'd heard Director Shepard use on him over the years. Gibbs stood up and took a step towards her, both of them instantly aware that her boots usually made her the same height as him and suddenly without them he had gained a couple of inches advantage over her. For an instant he didn't know what to say or do, he never had been good with words, or with women's feelings and then without a conscious decision he closed the gap between them, placed a large, gentle hand behind her neck and leaned down to press his lips against hers.

Y/N’s first instincts were to fight him off, and she briefly pushed against his chest with her hands, before her brain caught on to the notion that she'd far rather be kissing the man than fighting with him and her anger melted away. She stopped struggling, and opened her mouth to him, tentatively touching her tongue to his lips, at which point his tongue drove passionately into her mouth and his other hand snaked round her to crush her to him in a possessive hug.

There was a very short pause for air, and a growled "Mine," from Gibbs before he continued thoroughly kissing her, leaving Y/N grateful that his embrace was holding her up because she was sure her legs had melted. Gibbs broke away from her again, turning his attention to her jaw line, her ear, nibbling and kissing down her neck and she briefly wondered if he'd eaten during the day or was she dinner. His hands began wandering, his touch setting her skin on fire and driving all other thoughts from her mind. This needed taking to somewhere she could reciprocate his attention, preferably bed and preferably without all the winter clothing that was keeping them apart. With years of lusting after Gibbs behind her, Y/N was getting very aroused at his touch even though it was yet to become overtly sexual and she in turn could feel the effect she was having on him where their bodies were pressed together in his embrace.

Y/N disentangled herself enough to work at the sport jacket he was wearing, pushing it off him from inside and working her hand under his shirts to the warm skin beneath, at the same time stepping between his legs and easing him backwards gently with her body weight. Gibbs took the hint, moving slowly backward and shrugging his jacket off at the same time, allowing himself to be gently manoeuvred backward toward the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went.

Somewhere along the way there was a pause and their eyes met, despite his lust-blown pupils Gibbs blue eyes held a predatory possessiveness that took her breath away. He searched her face for a moment, perhaps looking for her permission to proceed, and with an almost imperceptible nod he seemed to make the decision that Y/N had been convinced that he'd never make. As they continued to the bedroom he made short work of her skimpy top, and callused fingers caressing her buttocks and stroking down her stocking-clad legs, which he lifted up to his hip, somehow removed her underwear as well.

By the time Y/N landed gently on her back on the bed, her bra had gone too and Gibbs had latched onto one pert nipple with his mouth while teasing the other between thumb and forefinger. He eased down her body removing his own shirt and undershirt in a smooth motion that barely interrupted his worship of her body. His hands swept up the back of her legs from her knees, ending by pushing her short skirt up above her waist and out of the way and his tongue homed in on exactly where she wanted to be touched, making her writhe underneath him while his fingertips danced over the back of her thighs. Y/N reached down blindly, needing to touch him and finding only the rippling muscles at his shoulders and the oh-so-strokeable short hair at the nape of his neck. He knew exactly when she was ready for him, standing up from where he knelt beside the bed, belt and trousers already undone, but still on for the moment. She thought he looked ever so slightly sheepish as he gruffed "Condom?", removing his trousers and boxers in one movement as she sat up and extracted the foil packet from the bedside cabinet. He knelt on the bed beside her, giving the base of his erection a firm squeeze as he allowed her to roll the condom on, while she took the opportunity of her first chance to really touch him. He positioned himself between her legs, lining up to enter her gently but with one smooth movement, then he surprised her by rolling them over so that she was above him, until she realised that the position allowed him to stimulate her clit with his shaft as he thrust in and out. He may have been underneath, but as his hips pistoned up and down there was no mistaking who was in control, especially as being underneath allowed his hands to roam everywhere over her skin while he plundered her mouth again. Every thrust of his hips pushed his cock deep inside her, the friction against her clit driving Y/N higher until waves of pleasure washed over her as her orgasm hit and then she was dimly aware of Gibbs' movements becoming more erratic as he too reached his climax.

The caress of his fingertips on her back slowed to a stop as Y/N snuggled into the warm furry chest beneath her, his performance as a wonderful lover only spoiled by the fact that he'd already begun snoring gently, his softening cock still buried inside her. Y/N smiled to herself, she too felt sleepy after the previous troubled night and great sex. She wriggled off of him, disentangling them from each other and removing and disposing of the condom before reaching out and finding some bedding to pull over them and settling under his arm, with her head on his shoulder, allowing herself to drift off - despite still wearing her skirt and stockings.

Y/N wasn't sure if it was the gentle caresses or the rumbling stomach behind her that woke her. It was only a little after 5am, but they'd missed dinner and had a pretty early night, so she'd had a good night's sleep already. "Morning'," said the man in whose warm embrace she lay snuggled, and he leaned over to give her the sort of soft cheek kiss that usually went with a "Good job, N/N". She marvelled at how gentle he could be, compared to the fierceness she was accustomed to at work. He shifted a little behind her and she could feel his morning erection nestled against her buttocks. She briefly entertained the idea of a morning bout of sex, but then both their stomach's rumbled and he kissed her again and said: "How 'bout I buy us breakfast? Seem to recollect missing dinner. There a diner nearby?" "Yeah, I know a good place." Y/N said quietly, moving to get out of bed, but Gibbs' arms tightened around her, stopping her. "Mine," he growled again. "Possessive, much," Y/N grinned at him. He squeezed her gently again. "You've known me long enough..." "...to think that this would never happen." she finished the sentence for him. "What about rule 12, huh? This better be more than a cheap ass style apology, Mister." She was beginning to get angry again, there was so much going on here that she didn't understand - and while Gibbs was pretty eloquent *without* words when he was ordering people around, relationships required a whole lot more finesse than even he could manage with an expression or gesture. "I look like a cheap ass?" He scowled at her "No" He rolled over onto his back on the mattress, his chest bare where Y/N had pulled away from him and wrapped herself in the sheet at the edge of the bed, turning on the light as she did so. Running a hand over his forehead and sighing he said wearily: "Guess I need to revise rule 12 now."

There was a pause, Y/N still couldn't read exactly what he meant and was torn between hope that this was the beginning of something and fear that it wasn't. He didn't exactly sound happy at the idea of revising rule 12. He leaned up on an elbow and looked at her. "I... The other night... when I saw you with Fornell. Don't know what came over me..." She wasn't used to Gibbs sounding so unsure of himself. There was another pause as he grasped for words to explain but then he got completely side-tracked. "Cheap ass -style apology? You been on the receiving end?” Now she could clearly read jealousy in his voice, which at least made her feel better - a jealous Gibbs she could understand, even if she didn't really know why. "No. I've seen it work for Tony, but he knows I don't consider seduction to be an apology." She looked pointedly at Gibbs. "You still owe me an apology for your behaviour at the restaurant. I thought you knew both of us well enough to know that I *like* Fornell but nothing more. And anyway what about your date, shouldn't you have been paying attention to her, not me?"

Gibbs looked down at the covers almost - almost - as if he was hanging his head in shame. Quietly he said, "Amanda's the widow of one of my Marine buddies, she... and Shannon... were good friends. Haven't seen her in years." "Oh." was all Y/N could manage in response, and then the moment was broken as Gibbs' stomach rumbled loudly again. "Breakfast," he said firmly. "Then we've got the whole weekend to figure out how you'd like me to apologize - if you'll let me."

Y/N’s heart soared. She finally had the man she always wanted.

[really-sleep-deprived-nerd]

Behind The Scenes

Summary: What were Virgil and Remus doing during Putting Others First? (Featuring: Remus being surprisingly soft, Logan worrying about his friends and Virgil being an anxious idiot!)

Word Count: 4109

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of gore/violence, just quite a lot of Remus being Remus, Virgil might be a bit ooc (I made him more reasonable than he probably will ever be in canon)

Pairings: Analogical (If you squint) with Remus pining after both of them

Remus usually didn't like to venture out of his room and into the commons, since doing that usually ended with a lot of screaming from Virgil or Patton and with Roman trying to gouge his eyes out with his katana. (And that, while fun at the beginning, grew tiresome after a while)

His room was much more interesting anyways.

But filming days were always the exception to the rule, since the other sides were all in their rooms waiting to either be summoned or butt in (Ha. Butt) when they deemed it necessary, the commons were left empty, and that meant he had free reign to go into the common’s kitchen and stuff his face with Patton’s homemade chocolate chip cookies to his heart’s content without anyone to screech in fright the moment they caught sight of him. 

He left his room happily, quietly humming a song from Beetlejuice, but stopping dead in his tracks the moment he reached the commons and was greeted with the sight of the anxious side curled up on the floor beside the couch. 

Under normal circumstances, this is the moment where he would leave. Turn around before he was spotted and try again later, but a closer inspection told him that Virgil was shaking and, if his irregular breathing was anything to go by, probably crying.

Now, while he didnt care about Virgil anymore on account of the anxious side abandoning them and the fact that apparently whatever friendship they once may have had had been a lie on the anxious side part, in all the years of knowing him, Remus had never seen Virgil look quite so…

Pitiful? Broken?

Small. He settled for small. He had never seen Virgil look so small before.

But he should leave. Surely his presence would only make whatever this was worse and-

Virgil’s breath hitched and now Remus could clearly make out the sound of him sobbing and god fucking damn it.

He wanted to help Virgil.

“Virgil? Are you uh, okay there?” Remus asked nervously and ,upon hearing his voice, Virgil startled and proceeded to cry louder. 

Fuck, Remus wasn't equipped for this. 

“Should I, erg, go fetch Patton or something?” Remus asked, making a vague gesture with his hand that he was sure Virgil couldn't see. Now, that question did get a reaction out of him.

“NO!” Virgil yelled in that particularly demonic voice of his while snapping his head up to look at him. Huh. Interesting, the mere mention of Patton had Virgil’s eyes widening in panic and fear, his breath quickening and his shaking worsening.

Now, Remus didn’t have the time to unpack all of that so he decided to just throw away the whole suitcase and try a different approach.

“Okay. No Patton. Got it.” He said, nodding to himself and he saw Virgil relax just the tiniest bit, still looking at him warily with tears still falling freely, his cheeks stained black from his ruined eyeshadow.

“What do you want, Remus?” Virgil asked, now in his normal voice, if a quite a lot more shakier than it should be.

“Well, originally, I wanted to steal some of Patton’s cookies. Now, however, I want to know what the fuck happened that left you-”He made a vague gesture that encompassed Virgil as a whole-“Like this.”

Virgil smiled ruefully and then simply said:

“Thomas knows.”

Oh fuck. Oh god fucking shit. He really, really wasn't equipped for this.

“What the fuck. You told him? Like, now?” He asked, trying very hard not to panic himself.

Virgil looked at him curiously while he tried to wipe his tears away.

“I thought you-Nevermind. No, I told him after you decided to introduce yourself to him.”

“That was a month ago.” He stated dumbly, the Why are you panicking now then? left unasked.

“Yeah. I think Thomas took it well enough. He didn’t seem to hate me. I think it's just taking a while to process.”

“Congratulations! What's the fucking issue then?” He asked, still not getting what the problem was

“Did you notice that he avoided me like the plague since I told him? And that today is the first time he summons any of us for any sort of serious discussion since then?”

“Yeah, and?”

“I think he wants to tell the others about me, to see what he should do.” 

Oh shit. Fuck. Okay, no, he definitely wasn't equipped to deal with any of this bullshit. He was, quite literally, the least tactful side out of all of them and this conversation felt too much like trying to disable a ticking bomb that was about to explode at the minimal error. He didn't have enough brain cells to deal with this shit alone and-

Wait. Brain cells. Logan

Logan could help. He was the literal voice of reason and was smart enough to already know, or at the very least suspect, that Virgil had been once one of them, so telling him about this entire not-fun mess so he could help calm Virgil the fuck down wouldn't make things worse. Yeah, that seemed reasonable. He’d go get Logan.

Remus made a gesture and summoned a box of tissues (It was a little damaged on the exterior but the tissues were usable, thank fuck) and he threw it at Virgil’s lap, who looked at him like he had grown a second head, although that would probably have been less surprising.

“Okay. Stay here. I’ll be right back.” Remus informed Virgil as calmly as he could and then immediately broke into a dead sprint towards Logan’s room.

Upon arriving, he knocked on the door rather loudly and after the door opened he was greeted by a surprised, if mildly annoyed, logical side.

“Remus? May I inquire what you are doing here? Deceit has just severed my connection to the others and while I doubt he means harm I must get back to them before-”

“Virgil is having a mental breakdown in the commons.” Remus interrupted and Logan immediately shut up.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He thinks that Thomas is going to discuss with you three what to do about him now that Thomas knows he was one of us before.” He summarized. Logan blinked.

“Oh dear, Thomas knows? Nevermind that, you can inform him that that is not why we were summoned, Thomas was upset and confused after the wedding disaster and he wanted to talk to Roman and Patton about it. He has no reason to fear. Speaking of which, I should really get back to-”

“Absolutely not. You tell him that” Remus ordered while he grabbed Logan by the wrist and started walking to the commons.

“Let go of me! If he becomes aware that I knew he will- Remus! I am busy at the moment!” Logan argued while he fruitlessly tried to wiggle free out of Remus’ iron grip

“Nope. You are his friend. You are coming with me to deal with this and that is final.” 

“Remus!”

The duke continued to drag Logan to the commons and once there, he shoved him into Virgil’s lap, who froze like a deer caught in headlights the moment he saw Logan.

“You two talk while I go make some tea.” He decided, remembering how Janus had nothing short of chugged an entire kettle of Chamomile after the whole courtroom fiasco to calm himself down, and deciding a cup of it might help Virgil now.

He went to the kitchen and decided to put some water to boil instead of summoning the cups, since A) He always had trouble summoning things that weren’t dirty, broken and/or cursed and B) He thought it might be better to give the other two some time and space so they could talk in peace. He watched them talk from beside the stove and while he couldn't hear what they were saying, he could see Virgil slumping in relief and then give Logan the tiniest of smiles.

As he watched quietly from afar how Logan tenderly helped wipe the ruined eyeshadow out of Virgil’s face while he seemed to say something that made the anxious side laugh softly, Remus couldn’t help the weird feeling that settled into his chest, a dull ache that left him feeling more alone than he had felt in a long while and left him yearning for something he couldn't quite name.

He shook his head, trying to physically get rid of those weird mushy sad feelings, and went to look for some cups and the teabag. He found them just as the kettle started to whistle, so he dropped the tea bag into the boiling water and while he waited for the tea to be ready he went to look for spoons and some sugar. Once he had them in hand he realized he didn't actually know how sweet did either of the other two like their tea so he decided to just take it to the living room and let the others decide for themselves.

He checked to see if the other two were still talking and ,upon seeing that they had moved from the floor to the couch and that Virgil was quietly curled up beside Logan, he had to squash that feeling again. He turned and balanced the cups and spoons into one hand while he held the sugar in the other while mindlessly grabbing the kettle with one of his tentacles. Just before stepping out of the kitchen he saw the cookie jar and on a whim decided to grab that too. 

Logan looked up from the couch and blinked, looking at Remus a bit surprised and it was then that he realized that it was the first time any of the others saw him use his tentacles. Ah, well, it was Logan. He had seen him do weirder stuff. 

“I made Chamomile, Deceit says it has calming properties or some shit.” He informed them while he placed the three cups and sugar jar into the coffee table.

“That was very thoughtful and kind of you, Remus.” Logan acknowledged.

Remus visibly brightened at the praise, one of his tentacles carefully pouring the tea into the cups while the other popped the cookie jar open and left it in the table without him needed to look at them. 

“Gross. Why can’t you just use extra hands like a normal side?” Virgil asked looking disgusted by the entire thing.

“Simple: Aesthetic” Remus replied with a smile.

“I still hate them with a passion” Virgil said while gesturing to the tentacles with his spoon “But I can respect that.” He conceded.

“Ah, excuse me, but before I can settle down to uh, chill?” Logan paused while looking at Virgil ,who just nodded, before he continued “I must go back to check on the others and make sure they dont require my assistance anymore.”

Logan got up from the sofa and sank out, leaving Remus and Virgil alone.

Remus sat as far away from Virgil as the couch would allow while silently taking sips of his tea and eating cookies, trying to force himself to shut up as to not break the frail and unspoken truce that hung in the air between him and the emo. Oddly enough, in the end, it was Virgil who broke the silence.

“Why did you do it?” Virgil asked Remus without lifting his gaze from his teacup.

“I already told you, Janus says it has some sort of-”

“No! Not the tea, you idiot!” Virgil interrupted Remus, trying his best to suppress a smile. “Why did you...help me?” He asked, now looking at the duke, his expression and his voice guarded. 

“You know there is no rime or reason to what I do, I just do.”

“Remus. Please.”

“I-Listen.” Remus took a deep sigh. “I know you hate my guts and that our relationship was never quite the best, but-”

“Understatement of the century.”

“But!” He continued, “Before you left I…”

Remus paused and then, hesitantly, he said “Even if I have never been able to express it as effusively or clearly like, say, Patton might, I thought of you as a friend.” A pause. Then, more quietly, as he took another sip of tea. “A dear one at that.”

Virgil’s glare immediately softened.

“Remus, I-” Virgil started but was interrupted by Logan popping back up.

The logical side took one deep breath and then proceeded to grab his cup from the table and take a big gulp with the expression of a man who probably wished it’s contents were something a lot more stronger than tea. Remus could relate. 

They watched in silent bewilderment as the usually very composed side carelessly left his cup in the table before letting himself fall onto the couch between Remus and Virgil. Logan sighed again and rubbed at his eyes behind his glasses in a blatant act of frustration.

“It is the furthest thing from my intention to come off as dramatic, but I swear if Roman and Patton do not calm down soon and start to actually listen to others then I will be forced to commit arson.” 

“Neat! I’ll gladly help you set things on fire, Logan”

“No one its setting anything on fire, Remus.” Virgil interjected “What happened?”

“Deceit and I made some, I would say, valid arguments and gave a reasonably good advice on how to handle Thomas’ new emotional crisis and they proceeded to ignore it until the problem blew up in their faces it, but what else is new?”He said, his hands still covering his eyes behind his glasses. He paused for a second “Well, at least Patton seemed to have had seen sense when I left so I’d say its progress.”

“Uh, hold up, go back a little bit: You sided with Deceit on an argument?” Virgil asked looking at Logan like he had gone insane.

“We merely suggested that Thomas should actually put himself first for once in his life and stop neglecting his mental health so much, even if that means to be selfish from time to time” Logan explained as calmly as he could.

“How could you think that-” Virgil began before the other cut him off.

“I am not going to start arguing about this with you too, Virgil. If you wanted to give your opinions on this matter so desperately, you should have done your job and showed up.”Logan snapped.

Silence. Logan’s face looked like he regretted those words the moment they left his mouth and Virgil looked like he had been punched.

“Yikes.”Remus said eloquently. “Does anyone want a cookie?” He offered while shaking the cookie jar and that seemed to break the tension that hung in the air. Virgil bit back a laugh at the stupidity of the situation and Logan’s lip quirked upwards in the barest hint of a smile.

“You know what? Yeah, I want one, pass the jar, Duke” Virgil said.

“That is very kind of you, Remus, but I believe I will pass for the time being, thank you.” Logan politely declined.

“Suit yourself.” Remus replied while he threw Virgil the cookie jar, who catched it with minimal fumbling. “I don’t like to insert myself in conversations that clearly are none of my business but-”

“Since when?”

“Shut the fuck up. As I was saying, but before coming here I saw Deceit before he left to join the discussion and he said he was, and I am quoting, going to get this bitch some self-care if it is the last thing he does, so I personally think that the chances of this being a super evil secret plot to ruin Thomas’ life are rather low, emo” He explained.

“Ah, while that is a crude way to put it, it still summarizes our intentions: We just wanted to, uh, get this bitch some self-care.” Logan said awkwardly.

“I-” Virgil sighed. “I don’t trust Deceit and I don’t think that he is honestly doing this out of the goodness of his heart, but I do trust you, Logan, so if you think that Thomas should take more care of himself, then I will not argue.” He said, resigned.

“That's…”Logan paused, looking a bit touched. “Very mature of you, Virgil. Thank you” He finished lamely.

“Besides, you were right, if I wanted to give my opinion on this I should have shown up.” Virgil shrugged. 

Logan looked like he wanted to argue and probably apologize about saying that when Roman  popped up, looking incredibly distressed. And, upon seeing Remus sitting on the couch with the others, his expression soured even more.

“How many times do I have to chase you out of the commons before you get it? Your kind is not allowed here.” Roman said while he summoned his sword. Virgil visibly cringed at Roman’s phrasing. 

Remus was about to put his cup down, summon his morning star and knock a bitch out so he could finish his tea in peace, when Logan got up and put himself between them.

“It’s okay Roman, he is not up to any nefarious acts, we were merely having tea together.” Logan explained, moving his hands in a placating manner as if to gently coarse Roman into lowering his sword. The Prince’s grip around his katana tightened.

“Why would you even want to have tea with this-this evil and deranged-”Roman started but Virgil cut him off.

“Roman, that's enough. He saw me being very, uh, lets say, distressed about something and wanted to help, that's why he is here”

Something in Roman's eyes changed after he heard what his brother did. 

He helped Virgil. Of course he did. Roman was laughing at someone’s name while his brother helped his friend calm down.

 The prince’s expression quickly morphed from rage to an empty and defeated look that had no place in Roman’s face. He looked completely exhausted. 

“I-Of course, of course you’d defend him. Of course I am the evil twin.” He sighed, visibly deflating. Remus looked at Roman confused. What the fuck was that about? Why was everyone so emotional today?

“Uh-what do you mean you are the evil twin? Roman?” Virgil asked, looking at the prince with clear worry written across his face.

Roman decided to ignore that question and just made his  katana disappear before dragging his hands across his face and giving a long and tired sigh. He stared numbly at them for a minute before turning and walking towards the hallway. “I’m going to my room, please do not disturb me unless it is an emergency.” He stated, his voice shaking slightly.

“Wait, Roman!” Virgil stood up with the intention of following him to find out what happened but a tentacle grabbed his hoodie and pulled him back down.

“Leave him be, emo, I think he needs to be alone for a minute.” Remus stated, his tone laced with something dangerously close to concern. His own words made him pause for a second and then, more quietly: “I cannot believe I just said that. I am worried about my brother. What the fuck.”

“But-” Virgil started, struggling to get the tentacle off of him.

“I do have to agree with Remus, Virgil.” Logan interrupted, “Roman seemed way too upset, so going to try and talk to him now might be counterproductive. Being seen in such a vulnerable state when he doesn't want to could cause him to lash out without meaning to, which, if he does for some reason actually believe he has become “The evil twin”-no offence, Remus-”

“None taken.”

“-will only make him feel worse” Logan concluded.

Virgil looked like he wanted to argue but after a couple of seconds he just threw his hands up in surrender and frustration, “FINE! You win, I will wait. Now let go of my hoodie before your disgusting tentacles ruin it.”

Remus briefly considered to hold on tighter and maybe rub more tentacles on the emo’s hoodie just to piss Virgil off, but he ended up deciding against it: If he tried that the emo would probably go feral and try to tear his tentacles off of him on by one in bloody revenge and ,while that certainly could be fun, he was ,surprisingly, enjoying talking with these two and didn't want to end their little get together in such a gorey way (Not yet, anyways). 

He let go.

Virgil glumpily swiped imaginary slime off his hoodie and grabbed a cookie, stuffing it in his mouth angrily. Remus looked at him amused, and he was about to start mocking the emo for throwing a fit like a little baby when Patton popped up.

The moral side looked tired, his entire being radiating an aura of bone-deep exhaustion, the type that was both physical and mental and left one completely drained, and yet, his face still had the ghost of a smile on it. His state might have been nothing compared to the wreck Roman had been when he popped up, but he clearly wasn't fine either.

When Patton’s eyes landed on Remus, still comfortably sitting on the sofa with Logan and Virgil, he stiffened up and blinked slowly, like he was unsure of what he was seeing.

“Um, hi everyone.” He greeted awkwardly. He paused for a second, still looking at Remus with clear confusion, “Uh, Remus, kiddo, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but, um, what are you doing, um, here?”

“Oh, don't worry! Nothing you could say to me would ever be able to offend me!” Remus waved Patton’s concern away gleefully, “I was just having a relaxing tea with these two dorks after Virgil’s mental breakdown!” Remus explained and the emo choked on his cookie.

“Virgil’s what now?” Patton asked as the remains off his smile fell and he grew serious.

“Nothing Pat, don’t worry, I’m fine, I promise” Virgil said, trying to stop the moral side’s fretting before it began. “I was a bit anxious about something and Logan and Remus helped me calm down.” He explained calmly.

“Oh, that's just a load of bullshit: He was this close to having a panic attack because he thought-” Remus started, and he wasn't ACTUALLY going to tell Patton the real reason Virgil freaked out, even if he thought that the moral side would do nothing but love and support the emo for “Growing” and “Changing his ways” and other disgusting stuff if he found out the truth, but Virgil interrupted him anyways.

“Remus, I swear to God, I will gouge your eyes out with a teaspoon if you don't shut up. Do not test me” Virgil hissed.

“Ooh, kinky~” He replied without missing a beat and beaming.

“Oh, you mother-”

“Patton, I promise Virgil is fine now and there is no need to worry about it anymore.” Logan interjected before the fight could escalate.

“Are you sure?” Patton asked, still looking troubled.

“Positive.” Logan said in a tone that screamed stop asking. Patton seemed to get the hint.

“Okay then…”Patton said, still unsure but deciding to back off for now. “Well, you kiddos have fun with your tea party, I have to go check on Roman, we had a little scuffle out there and he was very upset before sinking out.”

“Pardon me, Patton, but do you think that going to check on him right now is a good idea?” Logan asked, a tad concerned.

“What do you mean if I think it is a good idea? I will not leave him alone when he is upset!” Patton said, looking slightly offended at the suggestion.

“He means you look like shit.”

“Remus!” Virgil hissed.

“What?! He does! Even I can tell he is not fine! He can’t help anyone if he is about to have a breakdown himself!” Remus argued.

“I actually meant-” Logan started, but Patton’s sigh interrupted him.

“Yeah, I know, but after what happened in the video, I can’t help but worry about him.” Patton explained, tired. 

The three sides that sat in the sofa looked at Patton surprised at his confession for a second and then at each other, seeming to come to a silent agreement. 

“I did not meant that you shouldn’t check on Roman, Patton.” Logan started, his voice oddly soft. “I meant that I think it would benefit both of you to take a moment to breathe and calm down separately before starting what, I can only assume, will be an emotionally taxing discussion.”

Patton nodded, seemingly resigned. Remus summoned a mug, it’s green exterior was chipped in some areas and it’s handle was broken, but it was clean and could keep what you poured inside warm.

“Would you want some tea?” He offered cheerfully. 

“Yeah, a warm drink would be nice right now, thank you” Patton said, the ghost of a smile back in his face and his eyes soft.

[breaddaerb]

Long time no see bread. It is I, again, the one who is always watching and hungry : SOVIPER ANON

*EVIL LAUGH*

Can I have, maybe, just asking, only if you want to, some arguing with a cute end? Maybe my couple being really passive-agressive but loving each other in the end...

And if you keep writing this amazing stuff, I'LL BE BACK

*EVIL LAUGH* *SMOKE* *SOVIPER ANON OUT*

[ sova x viper IV ]

✎↷: AHHH ITS TEAM ROCKET

well you know if you put it this way, i can’t really say no! let me just say, soviper anon, when i got the request about if i had any soviper content, i snorted to myself and thought of you. yeah! you’re that special, friend! anwyays, enjoy the ship content! didn’t reread this one over tooo much since i had it packed away for a few days now :D

As Viper watches Sova’s blonde hair whip down the hallway in a flurry of stomps and muttered curses, she knows she’s done something wrong.

Well— it wasn’t wrong in her eyes. All she had done was suggest that his owl could be improved by lacing his tracking dart with poison. It was more lethal, wasn’t it? If he could subdue someone while they worked, they’d get stacks of progress done instead of needing to beat around the bush.

Somehow, her partner has gotten offended by it. She already knows that his inventions are held dear to him, given his own cybernetic eye, but what’s the harm in an idea for improvement? He told her it ‘wasn’t that simple’ and ‘not everything needed to be a nuclear weapon’, and Viper brushed him off. It’s dumb and petty to her, so she doesn’t see the need to stop the Russian when he runs away. It’s not her fault that he’s upset.

The guilt welcomes itself into her mind when Sova doesn’t show up to dinner that night. She’s brooded on her own for nearly the whole day, taut and put at her wit’s end as she reevaluated their conversation over and over again. Viper was now stationed in the living room with Reyna, her plate of food pulled into her lap. There wasn’t much chatter between them beside the idle remark, but Viper couldn’t ignore the deep stare that the Mexican was giving the American, as if she was being observed. It frustrated her.

When it eventually got to be too annoying for Viper, her head snapped up, eyes venomous. “What are you looking at?” She gruffed, tone harsh ended and sharp.

Reyna didn’t even flinch. “Someone is upset today. What’s the matter, serpentine?”

Viper placed her dinner down, stomach twisted into sour knots. She did not need the woman pressing on her, especially when Sova was still MIA.

“What could you possibly get out of hearing it? Some reassurance that at least one of us has a life?”

Chuckling, the purple haired woman disbelievingly shook her head and ran a clawed hand through her mane. Reyna was always painfully— and obnoxiously— smug about the amusement she got out of seeing Viper’s frustrations.

However, it doesn’t take much for Reyna to continue, thoroughly entertained by Viper’s ruffled feathers. “Ay, nono, hermanita. Nothing like that,” she grinned, leaning forward with a hand beneath her chin. “The owl is not here today, is he?”

The tense of Viper’s hands answer the question for her.

Her gaze sharpens, and Reyna resembles a predator ready to prey. “Trouble in paradise, I see.”

This is more than what Viper will ever come to handle, but she’d be damned if she admitted that Sova’s peaceful ways have begun to rub off on her.

(He would be delighted to hear that. It’s not everyday where you turn a war criminal into a slightly safer, more peaceful murderer.)

“It’s none of your business,” she grumbled instead, stubbornly chewing on a forkful of lettuce. Reyna is pleased with this reaction, if her tittering beside the woman is any indication.

“I should express empathy for the others in our little group, don’t I? This includes the boy of yours.” Slipping from her seat, Reyna rises to refill her glass of water. She knows Viper is listening to her because of the vehement stare that bores itself into the back of her head, lasering through the flesh.

When Reyna turns around to face Viper again, the American is already rising out of her seat and making a beeline for the exit of the living room. It’s laughable at how on edge this woman is at a pointlessly minuscule conversation, but she’s trying her best and her ‘stabilizer’ isn’t there, so someone help her.

“You are yet to talk to him, no? I have heard that apologies are useful in situations like these— unless you plan on lurking around like a measly rat.”

Viper doesn’t take these words well, scowling at the doorway with her face pulling into a frown. “You don’t know him like I do. I would suggest that you’d stay out of it, vampire.”

Reyna sleazed over the countertop, a smug expression on her face. “Oh, but I do? Sabine, you must learn with the softer ones. Sage may play hard to get with me, but it does not mean she avoids me. You on the other hand..”

At this point, she’s heard enough and she flees the living room for a quieter, emptier space. On a normal day, it’s not difficult to block out Reyna’s charms and her games. They both know this. And yet she finds herself bothered, flames of guilt licking up the insides of her stomach as she comes to stop in front of the very doors that she’s been dreading the most.

She needs to start somewhere. Somewhere is... here.

Her knuckles rap against the door, and the scientist paced up and down the hallway while she waits like the maniac she is. In fact, she’s so caught up in it that she doesn’t realize when the door opens with her lover’s head peeking out of it.

Sova doesn’t look too tired, in her observation. His skin retains brightness, and his hair is still fluffy and thick. He looks fine, in all regards, but she knows he’s not. It never is.

“Hi,” she musters after a moment of silence. Sova gets this look of conflict, and before she’s able to say any more, he sighs and opens the door wider, granting her entree.

Sova’s room is something she’s well acquainted with by this point, but she doesn’t have the courage to sit down and make herself at home like the other times. Viper stands numbly in the middle of the room, observing Sova go about his life.

Abruptly, he clears his throat, which may have scared her out of her skin if she wasn’t caught up in the storm that was her mind. Right, she was here for a reason.

“I am... sorry.” Viper admits slowly, arms closing in over her chest. “I didn't mean to upset you, owl. I am unsure of where I messed up, but I hope you know that I take full accountability for it. Whatever it may be.”

Her head dips sincerely, and while it feels wrong to speak in such a vulnerable way, Sova looks ecstatic. His eyes widen like he hadn’t expected that and seriously, who would when it comes to the untouchable Viper? She was called that for a reason.

The Russian engulfs the smaller American woman, and Viper’s clearly put off if not surprised by the physical contact. An apology doesn’t typically incite or encourage affection, according to her observations. Normally, emotions boil and spark at the very sight of one, but Sova defies her standards by the simple way his fingers tenderly held onto the sides of her hips. How expected of him.

“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” he mumbles, but Viper gives him a pointed look and the man concedes. Sova looks softer than ever like this, and what it does to these.. stirring emotions in her chest, she isn’t fully sure.

Viper’s thumb presses along Sova’s collarbone. “Then what was it, Sova?”

He goes quiet, either savoring the embrace or thinking about what he was going to say next. It happened to be both.

“I don’t want a mean bird.”

She blinks. Once, then twice.

“..what?”

Sova shies away, his face pinker when he speaks up. “The owl. It means a lot to me. I wouldn’t.. want to see it be used to torment people so much. It’s meant to be cute.”

The last part goes mumbled, and because she’s so close to him, she can make out each and every word. She shouldn’t be rendered speechless by something so.. pathetically and adorably childish, but that’s exactly what ends up happening.

“You’re telling me that you got mad,” she makes a gesture with her hands, tone raising. “just because it’s cute? Really?”

He frowned deeply, like he had a plenty reasonable excuse. “Is that so wrong?”

Viper wants to bite at him and pull her hair out. This built up stress, tension, the boiling, all of it for this little reason. She’s close to blowing her top off when she distinctly remembers that this, although minimal to her, was why she fell for Sova in the first place. How dare her heart betray her in the name of science and humanity? She was disgusted...

...and more cuddly than usual, with her head burrowing itself into the crook of his neck. Sova is still pouty, though he indulges her with a light pat to her back and a chuckle. Viper can’t believe she was tortured the whole day just for this.

“You felt tortured?”

Shit. She didn’t mean to say that out loud.

“..no. It was an exaggeration, owl, think nothing of it.”

A wide smile stretches across his face, giddy and warm and everything that Viper needs to relax. He leans in, placing a kiss against the crease of her hair.

“It’s okay, Sabine! I felt the same way. It’s hard to go about without seeing you by my side.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

[write-it-good-imagines]

Mine - Jackson Wang

So, @aggrocat121 said “If I could request a Jackson writing with your prompts ! and 25, I’m just a sucker for a jealous Jackson scenario!” and you know what I said? Mood hun, tbvh.

~2k words, fluff, if one squints, one can see the angst but honestly I think it’s just cute ok, 

Prompts: 1. “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

25: “You’re mine. I don’t share.”

Summary: One would think jealousy only leads to dreadful things; and while it is true, it is also undeniable that, once in a blue moon, jealousy gives birth to even greater things.

It was not a date, per se. You did not phrase it like that. It was more of a meeting between two very close friends. Except you could have dialed anyone else’s phone number and request the presence of anyone else to accompany you in an afternoon shopping session. This meant that, with you explicitly calling him to join you and, subsequently, to spend quality time with you, it was more than just a meeting between two close friends. So Jackson settled for a date; in his mind anyway.

Jackson fantasized about confessing his feelings for you in an incalculable number of ways, his fictional plans leading to the same happy conclusion. Nevertheless, there’s a common saying that, although applicable, Jackson loathed: ‘it was never the right time’. And it truly never was. Not because he was unsure of his feelings, or because he didn’t suspect there was something on your part too, but because he discovered he was too much of a coward to take the reins.

And now he was stuck waiting for you to finish your conversation with an affable man who kept on repeatedly touching your upper arm as he grinned a tad too excessively at your words.

Jackson checked his watch and observed an excruciating five minutes had passed since he had met you outside your favorite shopping center and the only words you bothered to throw his way were a mere request to wait for a little bit, the rest of them undeniably flowing the stranger’s way. And boy, was he getting mad.

After your interminable conversation finally met its end, the man luckily went his way, refraining himself from doing an audacious thing such as hugging you, and Jackson let out a heavy sigh. You turned your body to him and were surprised you weren’t greeted with the usual bear hug and blinding smile. 

“Seunie, hello! Sorry about that, it was one of my co-workers.”

Jackson could figure as much. “Yeah, don’t mind. Shall we go?”

You blinked at the coldness of his words. Jackson started walking ahead, neglecting the usual pace he settled for when the two of you would walk together. You lifted a brow but chose to say nothing. He would ordinarily speak his mind on his own whenever something bugged him so you opted to wait for him to find his words.

However, it was a lie to say you were not intimidated by his icy silhouette.

“Thanks for coming. I know you must be busy with everything but I really need to buy some new jeans and office trousers. And we both know you’re more stylish than I am.”

Jackson glanced at you briefly and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket. The brown trench coat you wore over a simple white shirt, tugged in the flared jeans and the low-heeled ankle boots were forming a look that Jackson planned on commenting about. Of course, you were beautiful regardless of the clothes you wore but that was positively his favorite look on you. “You’re exaggerating.”

“No need to get all modest now, Wang.” You chuckled and entered the first store for a quick scan. Jackson extended his arm to take your handbag so you could better look around. He kept a small distance from you, fiddling with his phone, giving minimal response to any of the questions you asked.

At first, you thought that he genuinely did not like anything that you showed him so you simply shrugged your shoulders and went on your way to the next store. It was the same irritating process in the next couple of stores you walked in. You’d show him an article of clothing, often picking ones that you truly liked, and he’d either nod his head or say you should buy it if you liked it. Jackson was slowly but surely stepping on your every nerve. If you wanted to randomly purchase something just for the sake of it, you would have sent your brother. 

His attitude was peculiar in itself. He had an annoying glimmer in his eyes and a pouty expression that you had never seen on him when he just wanted an ounce of attention. During all those memorable times you spent with Jackson, both good and bad, you fell for every antic he’d do, from jutting out his lower lip in a silent cry for hugs to the serene smile he only offered you when you were around him. It was, still, a bit far-fetched since he was friendly with every breathing creature. This time, his indifference toward you was a harrowing prospect.

As you were browsing through Zara, your eyes fell on some beautiful jeans that you were determined to try on, with or without Jackson’s help.

“Are you coming?” you asked shortly and walked to the fitting rooms without waiting for an actual response. Jackson followed you silently and folded your coat over his forearm, seating himself on an outer chair. It wasn’t long before he noticed the curtain opening. 

You were checking for the fitting when you called him over. “Jackson.”

Jackson stood up and walked over to you, almost chocking on thin air at the sight. He had shamelessly examined your curves before, occasionally informing you even, yet your ass looked splendid in that particular pair of jeans. He remembered he was upset, though, and he had to act accordingly. 

“These are okay.”

You could feel your eyes rolling out of their respective orbits. You pulled the curtain to change back into your clothes and stormed out by Jackson when you were done to pay for the jeans. You offered a small smile to the employee and offered your credit card; scarcely had you reacted when Jackson took the shopping bag in his hand and walked on ahead with that, along with your coat and handbag. That was the last straw.

“Okay, I am done receiving the silent treatment.” You declared and settled yourself by his side. “Can you please tell me what is going on with you?”

Jackson peeked at you, then turned his face forward. “Nothing.”

“Jackson Wang, I am going to ask this only once before I turn around and go home. What is going on?”

Jackson closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “How long have you known that guy?”

So that was the problem.

You scoffed in amusement. “Who, my colleague? Dang, Jackson, we’ve been working since I joined the company. If I think about it now, he is my senior by a year.”

Jackson did not find what he was looking for in your answer. The air in his lungs evacuated all at once in an excessive sigh. You did not know what to do with that side of Jackson’s. Well, one could always presume, but you didn’t know if he was simply dramatic for the sake of it, or was genuinely bothered. You looked up at him, a small smile plastered on your lips. 

“Jackson, we are only friends—“

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.”

Jackson mirrored your confused expression, although his was sprinkled with a mixture of fear and uneasiness. Your eyes were visibly widened.

“What?”

“What?”

“I was referring to my colleague, Jackson.”

He clicked his tongue. “Oh.”

You opened your mouth a couple of times, trying to form a coherent sentence, but failed each time. Out of all the things Jackson could have said, his last sentence astonished you. Or more accurately, it shook you down to your core. There was no turning back.

“Wait a second, are you acting like a brat right now because you are jealous?” you mumbled, your eyebrows knitted together. “I can’t believe it.”

Jackson scoffed. “I’m not jealous.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but I am going to give you a moment to reconsider your answer.”

Jackson turned his body completely to you, moving all the articles to one hand so he could gesture his argument freely. “I don’t like it. How come a random guy out in the street gets to be all mushy-mushy with you?”

You chuckled and folded your arms over his chest. His face was priceless at that moment. “A random guy? I just told you he’s my senior!”

“Oh, so in this modern age all seniors get to run their filthy hands up and down your arm, thinking it comes as a motivational bonus?”

You felt your blood beginning to boil. You were not happy with the mixed signals he was giving you so faithfully, confidently traversing back and forth between platonic friendship and romantic interest, and yet you did not run to him to rub them in his face. “What’s it to you, Jackson? How come you’re suddenly interested in who gets to run their hand up and down my body?”

“You’re mine. I don’t share.”

You would have actually felt the heart skipping a beat in your ribcage had it not been for the veil of anger clouding your senses. You would have also realized you developed a weak spot for that assertive side of Jackson. Especially now as it was exclusively yours. “Oh? Since when?”

He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “Since now.”

Jackson lost no time in cupping your cheek with his free hand and crashing his lips against yours. The air hitched in your throat as he pressed the lingering and otherwise addicting kiss to your lips. You froze in your spot, all the awareness exiting your body at once. He pulled back, his earnest eyes piercing through your soul. You could not remember a single moment when Jackson was that serious.

“I like you, hell, I like you so much that I simply don’t know what to do with myself in your presence. I don’t think there is anyone in this galaxy who adores another person as much as I adore you. You see all these people around here?” Jackson stopped succinctly to gesture to the crowded corridors of the mall. 

“Jackson, I don’t know what--”

“I know you must think I am exaggerating, or that I am crazy, or that I am a mess and God knows I truly am a mess, but trust me when I say there’s no one alive who can take care of you the way I can. I am horrified to lay a single finger on your beautiful skin, so who are they to think they even deserve such a blessing?”

There was no tremble in his voice, no hesitation in his eyes, not any snippet of insecurity in the words he spoke. To say you were petrified was an understatement. At least your blazing cheeks hinted you were alive.

“That and your ass looks majestic in those new jeans.”

Jackson lowered his hand to pat your ass playfully. He then straightened his body and cleared his throat, still studying your features carefully. A sly smirk was sketched on his lips as soon as he noticed your bright complexion and turned happily to skip away.

“Hey, Wang Jackson!” he heard you calling out his name and snickered to himself, wiggling his fingers at you. You were in a conspicuous state of denial as you dashed over to him. “Did you just brazenly flirt with me?”

Jackson intertwined his fingers with yours effortlessly. “Have been for the past century, but thanks for noticing.”

“No, no.” you shook your head and your now tangled hands. “Did you just confess to me?”

Jackson opted to wink at you, taking advantage of your perplexed stance. Out of all the countless scenarios he outlined in his mind, he had to admit that, with a little bit of outside help, that was probably the best existing way to break it to you. With much-desired success, too. 

“So what if I did? You have yet to give me an answer.”

You had had enough of his smug expression. Without letting go of his hand, you pulled him by the collar with your other one and returned the favor by attaching your lips to his in a heartbeat. He smiled into the kiss and you figured he got the message. That was until he slid his hand out of yours and into the back pocket of your jeans and gave your butt a light squeeze.

“What are you doing right now?” you cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I have to assert dominance.”

You burst out in laughter and decided to play along. You also stuffed your hand into the back pocket of his jeans. “What an eloquent way to say you just needed and excuse to grab my ass in public.”

Jackson let out one of his irresistible laughs and leaned over to you to peck your cheek. It was more comfortable than he thought it would be, walking like that. “Don’t act like you’re any better, Y/n.”

[trissmarrygoals]

This was written for @aloe-casia, who sent me the prompt “Ooh! Could I trouble you for a 🌺 and ➕ for Geralt?”  This is only the first one, I’m still working on the second.  I really hope you like it!!

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

Jaskier hadn’t actually realized witchers could get sick like this until it happened.  

It’s not a fever of the type a human like him would generally get, but a leftover from a drowner hunt where Geralt had gotten several lungfuls of water mixed with drowner blood.  Jaskier isn’t sure if the blood contributed to the situation, but he’s working on the assumption that it didn’t help.

Jaskier had dragged the two of them back to town when he realized how high Geralt’s fever was.  Geralt had barely argued, and the debate he had tried to start up had been mostly incoherent.  By the time they got to the main square, he was noticeably listing to the right as he sat on Roach.

Getting him up the stairs had been hell, but at least he’d followed Jaskier’s instructions without complaint.  Without saying anything, actually.  Even for him, he’s eerily quiet.  

Finally, Geralt is settled in the bed.  Jaskier keeps him sitting up, because it seems to make his breathing easier.  There’s a horrible wheeze every time he breathes in now, rattling through his chest.  He’s already had several coughing fits, all of which seemed about to tear him apart.  Jaskier has no idea what to do, if there’s a potion he should give him or if he should get a healer or if he should see if he can wait it out.

It’s late now, so he figures he’ll let Geralt rest a little and then figure out his next move.  

He should get water.  They could both use it, and he can try to bring the fever down with it.  He stands to see if he can get some in the main room of the in, or if he’ll have to go out to a well.

Geralt reaches out, faster than it seems he should be capable of right now.  “Don’t leave,” he says, voice desperate and eyes welling up.  “Please, Jask, you can’t leave.”

Jaskier stops and turns back to the bed and wraps both his hands around Geralt’s.  “I’m just going downstairs, alright?  I’ll be right back.”

“No, you can’t, please.  They’re here, you can’t leave, you have to stay.”

Jaskier feels something cold in his stomach.  “Who’s here, Geralt?”

“They found us, they’re here. They’re not gonna leave.”

“Alright,” Jaskier says as calmly as he can.  “Alright, you’re okay.  You’re alright, shhh.”

Geralt looks up at him with frightened eyes.  “They’re here,” he says again.

Jaskier smoothes the blankets over him.  They’re quickly becoming soaked in sweat, but Jaskier feels like it would be pushing their luck to ask the innkeeper for fresh ones, when they’re lucky the man hasn’t thrown them out on the assumption that Geralt has some kind of plague.

Jaksier is unsure if there’s some sort of script you should follow with someone who’s hallucinating, but he has to say something, so he prepares himself to wing it.  He places both hands on Geralt’s shoulders and looks him in the eyes.

“Listen.  Those people, they can’t touch you.  That’s the rule, okay?  They just aren’t allowed to.  I’m going to leave, just for a minute, and I’ll be back.  When I’m gone, they might get closer, but they can’t touch you.”  Another thought crosses his mind.  “And they aren’t allowed to touch me either.”

Geralt looks at him, slumps slightly backwards, and nods.

“I’ll be right back.”

Geralt nods again, looking more distant than just a moment ago.

Jaskier half runs downstairs.  At this point, he’s determined to find a healer.

From the innkeep, Jaskier learns that the only healer in town serves more as an apothecary, and will probably not come see Geralt.

The healer is an old old man who listens to him intently, makes several rude comments about witchers, and gives Jaskier a bag of herbs with only minimal instructions on what to do with them.  

When Jaskier gets back to the room, Geralt is sitting up, looking as terrified as earlier.  His eyes seem to slide off Jaskier before locking onto him.  Jaskier has to restrain himself from running to him.  He places the herbs and the water he’d requested downstairs on the floor, and pushes Geralt back against the wall.  “There we are,” he murmurs, smoothing the blankets over him.

Geralt hums in response, which is comfortingly familiar but not as comforting as words would be.  There’s a wooden cup along with the water, and Jaskier dips it into the bucket and then sets about boiling what’s left before carrying the cup to Geralt.

“Drink something, alright?  The healer gave me something that should ease your breathing, but I’d like you to have water first.”

Geralt doesn’t protest.  At first he tries to drink too fast, but Jaskier makes him slow down, not wanting him to choke on it.  Once the cup’s empty, he wipes a line of water from the corner of Geralt’s lips with his thumb.

He spends five minutes figuring out how he should be preparing the herbs.  He manages it, he’s pretty sure, although the resulting concoction smells slightly awful. 

He sits on the bed, and doesn’t move when Geralt rearranges himself against his shoulder.  He holds out the cup, now filled with the medicine he’s made.  “Here, you have to breathe in the steam.”

They sit for a long minute, Geralt breathing as steadily as he can.  The warmth of the witcher’s body against him and the warmth from the steam is starting to make Jaskier drift off.

“Jaskier?”  Geralt sounds half asleep.  “Stay.”

“Hey,” Jaskier murmurs.  “I wasn’t planning on going anywhere.”

“Hm,” Geralt says.  “Stay anyways.”

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

hello this isnt abt batfam or batman but i saw your age and was wondering how do i survive till 23? i am 18 now and 5 more years is very hard to survive please help

Interesting question. I turn 24 in ten days, and sometimes even I’m not sure. I guess I’ll talk about how I personally stayed alive this long before I try to give advice.

The very first thing I would say is that I am religious, and that worldview makes a difference. I don’t mean that in a “everything happens for a reason” kind of way, and as a matter of fact, I very much dislike that line of thinking. It does a lot of damage, and I’m aware that it rightly puts a lot of people off from religion in general. 

I hold two beliefs that I think are helpful in terms of survival. First, I believe that humans are by nature bad. Counterintuitive in this conversation? Stick with me. Every day, but especially at my lowest moments, I hate the things that I am. In a metaphorical sense, my mind whispers to me that I am selfish, that I am cowardly, that I think bad things and I am capable of worse. I’m hateful, I’m terrifying, and I am absolutely broken. At my core, there is something fundamentally wrong, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix it. 

I am disgusting. I’m several thousand evil things in a trench-coat pretending to be anything but myself, and I’m not fooling anyone. 

Well, yeah. Yeah, I’m all those things and more: manipulative, lying, self-obsessed, angry, unforgiving, and judgmental. I could, of course, go on.

Here’s the thing-- everybody is. I am no better and no worse than any other person in the universe, and though I am ever abhorrent thing, I am. I have the same dignity, the same worth, and the same life as any human anywhere. The dark things are part and parcel of my humanity, but although I am not good, I do good. 

I will never be perfect because that just isn’t possible, but I can be kind. I can be loving, I can be strong, and I can be wise. 

Shit, doesn’t that set me free?

There’s a lot more to this conversation, and the rest goes, in brief, like this: at the bottom of the darkness that is every soul, we have one great fear-- if I am truly evil, no one will ever love me. Good news on that front, there is a God who does. If that’s something you want to talk about, hey hit me up. I’ll evangelize on my own time. 

Back to it. My second belief is a kind of understanding about the passage of time, and it’s sort of hard to boil down into a few sentences, but I’ll try my best. I believe in a grand struggle between good and evil. I know the beginning of that struggle. I know the end of that struggle: that good will win. I am a part of the middle. 

I see my role in the universe as extraordinary small but absolutely necessary. I have a two-fold purpose-- love God, love humans. I interpret both as a call to help others in any way I can, and I think in the way my life has worked out so far, that’s really the most important thing keeping me alive. 

I see all of this through the frame of my religion, but I would argue that everything I’ve said so far is applicable outside of that frame, because a lot of folks get to the same place from a fully secular point of view. I cannot be perfect. I should care about and fight for other people. That’s really all we’re working from here. 

A few years back, when people asked me this question-- how do you stay alive?-- I used to answer “spite,” and that’s not untrue. I am a very angry person, and the grand majority of that anger is directed at what I perceive as unjust acts. I have a deep-seated hatred of establishments (including the established church), and you’d be shocked at how much of a motivator that can be. 

I grew up in an environment that was very intentional in teaching me to identify injustice. Though I have radically departed from many of the teachings of my childhood, the part about fighting for others was something I learned at day one, and that bit has stuck around. For the most part, I grew up in an environment where everyone was on the same page about it. 

And theeeeeeen I went to undergrad. Hello, Texas A&M. I hit campus as an 18 year old fully incapacitated by anxiety. I was the kind of person who didn’t-- in fact couldn’t-- speak in front of others. I had always lived my life in a way that minimized myself, because if I never spoke, if I never disagreed, if I never drew attention, I would never make anyone angry. I knew from experience that angry people hurt me, and I was afraid of pain. 

Then I experienced the absolute shenaniganry of conservative Texans. The culture shock sent me to space and back, and on the return trip I decided that I couldn’t be quiet anymore. 

I learned to speak my freshman year so that I could scream FUCK YOU. It was incredibly painful, and I can’t tell you exactly how I managed it other than I was angry, and I didn’t want to lose. 

I fought a similar battle on my homefront against parents that didn’t know how to deal with a daughter that disagreed, or even worse, a daughter that wasn’t okay. I wasn’t a perfect child anymore. I knew I had anxiety, I knew I was depressed, and we all knew who I blamed for that. They hadn’t been the perfect parents they thought they were. 

I found myself growing, little by little, into a person that could write and argue and hold her ground. That’s personal growth for sure, but it didn’t necessarily help my mental health. As a matter of fact, my health declined all through undergrad, and in my third and final year, I cracked.

I was desperate. I was isolated. I was flooded by fear and despair, and I was falling apart. I don’t remember huge chunks of undergrad because I was so depressed that the memories didn’t stick, but I do remember my tipping point.

It was something small. The ceiling fan in my bedroom was broken. The lighting chain worked fine, but if anyone pulled the fan chain, the whole thing would stop working. I mixed up which chain was which, pulled the wrong cord, and broke it for the fourth time. 

For some reason, that was it. I lay down on my floor and cried for an hour, and while I did, my mind went to, as the kids say, a dark place. Finally, I called my mom and begged for psychiatric medication, something I had always been afraid to ask for. At the time, my parents believed that antidepressants were overprescribed, and they mocked parents that let their children take them. 

At around the same time, I was deciding what to do with my life. I was about to graduate, and I had always wanted to be a kindergarten teacher. Instead, everyone in my life pushed me towards law school. I didn’t know what to do, but I began fantasizing, not about going to law school exactly, but about being the kind of person that could go to law school. 

I knew that law school would be entail public speaking and constant conflict and the kind of work that would be hard for a person who sometimes couldn’t leave her bed. I wanted to be someone who could do all of that, but I didn’t believe I was.

Enter Donald Trump. Post-November 2016, I struggled to understand how something like that could happen, and I watched everyone else deal with it too. I began confused, moved to distraught, then returned to what I always am: angry.

January 2017 was the inauguration and shortly afterwards, the “Muslim ban.” I read the news on my bedroom floor, and there was one specific part that stuck out to me. There were pictures of lawyers flooding the airports. There was a court case headed for SCOTUS.

I suddenly realized that one group-- one very select group-- was doing what I was powerless to accomplish. I hated establishments, and there was one group that could challenge and change them. Some people could fight in the way I wanted to, and those people were lawyers.

I have a very distinct memory of looking into the bathroom mirror of my third-year apartment and thinking, “I will be miserable for the rest of my life, no matter what I do or what career I pick. I might as well be a miserable lawyer.”

So I took my antidepressants and I went to law school. I’m not going to rehash everything that happened there in this particular post, because in this topic, I don’t think it matters. The relevant part is that I went, and I had my reason why.

Sure as hell can tell you that law school wasn’t good for my health. The last three years have been, in terms of sheer stress and despair, the worst of my life. I picked up a self-harm habit, endured consistent humiliation, cycled through six different antidepressants, had horrible relationships, and developed a psychotic disorder. Don’t get me wrong, there were good things too. I met people that are important me, and beyond that, I grew. 

I know that 18 year old me would be absolutely flabbergasted by the woman I am now, cracks and flaws included. I wouldn’t say I’m healthy or okay, but I am more healthy and more okay. I’m coming out of this mess with the institutional power I wanted, and now I get to decide what to do with it. 

I was wrong three years ago when I looked in that bathroom mirror. I know now that I won’t be miserable for the rest of my life. I’m going to be happy someday, and to the parts of me that say otherwise: fuck you. I’ve learned to say it now. 

I graduated law school this week, and this month, I’ve felt better than I ever have before. I’m singing again, I dropped two medications, and suddenly, everything is so, so funny. I’ve been laughing so hard my face hurts the day after. 

This is a huge turning point in my life, so I’ve been meditating on my past. I’ve come to the conclusion that in most of the ways that matter, I won. My family has been forced to accept what I am. I became the person I wanted to be, even though I thought I wasn’t capable of that. 

I know for sure that there will be times in my life where I hit rock bottom again, and that’s not gonna be fun. It’s likely that with my mental health issues, I will always have to work harder than my peers to get the same results. That’s unfair. 

I also know that high points exist, and I will have them. I am having them, and I will again. 

I guess in recap, I know that I have deep flaws and ugly parts, but I am at peace with that. I know that I must help others, and in pursuit of that goal, I became a person I like more than the girl I used to be. 

You have exactly the same potential. I want you to know that whatever you are now, that’s not your forever. Circumstances change, and you will change too. We’re human, you and I, and that’s an exciting thing to be. 

Your worth comes from your humanity itself, both evil and good, not the things you do or the fights you win. You never have to compare yourself to others because you are exactly the same as everybody else-- no better, but certainly no worse. You’re a person. That’s enough. 

I’m telling you all those things, and as advice, I’ll say this: get angry and fight. Fight for others. You can help them, and you should. Fight for yourself. You are worthy of respect, and everyone else should give it to you. Fight yourself. Any part of you that preaches despair is wrong. 

Find the thing that makes you angry and use it. Things are fucked up! There’s a lot to be angry about. I put it this way to my classmates, now my attorney peers: you get one hill to die on. What’s your hill? Go and defend it. 

Here’s an interesting thing, anon. Your hill can be yourself. There’s nothing wrong with that. You’re right. Five years is a lot, and all the years beyond that are more. Take your antidepressants and go.

[artistic-writer]

The Contract :: CS Omegaverse :: Ch 8

Title: The Contract Rating: E Summary: Emma had never wanted much in her life, despite being married to one of the richest men in the world. For ten years she has felt like a prisoner in her own marriage, denied the one thing she wants the most, but her husband cannot help but bargain her want like a cheap business deal.  Enter Killian Jones, the Alpha her husband has hired to make sure she gets what she wants. And then some.

AO3 - Ko-Fi (100% of coffee’s bought go towards buying @adognamedkillian toys and treats!)

A/N: Ooooo! It’s here!  THAT chapter (if you have heard me talking about this chapter you’ll know what I mean.)  I’m very excited for you all to read it, and I really hope you enjoy it!

Artwork by me, @artistic-writer and beta’d by the lovely @shardminds who deserve all the love you guys can throw her way. And as ever, thank you to all the ladies in Discord! Thanks ladies!

This is an Omegaverse fic featuring A/B/O dynamics.  Whilst this varies from fandom to fandom, for the purposes of my fic, there will be no mpreg.  Just so you know.  There will however be knotting, breeding, heats and other delicious things that come along with A/B/O.  If you do not know what A/B/O is, feel free to message me :)  Many thanks to @hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke and @ineffablecolors for letting me bounce my complicated ideas of you lol

If you wish to stay away from this fic, blacklist the A/B/O tag.

Taglist:  I’ll be honest, i have lost my taglist for this fic, so if you want a tag, please message me here on on discord (Salem #5158/ itwontalwaysbelikethis@gmail.com) and I’ll add you!  I’ve tagged the following people i KNOW want to read this, but i don’t want to accidentally tag you if you do not like ABO.

@hollyethecurious @shardminds @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @thisonesatellite @xemmaloveskillianx @hookedonapirate @teamhook @winterbaby89 @carpedzem @courtorderedcake @profdanglaisstuff @itsfabianadocarmo @donteattheappleshook @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @melly326​ @klynn-stormz @stahlop​

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Killian never liked to cancel on clients, especially when he was giving up the opportunity to sleep with someone as beautiful as Emma, but it seemed his rut had other ideas. It had arrived early, his already frenzied mind sent into overdrive at the thought of not having her, even if her husband was insistent she go away for a week. She would be back before it’s end, but he didn’t want to risk her seeing him that far into his rut, so before she had even arrived home, Killian had told her husband he would be unable to see her until otherwise notified.

He should have known his rut was approaching when, during their last sexual encounter, he had found little things more precise, her scent more enticing, if at all possible, than before, and her body reacting to him more like an Omega than a Beta. One minute they were fucking, and then, before either of them knew it, he was knot deep in his favourite place in the world. It came without warning, his body so tuned into hers that he didn’t know what was happening until it was too late and her body was clenching around his bulb and drawing every last drop of his soul out through his orgasm. It shouldn’t have been so easy to knot a Beta without prior lubrication, but somehow they fit together like puzzle pieces, Emma cut exactly right so that he would fit inside her.

Alpha’s could control their early rut, it wasn’t hard, unless they were a few days in or there was a reason. Emma was a Beta, so there shouldn’t have been a reason he had felt so incredibly starved of her that he had acted so possessive. No Omega scent coaxing out his ultimate arousal, although Emma’s scent did things to him he couldn’t explain, or rut frustration unsated by the woman beneath him. Killian was confused, his mind foggy and in a daze so much that he almost didn’t hear the soft tapping against his apartment door.

He was ripped from his thoughts by the scent first, the absolute sweetness of it wafting under the thin gap under his front door and straight into his nostrils. His body reacted instantly and he stared at the heavy door wide eyed and unable to believe what he was sensing. The smell caused a tickle to stir in his groin, the pit of his stomach falling away from him as he was overcome with the need to fuck, but something else held his attention for a second, something that confused his already rut addled brain.

Emma.

Killian took a tentative step towards the door, the gentle knocking echoing through his apartment once more. The closer he got, the stronger the scent became, and his brow pulled together with his last coherent ounce of thought.

“Killian?” Emma called softly through the door, her voice riddled with agony.

Killian gulped hard, another scent coating his taste buds as he swallowed it down and it sent a ripple of excitement over his skin. He reached for the door, pulling it open quicker than he thought he would, half scared by what he would find on the other side.

Emma looked up at him slowly, her face puffy from her tears and her hair dishevelled like she had been grabbed. She was dressed in just some leggings and a camisole top and was barefoot, despite the temperature outside being almost freezing, and she was covered in a fine sheen of sweat that took Killian’s breath away. He only just stopped himself from growling out loud when he noticed a dark red swell under her right eye, the skin there split open in a small line that had stopped bleeding but was probably going to need a stitch.

Her hands trembled, her fingers interlocking in front of her as she fidgeted, her entire body shaking under his gaze. It felt like forever before one of them moved, Killian finally, against everything reasonable screaming inside his head, reaching out, grabbing her arm and pulling her into his apartment. His hand on her skin was the most calm Emma had felt all day and she let out a sigh, almost thankful for the lightest touch that had somehow eased her pain.

Before the door even closed behind her, Killian was stalking away from her, putting as much distance between them as he could. It was only the first day of his rut so there was minimal control left over his urges, but he had to try to resist them. Emma was clearly here for a reason but as much as his head was telling him to take her, fuck her, breed her, claim her, his heart won out as soon as he saw she had been hit.

“What happened?” He said finally, putting the couch between them and neglecting to look at her, brushing his finger across his own cheek to indicate the reason for his question.

“Graham,” Emma whimpered, her body flushing hot once more. Killian caught the new wave of her heat from the other side of the expansive lounge area of his new apartment, his back pressed to the huge floor to ceiling glass window that looked out over the city. Not even the frozen pane could cool his body, and he rubbed a sweaty palm over his already damp forehead angrily at the man’s name.

How could a man hit his wife? How could Graham have even dreamed of hurting something as precious as Emma? Rage boiled inside of Killian and he tried to focus on that rather than what his rut was telling him to do. He was in such a conflict, his brain telling him she was his when really she wasn’t, urging him to make it so, when he couldn’t. He looked up to her again, the pathetic looking woman in front of him sniffing away her last tears as she met his darkened gaze, his eyes flitting to the pulse point in her neck where he now knew her scent gland was.

“Emma-” he began through ground teeth, her name nothing more than a warning to stay back that she ignored.

“Killian, what’s happening to me?” she pleaded, stepping away from the door and her body instantly feeling the AC in his apartment blasting down onto her skin. It was cool but not enough, the slick between her legs making her even hotter as she felt pulled towards him. “I can’t-”

“You can’t be here,” he warned her darkly, his face contorting as if he was fighting a voice in his head.

“I have nowhere else to go,” Emma said sadly, her voice breaking at the realisation that she was homeless. Her fight with Graham had escalated to abuse, him yelling at her to get out and never come back. Everything she had ever known was a lie, her entire life a shit show with her as the star attraction.

Killian took a deep breath again, raking his hands over his face as he tried to think. He couldn’t kick her out, there were other Alphas living in this building and even he could smell she was unclaimed. It would be like throwing her to the wolves. And he couldn’t leave either. The fury he felt would undoubtedly take him straight to Graham and then to a prison cell, exactly the opposite of where he wanted to be right now.

Where he needed to be.

“The bedroom,” he grunted, nodding behind her to a door. Emma followed his gaze and looked back at him confused. “It’s the coldest room in the apartment, and you can lock it from the inside.” He lifted his gaze, locking her stare with his. “You’ll be safe there.”

“Safe?” Emma asked dumbly. “But I-”

“NOW, OMEGA!” Killian barked, hating himself the second the words left his mouth. Emma flinched, rushing to the door before she had time to question why she was acting so obediently at his tone. It was harsh, demanding and something inside of her was aroused to the point of pain, the throb between her legs intensifying and a new wave of slick coating her underwear.

Killian was on her heels, the newly excreted slick drawing him like a shark to blood in the water, and Emma slammed the door in his face, turning and fumbling with the key in the lock. She gasped a squeaking sound, covering her mouth to hide the fear laced adrenaline coursing through her body when Killian pounded a fist against the wood in rut induced annoyance. Another bang made her jump back away from the door, her eyes flicking to the key that was only half turned in the lock, and she surged forward and twisted it completely until she felt the mechanism slide into place.

“I’m sorry,” Emma cried, unable to stop the tears again.

Killian sighed, his entire body sagging against the other side of his bedroom door, his fingernails scraping down the surface as he regained some semblance of his control. He rolled his sweltering forehead against the surface, cursing his lack of power when it came to his rut, his feral insides feeling like they were in a tug of war with the rationality of his brain. Emma was scared, she clearly didn’t know what was happening and here he was, like an animal, trying to get to her simply because it was the first day of his rut and something had been wafted under his nose. He wasn’t that kind of Alpha and he never wanted to be.

“Emma, I’m sorry,” Killian whispered softly into the surface of the door. “I can’t-”

“What’s going on?” Emma whimpered back, her voice muffled in his ears. “I came here for your help and instead you yell at me.”

“Emma, I’m so sorry,” Killian told her quickly. “As soon as I smelled you, my body-” He began, unable to form the words. How do you explain to someone, who always thought they were a Beta, that they were actually not? For a second Killian was so preoccupied with his own wonderings that he nearly neglected to ask Emma the most important question. “How is this possible?” He muttered. “You’re Omega,” he said, confused by his own words that were more of a statement than a question.

“Tell me about it,” Emma laughed hysterically, shaking her head at her own predicament. “I can’t even fucking think straight right now. One minute I’m at the spa, then Ruby tells me there is a baby, so I rush home, leaving everything behind, including my medication, and then Humbert drops this in my lap!”

“Medication?” Killian asked, his eyebrow bouncing up on his forehead with intrigue. Had Humbert been suppressing his own wife? Had the entire Humbert clan been using heat suppressants and scent blockers on her since she was a child? The thought made him recoil in fury.

“Yeah,” Emma nodded, turning her body until her back hit the door and she slid down the cold wood to the floor. Even the floor felt cool against her skin but she was still roasting, wiggling out of her leggings and tossing them aside. The AC in Killian’s room hummed gently in the background, almost invisible but Emma felt like everything was more alive right now. All of her senses were sharper, her world less muted than before, including her insatiable need to be fucked. “Long story short, I’ve been sick my entire life, this week I didn’t take my pills and I’ve never felt so alive. Apart from these damn cramps and sweating and-”

“And need,” Killian finished for her, his voice laced with a dark passion that made her even more wet than she was.

“Yeah,” she breathed, sighing in relief like his words had been his hands on her, soothing her aches and fixing her insatiable appetite for him.

“Emma,” Killian began gently and she looked at the door as if it was him. “You’re Omega and you’re in heat.”

Emma looked down at herself, skin tacky with sweat, her entire body feeling like it was on fire and there was something inside of her trying to claw its way out. She looked the same, but she felt infinitely different, like she finally had the answer to a longing question she had never been brave enough to ask. It explained everything. The cramps, the want, the never ending need to be filled and it also explained why, before anyone else, Emma had sought out Killian.

“But-”

“You came here because I am Alpha,” Killian explained, his words strained as if he was fighting against his urge to knock down the door. “I’m what you need.”

Emma’s breath caught in her throat, his words taking on a dark, sultry tone that had her skin itching and her clit throbbing. Graham had been right, she was what he had told her, and for years that snake of a man had been trying to suppress her nature because he hadn’t become the Alpha his family thought he would. He was a coward, and a liar, and if Emma wasn’t in an agonising heat right now, she would march back to their house and punch him right in the face.

But she was in heat, a doors width between her and the Alpha she had begged her bastard husband to find her.

Emma ground out a moan, baring her teeth as she clutched her abdomen and doubled over when another wave of pain shot through her. Her body was screaming out for something to make it stop, drawn to the door where she curled against the hard surface and pulled her knees to her chest. Her red cheeks pressed to the cool door, and when the first wave passed, she relaxed her body with a sorrowful sigh.

“How do I stop it?” She whined.

“You can’t,” Killian said firmly. “You can only make it feel better for a time.”

“How?” Emma ground out. “God, please tell me how.”

For a second Killian was thankful for the door, and for the last amount of restraint he had left because when Emma begged him, the primal creature inside of him reared its insatiable head once more and wanted her like nothing else. He needed to fulfill his own desires, ease his own need, and Emma’s begging further cemented his Alpha need to claim her as his Omega. He wanted to take away her pain, soothe her aching bones and look after her like she deserved, but he also knew this was all new to her and a full rut could scare her away.

“Emma,” he whimpered desperately, his hand finding the door handle and his fingers closing around the cold steel. He pushed down on it and the mechanism slid open, but the locked door did not budge, a sigh of relief leaving his lips. “The chest, at the end of my bed, open it.”

Emma’s gaze wandered to the chest he described, the darkened room barely light enough for her to see it before she dragged herself towards it. Her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting quickly once she had stopped pinching them closed, and her body followed his direction obediently without her even realising. Emma traced her fingertips over the lid, his initials etched into the wood right above the latch, which she grabbed and pulled it open.

The chest was deep, filled halfway with what she could only imagine were rutting toys for Alphas without a mate. Her eyes scanned the selection, her throat dry where her mouth hung open, thoughts and images of Killian fucking each and every one of the tiny holed silicon toys making her excrete yet more slick. A tiny moan deep in her throat escaped involuntarily before she blinked her vision clear.

“Okay,” she called out to him in a shaking voice. “Killian, these are-”

“Clean, I promise,” he chuckled. “In there you should see something that looks like a penis but a the base there will be two huge-”

“Got it,” Emma announced in a whisper. She lifted the toy in her hand, the mottled silicone feeling so lifelike in her hands that she felt another rush of arousal pound her core. It was big, much bigger than Graham and a little bit wider than Killian, and as Emma inspected it further, she frowned. “It’s hollow,” she said softly, almost to herself, but Killian answered immediately.

“It’s wearable, love,” he cooed. “I bought it to knot you with. Under the contract, I couldn’t naturally, and until we...I had never-” he paused again, her floral scent clinging to his taste buds. If he didn’t get her to orgasm soon, he was going to lose his mind.

“Was I your first?” Emma asked timidly, her own voice foreign to her ears.

“Aye,” Killian growled, the thought of knotting her again making him even harder than he already was. “Too many too quickly. I think you induced my rut.”

“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly, turning her attention back to the hollow dildo in her hand. It was cold against her skin, slightly too soft for her liking but just looking at it was making her even more horny than she had ever felt.

“If you...fuck yourself with it,” Killian sighed heavily, his words faltering. “It will feel better, I promise.” He turned away from the door, needing to distance himself from the pull of her scent. It wasn’t just her slick, but Emma’s scent gland was spiking each time she felt aroused, which right now was every time he talked to her. He was rock hard in his lounge pants, his erection pressed painfully to the inside of the cotton, and he was almost certain his knot was straining to escape the confines of his body.

Killian made his way to the couch, dropping his lounge pants until they pooled at his feet. He kicked them away with a sigh, running his hands through his hair and thanking any higher power who was listening that he could contain himself in these early stages of his rut, his usual feral nature not exposing itself until at least day three. Naked he felt cooler, if only for a second, before he wrapped his hand around himself and began the familiar regime of coaxing out his orgasm to satisfy his rut related urges.

If he was quick he would beat Emma to hers and she would be safer. He already knew what it felt like to have her heat envelop him, so his hand was a poor substitute, especially when he heard Emma moan from the next room. His ears pricked up, straining to hear the sound he yearned for again, and when she crowed a second time, he couldn’t stop himself rushing to the door, flattening his hands over the wood and pressing his ear to it eagerly.

“Killian,” Emma sobbed desperately, the sound of her lubrication against the toy between her legs watery and turning her on even more. She drove it into herself again, the friction delicious but so obviously fake that she groaned in anguish.

Killian ground his teeth, the muscles in his jaw ticking under the length of his stubble, and he balled his fist, pounding the door in frustration.

“Killian, please,” Emma whined, her voice barely there above the breathy sigh that followed. “It’s not enough,” she pleaded despairingly, now realising hy she had become almost addicted to the welcome stretch and burn of Killian’s knot.

“Emma, you don't know what you’re doing,” Killian grunted, headbutting the door. “What you’re asking-”

“Alpha-” Emma begged in a whisper, the hurried plea tumbling from her lips before she even registered what she was saying.

Early rut or not, Killian couldn’t contain himself any longer. He grabbed the door frame, fingertips clawing the paintwork as he leaned back and pounded his bare foot into the hard, immovable surface. The door gave a little, the wood bowing away from the hinges, but it didn’t give.

“Hurry, Alpha, make it stop,” Emma begged again, her words filling Killian with more rut induced strength than he had ever had, his foot colliding with the door one more time before it swung open and sent the key flying across the room. He righted himself in the doorway, eyes scanning the darkness before he finally laid eyes on his prize. She was beautiful, gloriously naked and prone on his bed, lying on her back with the toy in one hand and her breast in the other, kneading her aching flesh with a soft cry.

Emma wasn’t even shocked when he burst through the door, instead thankful for his scent. It filled the room, powerful and intoxicating, sending her into a lust fuelled spiral that had her tossing the toy aside and clambering to the end of the bed on her knees to meet him. Killian’s hands on her felt like water when she was thirsty, clawing over her skin like he needed to get inside, and despite his dark, aggressive stare, he was as gentle as anything.

Emma clawed her way up his body, fingers dancing through his coarse chest hair, and clutched his face in her hands. She pulled his lips to hers, crushing their faces together as she kissed him. He was her salvation, the only one who could make it all better and when he kissed her back just as fervently, she arched her body into his even harder. Still standing at the foot of the bed, Killian leaned over and without even breaking the kiss, he gathered her up into his arms, holding her thighs around his waist. Emma gasped, breaking the kiss for a second, when his length touched the wetness that coated her almost entirely.

“Oh, Emma,” Killian purred, conflict in his voice, his tip brushing her slickness as he held her. He rested his forehead on hers, eyes tightly closed as he paused, contemplating the ramifications of having Emma in his place. She was married and there was no going back from this, but nothing would satiate his rut like he now knew she could. Like only she could. “What have you done?”

“I don’t care.” Emma shook her head, her slightly damp hair tangling in his fingers as he combed his hand through her locks.

“You say that because you’re in heat, love,” Killian rationalised, the fact he was holding her body to his calming the beast and letting him see sense for a second. “You’ll say anything for an Alpha’s knot.”

Killian couldn’t believe what he was saying. He felt like two different people, torn between what he wanted and what he knew was right. The Alpha in him wanted nothing more than to claim, mark, make her his own, but the man in him knew that even though Graham wasn’t Alpha, he felt like she belonged to him. Graham was a force, and he had no doubt the man would never give Emma the divorce she so eagerly craved, especially now. She was a prisoner to her own life and he had no doubt he would have to fight for her.

“I don’t want any Alpha’s knot,” Emma cooed. “I want yours.”

The touch of Emma’s soft fingertips on his cheek roused him from his inner dispute and he opened his eyes to meet hers. They had softened, the hazel edges to her hues less intense as she stared, boring straight into his, but they were filled with something he had not seen before. Emma had something else behind her desire darkened eyes that he had put there, something that made him realise that she hadn’t just sought him out because of her heat.

Killian saw compassion, the willingness only an Omega could show to an Alpha. Emma had love in her eyes and it was all for him.

“You don’t understand what it means to be Omega,” Killian told her gently, his hand sliding to find her face, his thumb tracing the outline of her lips. The memory of them on his body made his cock twitch and he felt his resolve fading.

“So show me,” Emma purred and the look that she gave him made Killian snap.

When Emma hit the mattress, she had hardly any time to react before Killian was towering over her and sealing her lips with his. He kissed her, hard, like he had wanted to before she had gone away. Like she was the most important thing in his life. In a way she was, deserving to be cherished much more than she ever had before, the way she needed to be.

Killian slid his lips from hers and kissed along her jawline, nipping the flesh as he went. He was already to a full knot, Emma’s newly expressed scent sending him into a frenzy as he neared the gland in her neck. He thrust his hips against her, collecting the nectar she had given in response to him on the tip of his erection, testing her for a sign of hesitation.

Emma whimpered, her arms clutching his body, hands splayed across his broad shoulders and pulling his body down against hers. She needed him close, wanted him so far inside of her she couldn’t take it, and her skin ignited from the contact with his, nipples hardening even further against his chest.

“Omega,” Killian sighed against her shoulder, inhaling her scent with a nuzzle of his nose. “I’m going to fuck you like you need, don’t worry.” He reached down between them, the bulb of his knot rock solid in his hand as he gripped himself at his base and glided into Emma’s scorching core. Her body reacted instantly, fingernails digging into his flesh, head thrown back into the comforter and thighs clamping around his hips like a vice. He hadn’t even moved yet, and Emma was gone.

“Killian, please,” Emma cried, her words catching in her throat. “I need you to move.”

“God, I want to fill you up so badly,” Killian said through gritted teeth, his hands skimming over the smooth curves of her lithe body until they found her behind. He shifted his weight, Emma gasping when he filled her more, and he tucked his hands underneath her buttocks, holding her steady as he shuffled forward even closer to her. Emma cried out again, her pleasure filled moan sending him into a primal state and he turned his mouth towards her ear. “I love you like this, open for me, begging, Gods, I want to breed you, my sweet Omega.”

“Do it, Alpha,” Emma pleaded, turning to skim her lips over his. She pawed at his face, smoothing her thumb over his cheek and searched his eyes that were asking, not for permission, but for reassurance. Emma smiled warmly and gave him a knowing nod. “Trust me. It’ll all be okay.”

Killian seized her lips for another fiery kiss and his hips began to move against hers. She was held in place by his powerful grip, his thrusts long and deep, each one making her cry out as all of the air left her lungs. She was caught between gasping for breath and using what little she had left to call out his name, her nails tearing into the flesh of his back in a desperate attempt to hold onto him as he relentlessly pounded into her.

“Fuck, Alpha,” Emma whimpered, her thighs shaking against his hips as he tore his lips from hers and buried his face into the crook of her neck, his pace increasing tenfold and the bed banging against the wall. “Oh, Killian, yes, you feel so good.”

“Tell me what you need, Emma,” he demanded darkly. “Make me knot you.”

“Fuck-” Emma gasped again, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Her hand found the back of his head and clutched his hair between her fingers, instinctively guiding his lips to the spot on her neck where her scent gland was hidden beneath her milky, smooth skin. Killian’s brow pulled together as he fought to bite down. He wouldn’t until she asked him to, even if she felt like that was what she wanted right now, Killian knew it was just her automatic reactions to her heat. Her body was telling her to do these things, and he wouldn’t make the decision for her.

“Tell me you want my knot,” Killian growled, needing to distract himself from the overwhelming urge to mark her as his own. “Say it, Omega,” he barked, needing to press into her a little deeper, his knot now fully revealed.

“Give me your knot, Alpha,” Emma sighed, tugging his head until his lips were back on hers and she was staring directly into the stormy blue of his eyes between feverish kisses. “Make me come.”

Killian kissed her hard, grinding himself into her with enough force to push his knot inside, her walls clamping down around the painful intrusion that sent her skyward. Emma came hard, her orgasm taking her to heights she had never felt before, the pin prick dots behind her eyelids like stars in the night, a calm serenity following. Killian stilled, their bodies locked together again, and he lifted himself to watch her intently, her body almost paralyzed in euphoria.

Emma started quivering, his orgasm triggering another, and her hand flew up to flatten against his chest. It was a silent plea, his hips only shifting a little but enough to make her roll hers against his knot, eager to draw out every last drop of pleasure from their tie. Her fingernails raked down his chest, clawing through his chest hair and assuredly leaving bloody lines in her wake. As she calmed, her back resting back to the mattress, she let out a soft whimper.

Killian kissed her again, his tongue slowly massaging hers with a gentle caress that had him humming contently into her mouth. Emma’s lips turned up into a smile and she finally opened her eyes, relaxing the grip her thighs had on his body with a blush. The boyish grin Killian gave her back told her she had no reason to be embarrassed, even if she had said things she would have never dreamed of, because there was only one reason for how Killian was looking at her right now.

For the first time in his life, Killian felt complete. Emma’s inner muscles clenched around his knot once more and he gasped, shooting her a smirk when his overstimulated length twitched inside of her and released another load of his seed.

“You’re a naughty Omega,” he teased, kissing her eyelids tenderly. He framed her with his bulk, resting on his elbows and combing her messed hair away from her face.

“Am I?” Emma smirked up at him, nuzzling the tip of his nose with her own. Her hands found his face once more and she toyed with the shape of his ears as he nodded, the elfen tip slightly hard under her fingertips.

“Do you feel better now, love?” Killian asked her, arching his neck into her odd, but very satisfactory grooming technique.

“Much,” she nodded. “The cramps are gone and so has the sweating.”

“For now,” Killian offered tentatively. “Your heat should last about a week-.”

“A week?” Emma squeaked under him.

“Aye, I’m sorry,” he offered whole heartedly. “More often than not it’s only a few days once the hormones settle down.”

Emma scrunched her nose. “How long does that take?”

Killian pinched one eye closed as if trying to recall something he had been told a long time ago. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “Usually this happens to kids in their teens, but in your case it was suppressed for so long, I’m not sure I can give you an answer.”

Emma sighed and Killian felt his heart break. This was all new to her and he wished he could help her through some of the more specific questions she had, but truth was, it was all new to him too. He had never been with an Omega before, let alone one who had been ingesting heat suppressants and scent blockers for so many years. Who knew what kind of damage that had done to her and Killian’s jaw clenched at the mere thought of making the Humbert’s pay.

“What I can tell you is that I’ll be here, for however long it takes.” To emphasize his point, Killian nudged his knot into her further and Emma shuddered in pleasure.

“Oh God,” Emma whimpered, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Her back arched off the bed and she felt Killian’s calloused hands slide over her upper thigh and lift her leg over his hip, allowing him to sink into her even more now she was wide open for him. A fresh wave of slick made their tie slip and Killian growled, diving into the juncture of Emma’s neck where her newly discovered scent gland was emitting all sorts of fresh, sickly sweet aromas that had his heart racing. He could mark her. His body was telling him to. It was right there, throbbing just below the surface but Emma’s hands were on his head once more, nimble fingers tracing the edge of his ear once more and shaking him from his scent induced daze.

“You can’t just turn up to an Alpha’s apartment like this,” he scolded her lightly, rolling his head into her touch. “You should have called.”

“Would you have invited me over if you’d have known?” Emma asked innocently. Killian declined to answer, an eyebrow quirking up on his forehead. “I didn’t think so,” Emma purred, pulling his lips to hers again.

Killian rolled his hips again as they kissed, causing Emma to groan into his mouth. “Stop,” she giggled, unable to hide the grin from her face.

“Or what?” Killian challenged weakly.

“Or we’ll never part,” she smiled. Killian gave her another look, one telling her that maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing. Emma blushed under his gaze, rolling her bottom lip under her teeth coyly.

“You’re so beautiful when you smile, Emma, you know that?” He complimented her softly. His fingers brushed over her brow and passed the swell under her eye as he followed the trail of his hand down over the pulse in her neck. “He should pay for this.”

“Don’t,” Emma warned, her smile fading instantly. She grabbed his hand away from her scent gland, rolling her head away shyly.

“I hate that he hurt you,” Killian continued, his blood beginning to boil again.

“Please stop,” Emma begged.

“I hate that I wasn’t there to protect you from this, Emma.” Killian fingers gingerly traced over the purple-pink bruise developing under her eye again before Emma shook him off and turned away again. “I should have been there.”

“Please don’t mention him,” Emma sighed into the pillow, forcing the tears that pricked at her eyelids back inside. She wouldn’t give Graham the satisfaction of making her cry ever again.

“Hey,” Killian coaxed, hooking his finger under her chin and pulling her gaze back to his. “I just want you to be happy, my love,” he told her lovingly, giving her a quick flash of a smile.

She returned it weakly. “I am happy. Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Good.” Killian leaned forward and pressed his lips to the tip of her nose. “Me too.”

[thebibliomancer]

Shadows of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 14

Shadows of the Dark Crystal by J. M. Lee because a new challenger approaches.

Last times on book: Naia is on a journey to Ha’rar with Kylan to clear brother Gurjin’s name and warn the All-Maudra about all these dark crystals. Due to bad life choices, Naia and Kylan went through the Dark Woods at night, saw all kinds of spooky nonsense, and then Naia dreamfasted with a tree which unspooked the woods. Then a four-armed figure with a mask burst out of a tree.

Chapter 16

A weirdo four-armed guy called urVa has Naia and Kylan for supper. I’m sorry, I mean to supper.

Why would healing the Dark Wood end in releasing a dangerous monster?

Asking the real questions, Naia.

The four-armed possible purple Gelfling-eating monster moves slightly so Naia immediately hucks a bola at it.

It shot from her hand, on target toward the monster’s narrow-set eyes - but quicker than she could see, the thing’s hand darted forth, snatching the center bola stone before it could make its mark. The counterweights flailed uselessly, spinning in open air, striking nothing.

Wow!

Reflexes!

The creature just kind of chuckles at this and finishes the slight movement, removing the wooden mask from its face. Reveaing whorled skin.

!!! Definitely an urRu, yup.

“Sounds like Gelfling breathings,” it mumbled in a voice that sounded like many tones all at once, speaking the Gelfling tongue with an unfamiliar accent. “That Gelfling urVa sees there? Two? Ah! The one who healed Olyeka-Staba.”

! The Archer! Hey, Naia, its cool. This guy is friend-shaped.

Apparently, urVa had come to the Dark Wood to try to help the Cradle-Tree but “seems the Cradle-Tree could be healed by Gelfling hand, or else by none.”

Hmm. That keeps happening. You have a funny way about you, Thra, making Gelfling the only ones who can clean up the messes the urSkeks leave.

Naia is still suspicious that there’s something vaguely Hunter-ish about this guy. Weird but good insight, Naia.

urVa tells the Gelfling that the wood is dangerous and invites them to come with him, in the most ominous way possible, for some reason.

“Come with urVa, for supper. Been a long time inside that tree... Very hungry.”

Surely you know how you sound, dude?

Naia even goes ‘hey supper sounds great but what d’you suppose are the odds that we’re going in the pot?’ to Kylan. And asks him if he thinks urVa is the Hunter.

The boy gets sassy.

“Since when do you believe the songs?” he asked. Naia felt her cheeks warm, but Kylan went on. “The Hunter is ruthless. He isn’t a trickster. If urVa were the Hunter that took my parents, he wouldn’t have given us a false name... He wouldn’t have spoken with us.”

Good points, Kylan.

Besides, they’re both exhausted by traveling and Naia especially by dreamfasting with a tree.

“Maybe... we should see where he’s going. Just to find out.”

Kylan hugged himself with a shiver.

“Do we have a choice?”

“Yes. Our other choice is to sleep here in the wood and see what other monsters come crawling out of it.”

Well, when you put it that way...

So they hurry after urVa through the Woods Formerly Known as Dark which is already making up lost time by sprouting a whole buncha new green plants. They’re able to catch up to urVa without too much effort because as an urRu he has one travel speed and that’s ‘i’ll get there when i get there’

He takes them to a dirt hovel covered in a curtain of “frothy”? vines in a smal glen that urVa has simply littered with chimes made out of every given thing strung up between all the trees.

He has an Aesthetic and I appreciate that.

The hovel itself was hardly more than a few ancient stones holding up a mound of earth. The dusty rocks that made up the entryway were dream-etched, reminding her of the doorways in Great Smerth, back home. urVa entered without a word, leaving the two Gelfling to follow of their own will.

Naia also sees “a satchel full of thin spears with feathers on the ends, each stick longer than Naia was tall” oh my god! She doesn’t know what arrows are!

Although, in fairness, Gelfling as a whole seemed to have skipped past archery in favor of throwing rocks.

“Hmm... Left the door open too long and time came in, I see. Ha-ha.” He waved a hand, clearing some of the dust but stirring up just as much in the process. “Apologies, little Gelfling, for the time inside. Had I been meant to be found, I would have been more prepared.”

I like urVa. He’s fun.

He busies himself boiling a kettle of water and adding stuff to it and basically making soup. Vegetable soup I guess.

“A Drenchen, aren’t you?” urVa said suddenly. “I remember Sog... yes, ah! And that little sapling, what was it? Smerth. I suppose it’s grown enough now to climb, hmm? Do the younglings dangle from its branches like alfen fruits?”

The thought was nearly comical. Naia said, “Not exactly.”

Little sapling? urVa, how long have you been treestuck??

urVa mentions that the great trees like Smerth-Staba and Olyeka-Staba are supposed to be pillars of the world and protectors of Thra but inevitably the shadows of the crystal (oh! Almost a title drop!) have fallen upon them.

“... but I must stay out of such things. Have for a long time, will for a long time yet...”

Darn urRu passivity.

urVa serves Naia and Kylan some sopu.

“Now, eat, eat, little Gelfling. Gelfling like to eat. Yes.”

Yes, exclusively Gelfling like to eat as a unique trait to them =P

Those powerful urRu brains, amirite.

Since Neech seems relaxed, Naia decides she won’t worry either and she consumes soup.

And the more time they spend hanging with urVa, eating soup, the less worried Naia becomes about the other shoe dropping. Because it would be a really long con for urVa to secretly be sinister at this point, right? I mean, I know he isn’t because show and because urRu but Naia doesn’t but it has to seem like this would be a really long way to go ‘haha foooooled you!’

“Do you live here all alone?” Naia asked. “In the wood?”

“No, no. Plenty of trees and rocks.”

I adore urVa.

Naia couldn’t tell if urVa was being intentionally obtuse, so she clarified: “I mean, are there others like you...”

urVa tilted his head and rubbed his chin with a big hand.

“Yes. But we all went our separate ways... after the separation. Divided, then divided again.”

Huuuuh so I know that the urRu would sometimes come to the Valley of the Mystics because the Wanderer was famous for spending more time wandering widely rather than popping back in. But it sounds like the urRu just all fucked off to do their own things most of the time. And the situation with them living together in the Valley was primarily for Jen’s benefit? To give him a stable upbringing of ten dads and minimize the Skeksis deciding to pop in.

Naia was mostly asking because she doesn’t want to be surprised by another four-armed monster showing up so she’s tentatively satisfied with the vague answer.

Kylan has been staring at the markings on the wall this whole time pops in to ask about a triangular emblem with three concentric circles within.

“It is a time, I suppose?” he asked, as if Naia or Kylan might be able to answer him. “Or a door? A time or a door or an awakening. Yes. Something like that.”

“Those aren’t nearly the same thing,” Kylan muttered under his breath. “Perhaps he’s not the Hunter, but he certainly may be mad.”

“He makes a good pot of stew, even so,” Naia replied with a yawn.

Its a tightrope to write a character who is not only incredibly wise but also kind of lost in their own mind because they’re missing half of it.

I also appreciate the dramatic irony where the readers, if they’re familiar with the movie, understand more or less what urVa is getting at.

I also appreciate Kylan’s annoyance with not getting a solid answer. And Naia’s more practical consideration. Good characterization. Best boy Kylan just wants some solid deets to write down. Naia is soup-somnolent.

She watches Kylan try to puzzle out the symbols while also wondering if she could get seconds.

Whats also interesting is that this symbol isn’t known to the Gelfling apparently. Its a hugely important symbol in the lore but the Skeksis have managed to keep it out of public knowledge.

“The Great Conjunction,” Kylan said, and then he stopped. Naia didn’t know what he was referring to or what the words meant, but she shivered. “When single shine the triple suns.”

“Mm,” urVa agreed, though he added nothing despite Kylan’s querulous expression.

Hah.

Instead urVa points Naia and Kylan to a pile of robes so they can get some sleep.

urVa is a good host because the Gelfling nod off pretty much as soon as they lay down.

[redledger]

a hello from an old friend with @epiitaphs​

NAT

Her whole body ached. And not the kind of ache where a long soak in the bath and more than enough vodka could fix. No, this was the kind of sore that would be harder to walk off, before she even opened her eyes, Nat groaned, biting down hard to keep from crying out a she shuffled.

She opened one eye, trying to adjust to the room but a little lost if she was honest. Yes, she had a habit of not waking up in the same places but this felt... different. She could have sworn she was doing something...

Her dreams had been full of chasing. Chasing someone with her face. That was it, the imposter. Someone who wore her like a glove to pick off old friends one by one, this fake Natasha with her perfect smile... maybe that was who had her here.

It was then that she shadow caught her eye, snapping her out of pain and to attention. Her thought went immediately to her wrist, but her usual tricks were missing. She actually had fresh clothes on, dry ones. So her captor was considerate. She could feel at least one set of stitches too.

But that meant no hidden knives, no gun bar the one on the table. On the table between them. She lunged forwards, biting down on her lip so she didn’t scream as she launched herself at it. And at the shadow himself.

BUCKY

He probably shouldn't have intervened. His head still hurt sometimes when he watched, but if he had not stepped in, she would have died. And what Bucky (James?) knew was that he did not want her to die when he could help it. 

And though he did not want her to die, he also did not want to die. So when he put her into new clothes, he removed her weapons - painstakingly, but with enough muscle memory that perhaps the many flashes in his mind had been correct. The past was filtering in slowly, but sometimes he didn't know what to trust. 

He could tell when she regained consciousness, though training kept her reactions minimal. Good. She knew how to push past the pain of her wound when faced with a situation like this one. He could leave now - slip out like the shadow he was. They did not have to meet like this. He could go. 

But he didn't have much time to consider, as she lunged forwards, either at him or at the gun. It didn't really matter which. Until she knew who he was, there would be no stopping her. He countered her, trying to keep her from making it to the gun. She was injured, but that did not mean she was entirely weak - well, until he used her would against her. "Natalia." No. "Natasha." He didn't know if she would recognize his voice, if they had taken things from her as well. "Is this how you greet an old friend?"

NAT

She let out a low, furious grunt as he touched her. The pain shot through her body all over again, and she bit down harder to channel it. He held her back from the weapon, even as she was shaky in her feet. She lunged again, their movements in step. She didn’t need the voice to recognise him, it was muscle memory from a dance they had spent years perfecting. 

”You.” She paused, just enough to glare at him with suspicion. They had done this dance so many times, although the memories in her head swam in fog. Last time they had locked eyes, she didn’t even register. He’s tried to kill her at least twice already, but this time he used her name. Her real name too. 

”Are you a friend now?” How could she trust him? How could she believe him? She had done the hard works of building bridges back to her past, but there were gaps. Some of what filtered in last was sleeping next to someone who looked like him. Painful meme had a way of lingering, not the happy ones. And she had been happy when he was around, that much was clear.

”Maybe you want me defenceless for an easy kill.” Yet if he wanted her dead she wouldn’t be breathing. She knew his directive well enough to know that.

BUCKY

She would not stop until she had to. He knew this. If she had to tear herself to shreds in order to kill him, she’d do it. Injury did not necessarily make her weak against a regular opponent - against him, it did. And even though some days, Bucky could barely remember any name he’d been called, his muscles remembered the way to move with and against her. He couldn’t let that set him off balance. 

Did she remember? What name would she call him? What did she know? It could be that they had taken everything from her. The Americans - maybe they were all the same. Steve wouldn’t - but there were secrets on many levels and HYDRA was SHIELD. The pause told him something was there, but it could mean anything. 

It was a reasonable question. Friendship only meant something to real people, not to what either of them had been made into. ”Now, yes. To you, not to the ones pulling strings.” He was very aware he was taking a risk - she could turn him in, send him back. He’d kill her before she tried. He couldn’t go back. He couldn’t go back to dull eyes and thoughts that screamed from the back of his mind. 

”What have they taken from you?” She should know this. ”An easy kill would be you bleeding out on the ground. A child knows this.” Leave no trace, no witnesses. He was supposed to be a ghost. No longer, though.

NAT

In some versions it was dancing, his arms around her as she span to the pas de deux of Sleeping Beauty. It drifted in sometimes, the notes and the smiles corrupted. One second his touch was gentle, his lines perfectly extended next to hers and in the next it was different. The memory seeping through the cracks, bruises from the grip of his metal hand leaving marks all over her skin as they fought. That was what the file had said. The half corrupted madness, that she believed she was trained for the Bolshoi and not as a living weapon.

She could fake tears. He might be broken enough to believe them. But she was far too proud. She blocked him, grunting harder. ”Prove it. If you were a friend you’d trust me.”

She took a step back, guard up, shaky on her feet but ready to go another round if he was going to keep this up. ”From me? What have they taken from you, James?” He was the ghost after all. Haunting the living like that would make some kind of amends. ”You almost killed me before, guess you’re not as good as they believed.”

BUCKY

She would tire eventually, but probably not before hurting herself. He would do the same in her place. He considered doing it for her, but she spoke again. "I trust a weapon to kill." He did not know what had led to the moments that he remembered, but she was trying to kill him now. "Not much more. We lived together. Before."

He fell into stance with ease, but did not move to attack her. Everything was the answer. "The past." Their past. It was filtering back in the more he tried, but the good moments were cut with memories of pain and desperation. 

Almost killed - red hair, blood spreading. Target confirmed dead. Confirmed kill with one witness bleeding out. Guess she hadn't died - he'd thought that the moment he'd realized she was who he thought she was. "They were quick to correct that." He had been taught to ignore pain except when it came to correction of errors and malfunctions. "I did not come here to kill you." He would not have wasted supplies like that.

NAT

There was one thing to be said for trial by pain. Natasha knew just how much her body could bare. More than the average person, with the enhanced blood in her veins. No doubt that fall would have killed someone else. No doubt his bullet would too. She had nine lives, it seemed. "I could say the same for you." She smiled, a thin trail of blood falling down her chin where she had bit down too deep. 

The redhead moved again, every hit blocked or countered. They were at a stalemate, because she would rather fight than go quietly. He stood back tough, although he could overpower her in theory. She had seen the wreckage he could leave. And the bodies.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" She did. She knew what a liar looked like. And he wasn't capable of it. "How do I know you're not Hydra's little pet? Someone did. You've got to join the queue from the looks of it."

BUCKY

"That would be smart." He could have tried to argue that he wasn't that anymore, but really, he wasn't far enough away from his time with HYDRA to be sure of it. He might not want to be their weapon anymore, but the knowledge in his brain wasn't going anywhere. 

He should end the fight, but he did not, continuing to block her attacks and try to push her back away from the table with the gun on it. Hydra's little pet slithered into his mind, making itself a nest. To be considered later, the name clearly familiar to him in some way. "I ran from them." She had nothing but his word - something that he hadn't been able to use in a very long time. 

"You were bleeding out. I did not allow that to happen. It should be clear that I am not here to kill you the way she was." She didn't need to know the way he'd tracked her down, the time he'd spent watching. "I have a name now. And thoughts."

NAT

He pushed her back. Again and again, it was making her blood boil. ”Or you ran to them.” This could be Hydra now. They could have the technology to make her look guilty, it wouldn’t be a surprise. They could be playing some kind of bigger game, now she wasn’t under the protection of SHIELD she could be seen as an easy target. The fact Bucky was able to make conversation didn’t change her suspicions at all.

”A name?” She laughed, wiping at her chin with her wrist and setting up for yet another round. ”You had a name when I knew you. And you still shot me bucky.”

She had never called him that. Natasha knew him as more than the asset, but not the past he had wiped from him entirely. They said he was a defector from the west, and gave no details as to how much he had endured. It was only on a roadside that she had seen the recognition in Steve’s face. That was betrayal. Something he was so clearly an expert in.

Natasha launched herself forwards, but this time it was to go low. Her palm planted on the floor, her legs moving high to wrap around his head in an attempt to pull him to the floor. He was too heavy with the metal arm, she remembered that much. Get him flat on his back and she would have speed on her side.

BUCKY

"I did not."He had fought against the pull to go back, and it had nearly been a losing battle. But something had been knocked loose that day. "The Asset was unstable in DC. To be used until malfunctions overran usefulness and then decommissioned." As far as he knew, at least. After a wipe, everything was fuzzy, but he was fairly sure he'd heard that. 

He flinched - as much as he ever flinched, which was to say he narrowed his eyes for a half second - at the sound of the name. "James." He didn't think he could deny shooting her. "It is what we do to survive." Surely she understood. 

She moved again, changing tactics, going low to start and flipping up to catch his neck between her legs. She'd moved fast enough that he couldn't prevent that, but he could control his fall - he knew that much at least. And though he'd done all this with the intention of keeping her safe, the only way he was going to be able to stop her was going to be what he did - pushing them both down, being sure to hit her injured side in addition to attempting to trap her under him.

NAT

She was done talking. Any excuses he had weren’t proof, they could all be more lies. He was lucid enough to be making conversation, or parroting off lines he was given. Natasha would never know for sure.

His flinch she could read though. His nickname had done something. Was he correcting her again? Did he remember she had never once called him that? Or was the asset trying to stay away from a past he didn’t want to remember?

She caught his head behind her knee, pulling him down with the weight of her body and using his own strength against him. But it was brief. She closed her mouth and ground her teeth together to bite back the worst of the scream yet he knew exactly where to hit. Before she could wriggle free, she had the full impact of the Winter Soldier on fresh stitches and almost certainly cracked ribs- if not worse. 

Beneath him it was hard to move, and yet Nat kept clawing. First she pushed her fingers into the join between his metal arm and his flesh, the spot where the soft tissue never really sat right. Then her knee moved beneath him, straight up and into his groin where it would do some damage.

BUCKY

If they hadn't been locked in a struggle for a weapon that she might very well use to kill him, he would have been proud of just how quiet she was when he connected with her wound. She still made some noise, but nothing to suggest how bad the pain might be. It wasn't good to be breaking stitches he had just given her, but if he knew anything, it was that he wanted to stay alive. And trapping her the best he could would keep him that way. 

She didn't stop, which was to be expected. She knew him, then. How much either of them could remember was up for debate, but she knew where the join between flesh and metal was and just how to use it. He snarled, wordlessly, thrashing even as he knew that she would tear into the scar tissue due to his movements. That was alright. He slammed his flesh arm into her, hitting whatever he could connect to. There was no mask to prevent him from speaking, but he fell into habits easily when fighting. And out of everything they had given him, that was hardly the worst habit. 

Her knee - bony and sharp - jammed into his groin. As much as they had worked with him on ignoring pain, there was a certain directness and force that even he could not help but react to in a very human way. He flailed, but couldn't aim the blows in any way that mattered, the movements more of a reaction to her blow than anything else.

NAT

She was dazed for a second, her head fuzzy with the impact of the blow from his arm. Even the human one had a strength she couldn’t compete with. It was short though, as he folded on top of her to allow her to wriggle free. 

Free enough to close her hands around the gun.

Even as she felt the pull at her ankle to drag her back, it didn’t matter. She span, sights trained on him and finger on the trigger.

“Don’t. Move.”

BUCKY

He could feel her move beneath him, getting free from his weight as she did. He was regaining function by the second, but he wasn’t fast enough in doing so to prevent her grabbing the gun. 

What he was fast enough to do was to roll and wrap his fingers around her ankle, pulling her back roughly. 

She went, but she had the gun already. Bucky stared, eyes focused on her face. 

He stilled, watching warily, waiting for an opening for now.

NAT

Both of them, still and deadly. Coiled to attack at any moment should there be a sign of weakness. Sometimes the old methods really were the best, if their handlers could see them now they would surely be impressed. 

Natasha’s white t shirt was starting to show a dark red stain where the fresh stitches had taken a hit, and yet she was unflinching. He had responded to her orders even though they were in English. It was hard to read whether that was good or bad. 

At least now she had the power though, despite the pain. She could go for a head shot any second. With her finger on the trigger still, her green eyes glared at him. ”Who are you? What exactly do you remember?”

BUCKY

Blood stained her shirt from the wound he had reopened. Potentially from other sources, but definitely from that. He should have left before she woke up. He’d done more harm than good this way. That wasn’t supposed to be what he did to people he remembered. 

”James Buchanan Barnes. Born 1917. Assumed dead 1945. The Asset, designation Winter Soldier. Escaped.” He could have simply not answered. If nothing else, she’s a hostile party and he should not speak to her. But he knew her. And recognized her. And brought her here to save.

”Natalia Alianovna Romanova. The Red Room. Training. You were shot. I remember him - from the bridge and from before. I knew him. We’re both from before there was a war. You were later. You are one of their dogs too. Not anymore, though. Which is why you need stitches. Again. I did them.”

NAT

No movement save for breathing. Nothing that could give him and reason to see an opening. ”You could  have that from the leaked files, it proves nothing.”

His grip was still tight on her leg. ”Tell me something James would know.”

BUCKY

Files that he should access more fully at some point. He’s not sure how his mind will take reading it all, if that will make the memories come back better or faster or more complete. ”My existence is those files.” Both he and the world had no other way of knowing unless it was through those files. 

He didn’t know what James would know. It was all mixed up, a confusing cloud of memories and fear. “How do you know what James would know? You did not know James.” He frowned, giving it an attempt. ”He - I followed him into every alley, dragged him away from fights. He complained.”

NAT

It was amazing really. She knew he was capable of cruelty and death, but he shattered her heart without even knowing it. Not that it read on her face at all. Still body, regular breathing, no hint of the pain both physical and mental she was sitting through.

He was talking about Bucky. The kid Steve had mentioned, the one from the exhibit that detailed the whole sad story all over its walls. She didn’t even register. ”Steve. You followed Steve.”

It wasn’t so much a correction as an affirmation. Maybe he was right, that whatever confusing happy memories she had scraped back were just fake. ”Then why haven’t you followed him now?”

BUCKY

He couldn’t show weakness. The name had alternatively brought flashbacks, shook loose memories, filled him with horror, brought back the mission. He couldn’t say it. Hearing it made his brain hurt, poised to do something in its usual store of awfulness. Not now. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. 

The numbness of the empty space still half occupied by programming was welcome. “Yes. And he followed me to Europe.” He was big and not supposed to be there. 

”Too much risk.” He could not expose his weaknesses or his hesitations to her when she was pointing a gun at him. ”It is not time. It is my choice.” said fiercely as if he thought she might drag him to the man.

NAT

They were stuck at a stalemate. As she ignored the strain growing larger still to focus on what he was saying. It was a good thing she excelled under pressure. There was a flicker of something, just behind his eyes but it was too brief for her to get a read on. 

She didn’t trust him. He’d given no proof to her but he was also not as much of a threat whilst she had the weapon. His tone shifted though, some kind of genuine fear. ”You are going to let go of me and I’m going to keep hold of the gun. You want me to trust you? Then take your hands off me.”

BUCKY

An order. Or at least enough of one. So perhaps she was not as different as she portrayed herself. She had been ready to kill him before, he was sure. He withdrew his hand from around her ankle, moving into a crouch, all while his attention never left her face and hands. 

He wasn't sure if he wanted her to trust him. Trust was a big step to take, and he barely trusted himself, even though his days were generally better than they had been at first. "Trust is dangerous." Surely she had not forgotten that. They would not have taken that from her.

NAT

”Is that a threat?” She lowered the weapon but didn’t let go. Didn’t even take her finger off the trigger yet. She pressed her right hand to her side, trying her best to mask the wince that came with applying pressure. ”You’ve done a bit of a crappy job.”

BUCKY

He frowned. "No. A reminder." Despite the question, she lowered the weapon, which only served to confuse Bucky further. Sure, she was still ready to strike, but - ah. The wound was becoming unmanageable. "You attacked. I can fix it." He didn't know if she'd let him, but it would be in her best interest. Her other option was staying there till the blood loss affected her concentration, leaving her open to attack. He didn't want or need to attack her, but it'd affect the balance in the room.

NAT

A frown. Real human expressions. She had seen it before though, a smile when she landed in his arms from the perfect arabesque. No, not that wasn’t right... the smile had been from catching her but...

Nat blinked twice, pushing herself backwards and putting some more space between them till she hit the coffee table. ”You knew my name. You remember the room... is that it?”

Her hand was still pressed tight to the wound. Her options were limited. From their isolated spot she wasn’t going to make it far however she tried to run. Maybe letting him stitch her back up was smart, as long as she could keep the gun in her hand. He’d have a needle though.

”Why you? Why did you save me? How did you know where I was?”

BUCKY

An expression crossed her face, one that he couldn't quite interpret. Whatever was happening in her head made her step back till she hit the table. Bucky remained crouched. It was smart to keep distance between them, though it gave him a minute boost in time he'd have to react should she shoot. 

"Yes, I did." That was from memory, he thought. Other things came from his recent surveillance of her. The question was unclear to him. He would try to answer correctly, accepting that she might shoot him if he did so improperly. "I remember some things. Not others. I don't remember all of the room, just like the rest. But I remember some."

He didn't know why the memories varied so wildly. He couldn't find a proper pattern just by himself. There had been flashes of a smaller Steve, flashes of a larger Steve, her, others. Sometimes memories came back because of something that happened around him. 

"Someone had to watch you. How much do they take care of you?" Clearly more help was needed, if he'd had to step him. They'd probably be looking for her, though. At some point. "I have watched you. They're sloppy sometimes." And he was one of the best, too.

NAT

The question was stuck on the tip of her tongue but there was no way to ask it without giving him information. Something that could be weaponised against her if necessary . She moved her hand to inspect the damage, and quickly thought better of it. She was out of options. ”Have you got a kit?” She needed his help. Natasha just didn’t know how to ask. They had trained that out of her, assets should be self sufficient or die.

”How long have you been watching me? Since DC?” Maybe he knew, all the dirty secrets she hid in the off the books work she was stuck with now. ”They’re sloppy? Hydra or the Red Room?”

BUCKY

"Yes." There should be enough left in his small kit to redo the stitches. He had his own supplies, but he would have to leave to find them and he knew that she would be gone if he tried. He would have run too, if that was the case.

"No. Not since then." He had needed time to figure out what really living in the world with people was like. Time to fight against conditioning he hadn't known existed. Time to establish himself as something that took up space, even if he'd be hesitant to call himself a full person. "Several months." Once he'd gotten himself together. "Yes, they are. Hydra is falling apart quietly. They are trying to regroup, but it is chaos right now. Shield is burning with them. You know that. The Red Room...is difficult." To say the least. They were able to operate more smoothly than Hydra, which made them harder to deal with.

NAT

”You can move then.” It wasn’t an order. Not quite. He had offered to fix them after all but he better not hang around. 

”Months?” She had more than one tail she hadn’t noticed for this long? She was getting sloppy really. She had relied on the comfort and protection of shield for too long, she forgot to keep all eyes on her own back. Nat was going to have to get better, fast, in order to keep up.

She couldn’t help but give a pained laugh at the idea of shield burning though. He was right, and Natahsa had been the one to light the blaze. ”Cut off one head and it spends too long chasing its tail I guess.”

BUCKY

He stood when allowed to, pausing a moment once he was upright. She still had the gun and he had a feeling that it might be pressed to his head as he stitched her up. It would be the smart thing to do. "I will get it out of my pocket. No weapons. Just supplies." It was a bit of a lie - anything he possessed could be a weapon, but it was the principle of the thing. With the warning stated, he reached carefully into a deep pocket to pull out a small kit. 

"Yes. You were not looking for me." Not intentionally, at least. And he'd kept as far back as conditions permitted. "Not all the time, though. It was not constant surveillance." That might not make it better, that he could find her again after leaving her alone. 

A considering silence. "Something like that, yes. They built too quickly. Unsustainable. Should not have tried to leave covert operations." The Red Room would never have made that mistake. "Are you willing to let me fix your stitches?" Really, he was asking for permission to approach.

NAT

Nat just nodded. She was out of options, and the pain was constant as much as she swallowed down. The full ache in her head and the back of her neck told her the fall might have done worse still. She would inspect the damage when she felt safe. 

She nodded again, to tell him it was alright to move closer but kept her wary green eyes fixed on him. ”How long was I out for? Did you see who I was fighting...”

BUCKY

He moved slowly, not wanting to get shot. He knew that one at least. Avoid pain where possible when in a dangerous situation. Avoid death, even. If she was smart, she would shoot to kill. He reached out gently for her side, to survey the damage before trying to fix it. 

"Not enough for identification. She had your hair." That was the easier question. "Sitting will reduce your chance of falling." Never a direct order, but she should sit. "You were unconscious for approximately ten minutes due to your fall." Snow and pain flashed in his mind. "After that, you were unconscious due to pain for approximately an hour. Your attacker is gone."

NAT

She nodded again, her hair wavy where it was still a little damn from her landing. Water... had he pulled her from water or had she swam? This is where it all for blurry. 

”She looked like me.”Natasha muttered it under her breath, more to herself than him as she sat. She was still so wary, clenching her jaw she she had no reaction to his touch. Even his cold metal fingers on her skin. ”How long did it take you to get me here? You must have worked fast.”

BUCKY

Another nod. Not as good as verbal confirmation, but he was not a handler. Would not snap at her to use her voice. 

”I thought it was a malfunction.” Seeing things was always one of the worst parts of what his brain visited upon him. He tested some of the stitches below those that had popped. He might be able to manage to not have to pull out every single one. He started to get rid of the damaged portions as he spoke. ”Approximately half an hour. I ran. And had a vehicle.” A nod. ”Not fast enough.” Since she’d caught him, after all.

[rigelmejo]

How much effort does the mass immersion approach require?

(one of my many lol) final thoughts on the mass immersion method:

*information on the mass immersion method can be found at massimmersionapproach.com and on various language study youtuber’s videos.

so, contrary to what it looks like from an outsider’s perspective, it appears to be plenty of hard work and study. from an outside glance, it looks a bit ridiculous, in the sense that the method looks like “just watch/read target language content and you will magically learn it over time like a child!” 

that is not the actual method.

the actual method, (to my understanding) boils down to:

Immerse often. Start on day 1. Immerse all in the target language (no language-you-already-comprehend subtitles or anything as a crutch). Immerse in anything you can manage to - shows, radio, podcasts, reading if you can bear it, etc. Look up new words every few to several minutes, when desired.

**Use mnemonics, repetition, SRS flashcards/review methods, or whatever you want to learn the kana (and romaji pronunciations) if studying Japanese. Or use these methods to at least get somewhat familiar with the radicals, if studying Chinese. (My personal additional suggestion: if studying chinese, use whatever methods to read through, listen, and become somewhat familiar with the pinyin system, tones, and radicals. You do not need to have these memorized, as immersion activities and vocab study will keep reinforcing these things, so just get a quick overview of what these things are.) Do this in the first few weeks/first month.  

**Use mnemonics, SRS flashcards/review methods, and possibly a reference book, to learn the 1000 most common characters if the language is Chinese or Japanese. Do this in the first few months, to first several months. 

LEARN the first 1000 most common words in a language. Do this in the first few months, to first several months. (My understanding is mia suggests doing this after the 1000 characters.)

READ through a grammar guide, early on. Do this in the first few to first several months. (mia suggests doing this while learning the 1000 most common words, if desired).

Once done with the two steps above, switch to learning more words are you run into them with sentence mining. Preferably, sentences where there is only one new concept or word you’re learning in the sentences. Preferably, make SRS flashcards for those sentences you’re studying.

While doing the step above, start using your immersion activities as the basis for your sentence mining. The words you have are looking up in immersion activities will be a source of your sentence mining. If desired, you can also look up word-frequency lists to get ideas for what to add to your sentence mining. If desired, you can utilize pre-made sentence mining decks like 10k core Anki deck for Japanese (although mia highly encourages making your own decks). My personal suggestions: Clozemaster app for sentence mining, using example sentences from Pleco as your sentences (when looking up new words in pleco), sentence examples from Baidu Translate app or Tatoeba, sentences from shows/novels you’re consuming. 

At any point, but definitely if you have learned 3,000ish words, start immersion using long texts - articles, novels, stories, etc. (In comparison to only using target-language-subtitles as your reading immersion.) Read regularly, read a lot. Look up new words every once in a while. Continue sentence mining as desired, as long as its helping you. 

** = steps which are specific to certain languages. Some languages will require similar steps to those. Other languages will not need anything like that done. 

There it is, the method. So, is it as easy as “immersing and magically learning a language effortlessly”? NO. NO IT SURE ISN’T.

Let’s go over how it’s definitely got its share of difficulty. Even though it’s not a standard textbook and structured course approach, that doesn’t mean it’s any easier. It still is going to take hard work, dedication, consistency, and effort. 

I would guess, the main reason this method looks “easy” from an outsider’s perspective - is because it tries to focus on primarily engaging the learner’s interests, and in building up comprehension skills as quickly as possible (so the learner can enjoy engaging in their interests). The immersion means a learner is regularly engaging in content in the language they specifically care about and want to understand - compared to standard textbook study that may include various topics some learners care nothing about. The immersion focus also means learners study how to comprehend more than they study how to produce the language themselves in a way with minimal-errors. So learners are more quickly rewarded with being able to listen to speakers, watch shows, read. Learners also will ultimately be able to communicate, although (and this is only my guess) their communication may have more errors earlier on. Communication is possible even with imperfect production. So a learner, once producing, can comprehend well enough to at least recognize their errors and comprehend when others tell them of errors they’re making. At this point, I am guessing, is when studying of more accurate production happens and errors are worked on. For learners who simply wish to communicate for enjoyment and engagement with others, this is fine and much quicker than many traditional classroom based courses. 

The downside being, traditional textbook/classroom study is going to more specifically be helping students learn what they need to pass tests of fluency level (such as job/school required exams, JLPT, HSK, CEFR, etc). Mass Immersion Approach learners may not be developing those same ‘perfecting production’ skills of certain levels, at the same time as traditional textbook/classroom learners. Since traditional classroom/textbook learners are studying in the same order as often widely used tests, they’ll be prepared according to those test levels to do the ‘expected things’ each test level requires. Whereas a mass immersion approach learner, may end up with some gaps that the traditional course would have covered, and so the mia learner will have to fill in those gaps later if planning to take a test. This is probably an issue that stems from mia learners getting to immerse in content they desire which will be specialized to THEM, versus traditional textbook/classroom learners being forced to study ALL topics considered relevant by commonly used tests of language proficiency level. Now... many mass immersion approach learners claim, that after a certain amount of time, their grammar/word use is MORE NATURAL/correct then many people who studied traditionally from a textbook/classroom. Perhaps they are right, and they do ‘naturally’ pick this up over time. But I would still guess there are differences in WHEN mia learners versus traditional learners can utilize certain words/structures to a sufficient level to pass exams they need to pass to get jobs/get into schools etc. These differences could matter, depending on the specific needs of the learner. I would imagine that if an mia learner say, needed to pass HSK 5 in a year for a job - they could use their mia approach, and also HSK 5 prep-materials as desired to help them fill in gaps/practice points they MUST do correctly within a year on that test. 

In summary - the mass immersion approach appears easy at a glance, not because it is easy, but because it has the learner always engaging in specialized content they ENJOY and always USING what they’re learning (either for comprehension, or eventually for producing with the goal of communication over perfection). Encouraging a learner’s passion to keep studying, will make them feel motivated and make them feel the subject is not unbearable. While still difficult, it is often going to be enjoyable at least.

So, how does the mass immersion approach require effort? Why is it difficult? Well, it’s not exactly “learning how children do” and it’s also not easy just because some of it is a little bit LIKE “learning how children do.” The learning like children angle, refers to how the learner should be picking up a lot of new words/grammar concepts in the context of real use of the language - real dialogues in shows/books, real writing instead of textbook examples, sentences mined from that content, and mass amounts of exposure so learners have a LOT of context to help them comprehend all these words/grammar concepts. In mia approach, learners are not learning from textbook examples that may or may not be natural, and may be limited in how many are even contained in a given book. Learners are learning from massive amounts of input, massive amounts of examples they’ll see and hear. In this way, yes, it is picking up a lot of things the way a child does.

But mia approach also involves learning these things much faster than a child would, by doing specific activities to maximize how to speed up the process. This part is why mass immersion approach is a lot more hard work than just “turn on shows and watch and you’ll magically learn.”

Lets go through the steps of the approach again, in regard to effort:

Immerse often - you are using none of a language you already understand to rely on. So no, watching anime with english subs doesn’t count. Immersing in totally target language content is exhausting! The less you comprehend, the more exhausting it is! So it is very difficult for beginners starting out on day 1, month 1, etc! Immersion also generally means the learners should be trying to comprehend whatever they can manage to comprehend, and that requires attention and focus for the duration of immersion. Which is also exhausting, and the MOST exhausting at the beginning stages. Does that sound easy? This is one of many reasons it is vital a learner picks immersion material they are interested in. Because they need to be paying attention to it, and enjoying it enough to keep immersing. They’ll fail the whole approach if they give up immersion because they can’t tolerate the ambiguity and focus required at the beginning stages! (As a personal note, this is likely why my personal study approach is not as similar to the mia approach as it could have been - I had low tolerance for ambiguity and the exhaustion of trying to comprehend anything as a beginner, so I only immersed once every couple weeks for short periods. Whereas a mia learner would need to be doing it every day, or every other day!) Try to immerse in target language only content, in any language you don’t know yet or have just begun studying. Tell me it’s easy... I really don’t think it is.

**Learning romaji/kana if studying Japanese, or pinyin/radicals if studying Chinese. This step is pretty much exactly the same as a traditional textbook/classroom approach. It’s the same amount of effort. So mia learners still have to put in that initial effort, that includes reading and listening to an explanation of these things, repetition (either drilling or SRS). It may even be more effort for mia learners, if they had no textbook or resources suggested to them - then this step is also when they have to look up those things on their own, and find ones they like, to study these things from.

**Learning the 1000 most common characters. WOW IS THIS ONE AN INTENSE AMOUNT OF EFFORT! This is a step that many traditional textbook/course methods stretch out over months or YEARS, and usually teach alongside vocabulary and grammar so learners can integrate the characters into things they already know and use the characters they’re learning right away. mia learners do not get the luxury of having these characters integrated into a web of thing they already know. mia learners have their immersion, so they at least get regular exposure to start SEEING the characters they’re learning. But the sheer effort it takes to grind through learning 1000 characters is immense. It takes a lot of people years. Even with diligent learners, it takes several months. With the most dedicated learners, with the most intense amounts of time they can spare, it takes them a few months. This step is where, I imagine a lot of learners attempting the mass immersion approach will just give up. So I guess, if you’re studying a language without this particular hurdle, congratulations you may have an easier time getting yourself to keep studying consistently using the mass immersion approach! (In my own personal studies, I could not bear to do this with japanese or chinese - so I have always delved into learning maybe 200-500 characters this way, then immediately moving on to learning common vocabulary at the same time. I personally prefer to have a web of connected information in my head, so knowing vocabulary that uses characters, helps me learn characters better than studying characters in isolation. I just learn my first 500ish characters first so that I have a rough idea in my head of some really common characters, so I’m used to seeing the radicals in different ways, and so I’m used to making mnemonics. I have NEVER been able to get myself to purposely work through the 1000 most common characters before studying other things too. My method has its own benefits and drawbacks. The biggest benefit for me was it allowed me to keep studying consistently instead of giving up, since giving up would have been the worst thing. The biggest drawback - it took me 10 months to learn around 1000 characters. Whereas dedicated mia learners may have achieved that in 3-6 months). So, yeah, this step is a MASSIVE AMOUNT OF EFFORT. Arguably a lot more frontloaded work than traditional textbook/classroom learners. The benefit of doing this is that, later down the road, mia learners will comprehend reading more easily with less effort, and have less of a struggle learning new words compared to traditional learners. And a lot of this just has to do with when the different approaches learn this bulk of characters. A mia learner will either give up at this stage (so then they wouldn’t improve in the language reading-wise to any degree), or they’ll get through it and then have the tools learned to be able to keep improving their reading skills and vocabulary indefinitely without too much struggle. In comparison, a traditional learner may find limited gains in reading ability with each course they work through - maybe first they can read short informational signs, then menus and shopping tags, then short emails and texts, then news articles, then simple stories, etc. But they will also find if they quit, they may struggle to be able to improve their reading level because they have a limited base of characters they know, so they struggle to learn more words/characters unless they purposely pick up active studying again. This would be most noticable if they took classes that start off with pinyin only, or take courses that only end up teaching say 800 characters after 2 semesters, etc. If this learner quits too early, having less characters under their belt may require more effort for them in the future. mia learners put in most of this effort upfront, in the first several months. It is... a slog. 

Learn the first 1000 most common words. First off, it will pay off immensely in improving your comprehension. This is a great thing to do no matter what language you’re learning, and no matter how you do it (whether you study like a maniac and learn them in 2 weeks or a month, or whether you take your time and learn them in a year). Now, if you’re an mia learner - it is a slog. In the mass immersion approach you are trying to learn them relatively quickly so that they’ll improve your comprehension for immersion. Whereas in a traditional learning approach you’re probably just learning them as they pop up slowly over time in your textbook/course over a year. An mia learner will benefit more in their other study activities, if they prioritize learning these 1000 words at a relatively quick pace. This is why mia learners are probably encouraged to use SRS flashcards for study, because its fast and efficient. They’re also encouraged to use mnemonics and associate the words with context to help the new vocabulary more easily stick in their memory. Alternatively, one could probably also learn these words through rote memorization, golden lists, exposure (probably the slowest way?). Now, learning new words is hard. We know its hard. There’s choices - mnemonics and memory tricks are faster, but require a learner to figure out how to do them and then dedicate time to doing them for each new word (versus traditional learners that in a class might skate by memorizing for tests by just looking at a word list then forgetting). SRS flashcards mean purposely dedicating study time to review, on a regular basis (also making the cards yourself if you can’t find/don’t like any pre-made resources). Some learners prefer physical flashcards and spaced repetition review of them - that means making the cards yourself. And, if you hate flashcards as ardently as I do, it means hell. (My personal study method involved picking up some of 1000 most common words from - reading word lists and reviewing them on occassion, since I think that’s less draining then flashcards; reading through some pages of high frequency dictionaries; reading the vocab lists in my textbooks and character reference books; looking up common words during immersion; and finally going through an SRS flashcard deck of the 1000 most common words to fill in the gaps and also to REVIEW in an efficient way so that they’d stick in my long term memory. I do think SRS review is a very efficient way to remember things long term, and I do recommend it if you’re trying to be efficient. If you are like me though, and hate flashcards - its up to you how much you want to use other approaches as an alternative or in addition). Learning these words is again, putting the bulk of the effort required on the beginner stage learner. A traditional learner may learn these words over a year, or years. A mia learner will probably want to learn these within the first year, hopefully within the first several months. Like the previous point about characters - there’s benefits and drawbacks to each approach. An mia learner is going to have more to study upfront, regularly, so they might want to give up from the workload. But the payoff is that the words they study will pop up regularly in their immersion, and they’ll be rewarded with greater comprehension for each word they study. This reward will happen a lot faster than for a less-intense paced traditional study plan. So more effort, more reward. The traditional learner, if their course isn’t too intensely-paced, will probably learn these words over a greater length of time - and so won’t get to read them or listen to them and comprehend as fast. But they’ll be less likely to give up because of intense effort required and burnout. In contrast, a traditional learner may be more apt to give up because its taking them longer to get to the level of comprehension they want. 

Read through a grammar guide early on. This is easier than traditional learning, in that an mia learner doesn’t have to do ANY grammar exercises or read to the point of memorizing/internalizing any grammar points. It is harder... because a learner needs to read over ALL of the main grammar points, in a matter of weeks or months. Many traditional learning courses will cover that material over a period of years, spending a week on one or a few points at a time. Reading through a grammar guide requires an mia learner to read one or a few points a day, and to read MANY grammar points in the few weeks-months that the learner spends going through the guide. While completing exercises is not required of mia learners, instead they are required to read through material in a short amount of time that is complex and requires attention and focus. Material that traditional learners are exposed to much slower and with more support as they get a plethora of examples on how it works and in depth details on the topic if they want/need it. Traditional learners also often get to skip reading a formal grammar guide at all, if they have teachers who through example teach them, or if they have textbooks that have a plethora of examples if they don’t want to read ‘why’ to do things in a formal way. An mia learner must read through this grammar guide knowing they’re not going to have any of it memorized, knowing its all basically a ‘summary overview’ for them. Knowing they’re going to be re-looking these points up in the coming months as they keep seeing them in context of immersion and struggling to comprehend them because they look familiar but the learner can’t remember the specifics of the grammar point. Also just... have you ever read technically informational texts like a grammar guide? They’re draining to read through. It takes effort and dedication to start reading a grammar guide (when you aren’t motivated by needing to pass a test in class), and consistency to complete it. (My personal studying experience: YES, YES, YES, I recommend doing this. It’s a slog but if you’re dedicated it will take 1 week to 1 month tops, and can be done alongside any other study activities you’re doing. I can’t emphasize enough how immensely reading a grammar guide in the first few months helped my own progress down the road for any language I’ve ever studied. It helps so much, because after you read through one, everything you run into that is ‘confusing’ you already have a summary in your mind for to build connections and more understanding to. And you can start noticing all grammar points at work immediately, and recognize their examples and proper use. Compared to a traditional study method, where you may only be aware of a few grammar points even Existing when you’re a beginner. YES, I highly encourage you no matter how you are studying a language, to do this sometime in the first year. You don’t have to memorize anything, just read through a grammar guide and try to treat it like a curious interest-read you’re doing. Try to understand the explanations you can, and try to just get some exposure to those explanations that don’t click yet then move on. It will pay off so much later on.)

Sentence mining. In my opinion, this is almost like making your own note-version of your own textbook. Writing your own study book is a lot of effort! Making all the sentence mining flashcards it will require as you keep studying and improving will eventually add up, and take a lot of time and effort to make. Then, as usual, also means dedication to regularly studying and reviewing. Studying and reviewing material is something you’re doing regardless of if it’s the mass immersion approach, or a traditional textbook/course approach. The big difference again, is mainly that mia learners are learning based on their specific interests/needs based on what they’re immersing with, and mia learners are making their own study materials instead of relying on a pre-made textbook. Making your own sentence mining materials is a huge undertaking over a long span of time, it’s not ‘easy’ (unless you are the very opposite of me, and absolutely LOVE flashcards and think they’re the funnest thing in existence - in which case, yay, the mass immersion approach is at least 50% your dream study method!). As someone who does hate flashcards, this sounds so horrible! Although the method itself makes a ton of sense - its studying vocabulary and grammar in the context of examples. So, if you learn better from examples instead of explanations, this method is very well suited to you. And if you need explanations - you just go find that grammar guide again and reread a section on the topic you want further explanation for. Alternatively, a traditional learner’s equivalent studies may be: continuing to work through a grammar book with examples, reading graded readers in progressing difficulty so they’re also basically exposed to sentences that introduce new vocab/grammar over time based on their level, eventually branching out into reading/watching native material at or just above their comprehension level - and possibly writing some sentences down for study or flashcards, on occassion. Sentence mining, in essence, is not easy unless you think flashcards and all the efforts that go into making your own study material, are so fun and delightful you happen to not notice the effort you have to put in. 

Immersion using long texts (also just immersion, generally, as your comprehension increases). This is learning by doing. See the very first thing I wrote in this list, about immersion the first time - immersion where you are aiming to comprehend without anything to rely on but your target language takes attention, focus, and effort. It will only get easier over time, if you keep practicing consistently. It only gets easier by doing it more. Every other step in the mass immersion approach, just seems to be ways of helping make THIS step more bearable and easier. The alternative would have been... to only do this step, immersion. Can you imagine doing that? Just consuming native content and looking up new words either intensively (every single time you ran into a new one), or occasionally (every few minutes)? Some people in this world must have learned a language this way. It certainly does not sound easy. Even harder... would be to truly learn it like a child, where you would do only the immersion step and barely look things up until you comprehend enough to understand a monolingual dictionary. That would be a mega-slog. Which pretty clearly shows why the mass immersion approach is not exactly the same as “learning language exactly how a child does.” The mass immersion approach relies on immersion to learn from context, but it also includes several other study activities to help a learner build a basis of vocabulary and grammar early on in that language (the character, grammar guide reading, and vocab grind in the first several months). Then activities for the learner to keep studying grammar and vocabulary based on their interests and what they’re immersing in, by doing sentence mining - which is like textbook study with examples catered to the specific learner. Only after that, once a learner should be comprehending at least the GIST of material, is the learner expected to be learning a big chunk of things from context of the immersion material - and even then, everything made into sentence mining sentences is getting the added support of srs flashcards that can be regularly reviewed to help speed up learning. Immersion, once a learner can comprehend the basic gist of things, is the act of practicing a skill to improve. Practicing, as with anything you aren’t good at, is difficult until it gets easier. A mia learner may find it less draining at this stage, because they have so many tools that allowed basic comprehension to be managable - so their attention and effort it hopefully only being used on a few new confusing parts of material per immersion content. Whereas a traditional learner, especially if they weren’t doing any listening/reading immersion throughout, is going to have to suddenly start doing this when they’re ready to ‘consume target language content.’ The traditional learner is going to find it brutal, because they haven’t been practicing this skill from day 1. So this... may be why it seems like sometimes mia learners seem to ‘learn’ faster. I can’t say for sure if they lag in other areas of learning a language - but in the area of basic comprehension of the gist of content, to the point where consuming immersion content is bearable, they win. Every study activity they do helps to make this task easier for them as quickly as possible. A traditional learner, depending on their own study methods and how their class/textbook taught, may not have developed these skills and may not have had as many study activities that specifically focused on building THESE skills. Being able to basically comprehend, is when people can start to do things with the language - watch, listen, read, and communicate (comprehensibly, if not perfectly). Maybe an mia learner, depending on how they studied, cannot do buisness emails or talk about college majors in chinese - but maybe an mia learner CAN read an article in chinese ABOUT business emails, about college majors, and quickly look up the unknown words that involved the details they don’t understand. Maybe they’d still have to practice to learn to do such things. But maybe the mia learner’s goal was being able to discuss video games instead, so they know a whole bunch of topics specifically in their area of interest (because of the sentence mining). Whereas the traditional learner maybe never practiced reading novels so is still slogging through, where a different learner practiced that from day 1 and is much better at doing it. In the end... at this level of language proficiency, I think either learner who used any study methods, at this point will have difficulty/ease depending on what practice they personally did and what vocab/grammar they personally studied up to this point. And also at this point, practice for anyone will generally be showing where their knowledge lags and needs to be improved. So... this part is hard, no matter how you studied a language. And this part is years, maybe your entire life.

Does the mass immersion approach take effort? Yes.

It is one of probably a plethora of independent study approaches that will work for learning a language. (Probably the most important thing, I think, is just whatever methods keep you studying consistently, since consistency over time is what will ensure improvement eventually no matter what else you’re doing.) The mass immersion approach seems to be very ‘front-loaded.’ As in, the bulk of the ‘hard work’ is in the first several months to first year.

It seems very make-or-break. Learners are expected to study and review a broad overview of the language within the first year (most common words, overview of all grammar, overview of writing system), and also expected to practice comprehending target language material from day 1 (which for any learner, is a process that starts out difficult and only gets easier with lots of practice, and as you learn the language). So learners will either give up during that initial year of studying tons of words, *characters, grammar points, while also constantly regularly immersing and attempting to practice comprehending what they can while their comprehension is at it’s absolute lowest beginner-levels. When trying to comprehend anything in immersion content is likely to be the most draining, intensive, that it is ever going to be. 

Then, if the learners get past that initial front-load of constantly studying and immersing, things ease up a little. They’ve made themselves go through all the ‘hardest’ parts of studying. Comprehension of immersion material becomes more bearable, now their study material will largely be words/sentences/grammar they choose to pick based on their own goals (so study material is creative and self directed). All new words/grammar will be surrounded by a lot of context the learner already understands. Any new grammar that a learner runs into, will be something a learner already has at least some other grammar basis to compare it to and build it from. The immersion portion of study will be incredibly enjoyable and rewarding. The new word/concept initial study will be relatively rewarding too - it will be based on content the learner cares about, and will be surrounded by context the learner understands and so easily can digest. The only real ‘slog’ will be reviewing new concepts/words every so often (like srs flashcards). Which is not too hard of a task, it’s just flashcards to jog your memory until you don’t need them. And beyond the structured sentence mining, any immersion will now be word/concept study review for you for any material you can comprehend. And you will eventually be able to learn some new words only from context in the immersion content and repeated exposure, so not everything will require any structured study at all. At the point when that becomes a relatively normal occurrence, SRS flashcards won’t even be necessary - they will just be an option to use if you want that particularly efficient review method. 

Now, this second part - any language learner will eventually get to this part. I and the level of difficulty at this part I think will probably be mostly the same. Any learner is going to have to get through the initial hurdle of understanding-almost-nothing and struggling to comprehend anything. mia learners go through it throughout those first few months. Traditional learners either will go through it from day 1 (if they start immersion immediately) until whenever their textbooks/courses give them the basis needed to reach the immersion-while-comprehending-the-gist stage (or until they self-study to learn those things early). Traditional learners who wait to do this until after all their courses/textbooks, will hit that initial difficulty - and may find it a bit more bearable since they likely will have way more stuff they comprehend than an mia learner did on day 1. And then that difficulty will soon wane until they’re also at immersion-while-comprehending-the-gist stage. 

Mass immersion approach seems like a good study method to consider looking into if you are a self-study learner, or if you’re learning from a textbook/course and are considering some other study activities to add onto what you’re already doing. Mass immersion approach seems geared on getting the learner to comprehend the basic gist of immersion content as quickly as possible, so that they can learn from the context within immersion material as quickly as possible. That means a lot of intense study in the beginning. That means that although there isn’t a lot of focus on doing exercises. But there’s still a lot of focus on studying/reviewing basic common vocabulary, getting an overview of all the grammar, and on ‘practicing’ the language in other ways such as attempting to comprehend immersion material every day from the very start. 

[heavymetalover]

Heart-Shaped Box (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

Summary: On your way out of the Satanic church, you and an inexperienced Michael share an intimate encounter.

Warnings: smut, dirty talk, slow burn, choking, oral sex (female receiving), sassy reader.

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: thanks to everyone in the ahs/cody fan base for being so kind and reading my shitty writing :) youre all dope mfs

i only did minimal editing so i hope there arent too many mistakes !!

~~~~

You exhale a long sigh when hanging up your cloak in the empty church. You take in the atmosphere of the church; you’re going to miss being a Satanist. You finally felt like you belonged somewhere, felt like you finally had a home, but things changed once Michael came along. Everyone was on their toes, trying to one-up each other, it was first grade all over again and everybody was the teacher’s pet. Part of you blames yourself for succumbing to the desire of having external support, your own little dysfunctional family. But you blame Michael. He ruined everything for you, and you didn’t want to be apart of his crusade.

You take a seat on the first bench, observing your surroundings for the last time. The mood lighting from the lit-up candles, curtains hanging on either side, the walls painted an ominous blood red, the upside-down cross hanging above the alter… God you’ll miss this place.

Dress shoes click on the polished wooden floors and you stand from your seat, preparing to bolt without having to engage in conversation about why you’re leaving. You know the rest of the members would give you great shame for not kissing Michael’s ass. Fuck him. Fuck the people at this church. They all claim to be different, evil, but they’re just like God-fearing Christians. As soon as their “saviour” came, they kissed his feet. Not you.

You brush past the person who walked in, keeping your eyes glued onto the floors. They grab your arm and you stop, still not turning around to look at them. A sick feeling turning in your stomach suspects you already know who it is. “It’s… y/n, right?” the man asks. His indistinguishable smooth voice sings your name like a lullaby and your heart drops. He hasn’t said two words to you before, the closest you’ve gotten to speaking with him is exchanging glacial stares, so how did he know your name?

“Michael,” you reply. “Sorry, uh, Mr. Langdon,” you redress him. “How do you know my name?”

“You can call me Michael,” he says, “I like to know all the people who have been worshipping my father.” He pulls you by the lacey fabric of your dress, trying to turn you to meet his gaze. You spin around and hold your head high. His body is twisted towards you, carrying himself confidently. He doesn’t scare you, even if he is a head taller than you... and the antichrist.

Your eyes meet his, the candles in the room give him an intimate lighting on his porcelain skin. His blonde feathered hair done to perfection, as always. The princess always has to look damn good, doesn’t he?

“What’re you thinking about?” he asks, cutting your observation short. You open your mouth to speak, but he holds up his finger. “Let me guess… coming up with an excuse on why you just hung up your cloak and were about to leave my father’s church,” he guesses.

You’d rather affirm his assumption than explain what you were actually thinking about. Of course everyone in the church had a crush on Michael, but they openly admitted it. You’re a little more stubborn. You hold your hands up in vanquish, “You got me.” You walk backwards, hoping to leave the conversation as is. “I should head out then,” you add, but Michael takes a step toward you with every step you take back. You stop, annoyed by his tenacity. Maybe he’s more like you than you thought.

“And why is it that you’re leaving?” his voice is surprisingly warm. “I’m not what you expected I’d be? Unsatisfied with my leadership?”

Michael’s never grovelled for anything, not even a lousy reply; you smile at his zeal. “I just don’t want to swim too close to… a drowning man,” you respond, hesitantly choosing your words.

“Oh?” the word immediately slips from his lips, an eyebrow cocked. He turns around to the alter, his silky black cloak flowing behind him. Michael reaches under the podium to grab a chalice and a bottle of merlot. A little inside joke your church had, mocking the blood of Christ in Catholic churches. He fills the glass with wine and hands it over to you, “A drowning man, huh? Did I strike a nerve?”

You take a sip of the bitter beverage, somehow the flavour is both pleasant and unpleasant. When you look at him as he awaits your answer and meet his deep blue eyes, it’s hard for you to answer truthfully. “Nope, no nerves struck,” you lie, taking another big gulp.

“You’re not a very good liar,” he quips. He takes a step back from you and walks around the benches, your eyes follow him around the room. Dragging his feet across the floor, eyeing up the church just as you were. Even as he’s just being observant and not really doing anything, Michael holds a certain hostility to his presence. “What have I done to displease you? I’d like to know,” his voice echoes.

You glance around the room for anything to save you, he’s stopped in his tracks to watch you squirm under his influence. You look at the exit of the room, then back at Michael. “Look, I was just planning on leaving,” you explain with a passive shrug.

He steps away from the exit. “You can if you’d like. I’m only curious… and I wouldn’t want you leaving my father’s church on a bad note,” he answers. He walks towards you and you back up closer to the alter, it feels like he’s intentionally closing in on you to make you feel threatened. You won’t let it work. “Again, just so there are no animosities,” his voice is lower, “what have I done?”

You take the last sip of wine, realizing your lips haven’t parted from the glass for nearly the entire time. It’s much easier to tolerate Michael with a drink in your hand. Although you could easily put it back under the podium, you decide to hand the empty cup back to Michael. At first his eyebrows furrow in confusion, then a moment passes and his lips twist into a cunning smile. If he wants to act dominating, you will too. “You know where that goes,” he says in a mere whisper.

“So do you,” you retort, the alcohol giving you an extra boost of courage.

He walks past you, brushing you with his cloak as he goes and ignoring the cup you hold out to him. You smile to yourself, biting your lip from calling him stubborn. You thought that you were the most obstinate person you’d ever know, but Michael might take the cake. Two can play at that game; you purposely put your cup in the wrong spot.

Michael takes a seat on the alter, still waiting for your response. You sit across him on the first church bench. “It’s not anything you’ve done, it’s what you’re not doing,” you finally respond. He stops fiddling with the pentagram necklace hanging on his chest to glare at you, you got his attention. “Oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “I haven’t seen so much angst in a grown man, you’re practically a child.”

He scoffs. “I don’t think you’d speak with that conviction if you knew what I’ve been through,” he spits.

“Obviously losing people isn’t fair, but you’re literally the antichrist and you’re hiding behind the fact that your friend died,” you rebuttal. You shiver at the thought of all your losses, now this church is also going to be added to the list.

He’s shaking his head, dismissively rolling his eyes at you in dissatisfaction. He’s so much like you, it makes you hate him even more. This boils your blood; maybe it’s the alcohol, but his bullheadedness is sending you over the edge. Before he can answer, you want to ruffle his feathers a little more. “I can’t take over the world because my friend died and daddy doesn’t love me, boohoo,” you tease. “Grow up, we’ve all lost people.”

He takes a moment before responding to you, his eyes trailing down your body in disgust. You freeze under his stare. Then his frigid gaze falls back onto yours. “Maybe you’re just too stupid to realize how miserable you should be,” he responds callously, “Does a dumb harlot like you have no bounds?”

You clutch your legs together, his blistering words cause a tingling in your core; he’s never spoken to anyone like this before. Michael can come across as a contemptuous dick, but he’s never purposely been disrespectful. You try to answer him quickly, making sure he doesn’t notice that he knocked the wind out of you. “I’m far from a harlot, Mr. Langdon,” you keep yourself composed. “Tell me, with everybody’s heads up your ass, do your shits just fall out?”

You’re rewarded with a laugh. “You’re a snappy little thing,” his voice is small.

“I’m merely a confident woman refusing to kiss your ass.”

“You’re merely a confident woman who squeezes her legs together when being degraded by a man,” he barks back, no uncertainty in his voice, “I see how you tense up every time I’m around. Every time you’re on your knees praying to my father, praying to me.” You cement in your seat by his sudden bitterness, taken aback by his personality change. “You’re ashamed of your sexual desires, pretend to be a pure flower, but deep down an insatiable little whore.” Baffled by his vulgarity, your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. You’ve never been muted by the words of another person, it irks you. He dusts off some of his cloak, still sitting pretty like he hadn’t broken his customary tone. “Have I made an erroneous observation, y/n?” he asks, still refusing to look at you.

Your first instinct is to shrug, but he doesn’t see. He finally stops tending to his clothing and pays attention to you again. You feel a smirk stretch across your lips without your consent, almost like a dark entity moving through you. You’re done trying to piss him off, you want to try something else. “Okay, I’m a whore… and?” you challenge him. He cocks his head in confusion. “I don’t see your hands under that cloak, how do I know you’re not relieving some of your own tension?” your voice drops seductively.

“Impossible,” he snaps.

“Impossible,” you mock him. “Why?”

“Because there is no tension,” he explains, shifting in his seat. You don’t reply, you just watch him uncomfortably try to adjust to the situation. Frustration washing over him when you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, he stands from his seat. You follow suit.

You step closer to him, his eyes locked onto the floors but find yours in an instant. The cerulean lit by the dancing flames of the candles beside him. You’re only inches apart from each other, Michael makes no effort to step away. “Maybe I was wrong about you, Michael,” you whisper. You take another step closer to him, his body lightly grazing yours. He leans into you, pressing his pelvis against your belly. “Maybe all you need is a good fuck,” you bite your lip.

You feel him growing hard against you. He raises an eyebrow. “How are you doing this to me?” his voice is softer than before.

You exhale a laugh almost mockingly. “You don’t need to question it, Michael. Just find the courage to reach out…” your voice low. You run your hands down your body and lightly massage your breasts, a soft moan escapes your lips, “and touch.”

He leans down, his full lips press against yours. You feel him fumbling, so you take the lead. Giving gentle kisses and slowly making them deeper, you run your fingers through his luxurious blonde locks, pulling slightly. He follows your lead, his hands caressing your back and pulling your body into his even tighter. It takes Michael only a few moments to learn how to kiss before he wants to devour you.

His kisses become aggressive and his tongue pushes its way into your mouth. Regularly you’d enjoy being dominated in such a way, but you’re not letting yourself lose control over Michael. You liked having him at your fingertips.

You pull away from his burning hot body and walk to the other side of the alter. He freezes in place, collecting himself from the kiss. You smirk at the lipstick you’ve stained on his mouth. “Did I do something wrong?” he questions.

You shake your head, “No.” He steps towards you again, reaching out to you for more like a bratty toddler. “No more touching,” you order, “and I want you on your knees.”

He grins. “Aaand what makes you think that you’re in charge?” he asks.

“Because you want pussy,” you suggest. He laughs sardonically and you feel your heart sink into your chest. “Seriously, I think you need to learn to be a bit more flexible with your superiority.”

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear and you shift your head to the side, trying to enforce your no touching rule. “I don’t bend,” he retorts.

You step back from him and reach under your dress to shimmy off your panties. He watches your every movement, greedy to have more of you. “Well, everybody knows what happens to things that don’t bend,” you shove your panties in his mouth.

He spits them out. “I’m the fucking antichrist,” he seethes.

“A shitty one at that,” you spit back.

The force of his hand suddenly gripping your throat hitches your breath. Your hands grab his and he squeezes your neck tighter. “You think I’d take orders from a doe-eyed harlot like you?” his blood boiling. You feel yourself soaking from his words, recalling a sick fantasy you’ve had about this exact situation that you’ve concealed deep in your subconscious.

“Then just kill me,” you test his bluff. Now might not be the best time, but you have nothing else to lose. “Do it,” you press.

He squeezes harder one last time before his hand goes limp along with any faith you had in him. You try to discreetly gasp for air, taking in sharper breaths. “That’s what I thought,” you tease him even more. His nostrils flare out in anger and it makes you smile to yourself.

“Show me,” he lowly moans.

You take a seat on the first church bench, still trying to regulate your breathing. “Show you what?”

“Everything.”

You lean back on the bench and he takes a seat on the alter in front of you. You shake your head; a part of you just wants to leave now and be done with the church, be done with him. But a greater part of you wants to taste every inch of his body. To stick around and feel Michael inside you. This part dominates you, and again you feel yourself being possessed by the dark entity.

You reach down and brush your leg with your fingertips, taunting him by lifting the fabric of your dress only to let it drop back to your shins. “You want a peak?” you ask him. He doesn’t say a word; he only watches your hands. You take his silence as admission to reveal yourself to him.

You squeeze your legs together and lift up your dress, opening your legs up to expose your drenched cunt. Michael drops to his knees in defeat, crawling closer to you on all fours. His necklace hangs in front of him, oscillating like a pendulum. He comes so close that you feel his warm breath against your thighs, intensifying the tingling, rather sending an ache through your core.

When your fingers make contact with your throbbing clit, you let out a deep moan. Giving yourself one last rub before withdrawing your hand from your dripping pussy, you suck yourself off of each finger. Michael only watches you, no longer wanting to reach out in momentary greed.

“Do you want to taste it?” you breathe.

“I do,” his voice is faltering, no longer sounding menacing, instead overflowing with lure.

You lift your legs onto the bench, spreading them as wide as you can. “Then show me how hungry that pretty mouth of yours is.”

He starts on your thighs, wasting no time with each open-mouthed kiss he gives. His mouth inches from your pussy, he disregards it to suck on your thigh. You gasp at his hostility, fervently sucking on the inside of your thigh and leaving a love bite. It makes you want to question where he learnt to do that.

He lays his tongue flat on the entirety of your aching cunt, his lips wrapped around yours and he sucks on your folds. You try keeping in your moans, but they escape bit by bit. You feel yourself getting lost with each lick and every suck brings you closer to God. “Michael,” you groan his name.

He buries his tongue deep into you and a moan escapes your chest, you arch your back and impulsively try to close your legs. He pushes your legs apart again and continues to eat you as if you were his last meal. His moans vibrating into your sensitive cunt sends goosebumps all throughout your body.

Your breath gets caught in your throat as you feel yourself starting to come. “Micha-” you can’t finish saying his name, you interrupt yourself with a pornographic moan. Your moans echo through the church, it crosses your mind that the people walking by this cheap backwater building could probably hear you as well. You don’t care, if anything, the uncertainty turns you on even more.

You come undone, screaming all the moans you were previously neglecting. Michael’s glossy eyes look up to you, begging for your come. “You’re so fucking good,” you sigh, your fingers pulling his hair again. The way his tongue ravages your cunt restores the modicum of faith you had in him, if only he brought the same kind of dedication to world sovereignty.  

You try to even out your breathing, but fail every time he gives an unexpected lick. Your legs are trembling, you feel your whole body acting on every little whim. Even the sounds you’re making refuse to be silenced. You’re no longer in control of your own actions. You grind yourself on his face and he presses your hips hard against the bench, putting you in your place for messing up his rhythm. You finally feel yourself coming onto him, screaming his name one last time. Continuing to ride out the transitory ecstasy, your pussy incoherently spews your juices and Michael attempts to drink down every drop he can.

The wetness from your soaked cunt pools on the bench, but Michael ignores it to finish off with gentle kisses along your thighs again. “Michael, please fuck me,” you hear yourself beg. Even if the tables have turned and now it’s you pleading for him, you’re too detached to care. “Fuck me like the whore I am,” you continue, emotionally divorced from the words leaving your lips, the only goal is to appear irresistible to him.  

“No,” he responds, wiping your lipstick from his mouth. You study his expression hard, now wondering if it was you that had done something wrong. Why wouldn’t he want to fuck you? You’ve gotten this far… “Y/n, just because we came this far, doesn’t mean we have to rush things,” he explains.

You shut your legs, “Did you just hear my thoughts?”

You’re both interrupted by somebody entering the room; the priest of your church, Hannah, saunters in wearing her red robe. Your visceral reaction is to stand from your seat, but Michael stays on his knees. You step away from the bench, leaving behind the mess you two made. “What’re you doing here?” she asks.

“Just leaving,” you mutter, beelining to the door before anybody can stop you. A voice booms in your head, not your own, but Michael’s. His familiar, smooth voice leaves you a message. Tomorrow. Same place, same time. I’ll give you what you need.

You want to question how he can project himself into your head, too, but it would be redundant to keep inquiring his powers. You look back, he doesn’t pay you attention, he’s busy putting your cup back under the podium. You smile to yourself while exiting the church.  

[shipitrealgood]

Rizumo Week 2020 Day 3: Wedding

If you expected me not to be super late with this one too, then you don’t even know me. But I tried to make this one more romantic (which my brain struggled to write), so hopefully that helps take the sting out of it!

@the-new-rizumo-week-blog

Rin tugs at the starched white collar of his button-up shirt, groaning loudly as sweat trickles down his temples. “Man, it’s boiling out here,” he whines, trying desperately to flag down one of the many waiters carrying pitchers of ice water.

His companion jabs him in the side, seeming to only get more irritated when he yelps loudly in response. “Pipe down,” Izumo hisses, “we can’t draw attention to ourselves.”

He rubs his side. “Yeah, yeah, Shura’s orders…”

“No, you idiot. This is their day. They should get all the attention.” She gestures in front of them.

A recently wedded bride and groom sit side by side at a lavish table, their eyes focused solely on the standing maid of honor as she tearfully recites her toast. To their right sits an as-of-yet unused dance floor with a DJ rechecking his equipment and acoustics. To their left, front, and pretty much everywhere else under this tent sit their extended family and friends, a startling amount of people brought together to witness their union.

Silky linens drape across the ceiling, serving to disguise the tent’s basic structure, while the embedded fairy lights seem to bless the happy couple with their mystic light. More white tables and golden chairs are crammed together in this space than really seems wise, especially given the early summer heat, but only the guests’ children (and Rin) seem to be complaining. There are several buffet tables off to the side, thankfully still with the food covered so as not to distract the guests, but the half-demon can tell even from where they sit at the back that there is some premium cuisine waiting.

It’s the first Western-style wedding he’s ever been to, and though beautiful, good lord it must have been expensive. If it weren’t for their mission, he’s pretty sure he’d never get the chance to experience something so fancy in his life.

Still, he looks back at Izumo, chuckling even through the disgruntled glare she sends him. “What?” She grits out.

“You really are nice, Eyebrows.”

She jabs him again in the same exact spot. “I told you to quit calling me that!”

The bruise he’s developing almost convinces him to listen to her, but it can’t be helped; both of them were dressed by Shura for the occasion, and Izumo, in that lace red dress carved with intricate designs, looks… unsettlingly nice. Like, pretty. Like a really pretty girl.

Rin finds it hard to look directly at her, much less call her by her first name. It’s a lot easier to deal with an angry, violent Izumo, so he lets his elementary school boy instincts take over. A strong urge to tug on her ponytail overtakes him, but one look reveals that her peppy new hairdo has exposed the nape of her neck, where a few locks of hair cling to her glistening skin—

He tears his eyes away, forcing himself to calm down. Ooh, that was dangerous, dangerous. At least he knows now that he’s not the only one suffering from the heat…

These thoughts seem to only be making him feel hotter, though, so he instead runs over the details of the mission again. A report came in that one of the many, many guests here (seriously, were there hundreds?!) is actually a demon. While his precise motivations are unknown, the report indicated that he had some great plan in the making that could bring harm to everyone there, and he had to be brought down before that could happen.

However, some quick reconnaissance revealed that the only time they’d be able to get to him would be at the reception, which meant they had to find and deal with him discreetly—a stealth mission, as Rin liked to call it. The size of their team also had to be minimal to avoid arousing suspicion, so Shura brought along Rin and Izumo, stating that she “couldn’t afford to take her eyes off Rin, and their cover would work better with one of the girls.”

He hadn’t really minded, though when he questioned later why she hadn’t considered Shiemi, Shura gave him that mischievous smile he feared and said, “I trust Izumo to keep a reaaaal close eye on ya.”

Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to the ominous feeling he got from her words… but considering how easily Shura had gotten them in, continuously weaving tales of her being a widower of a distant cousin, of Rin being her step-son (“That’s right, I’m a mother—oh thank you, I do look too young! Nyahaha~”), of Izumo being his betrothed since they were little and how she’s practically family already… He probably shouldn’t doubt her, no matter how embarrassed her lies made him.

“So beautiful…” Izumo whispers, catching his attention. Unfortunately for her, he cranes his head in the direction of her gaze before she can hide it. The blushing bride lies in that direction, smiling endlessly as she accepts congratulations and adulation.

Rin hums. “So you dream of that kind of thing too, huh?” It was intended as a simple question, more conversational than anything, but it sends his companion into complete silence. When he looks back to her, her eyes are distant and pained. He’s not sure why, but his instincts tell him that he messed up and needs to start panicking.

Thankfully, Shura picks that moment to swagger on up, playing the part of an indulgent partygoer almost too well. She stumbles and grabs onto the back of Izumo’s chair, feigning a moment of rest to lean down and mutter, “Possible target located. Go blend in on the dance floor and move on the code word ‘private’.” She’s off to the dance floor before either can react, already cozying up to a man who’s too interested to refuse.

Rin stands immediately, all too eager to put his energy to good use, and anxiously extends his hand to Izumo.

She contemplates it for a moment—he starts panicking because oh god, is it too sweaty, he should try to wipe it off, but she’s definitely already seen it and probably thinks he’s gross—before she takes it, standing with a grace that he never knew she had.

Right when they reach the dance floor, the music suddenly shifts, and—oh, god. Oh god, it’s a slow dance. Rin hears snickering and glares at Shura, who’s clearly aware of his dilemma and enjoying it immensely. He somehow just knows she set him up for this—but judging by the way she’s clinging to the target, it was probably for the sake of the mission, he realizes with a sigh. His mentor sure has a way of killing two birds with one stone…

Awkwardly clearing his throat too many times, he slowly shifts their hands and ghosts his other hand over Izumo’s waist. She rolls her eyes and pulls him much closer, planting both of his hands on her waist and linking her own hands behind his neck. She forces him to sway gently with her because Rin is frozen, his brain completely blue-screening, just a constant chant of oh god oh god too close pretty girl smell good.

“Have you got a clear lock on Miss Kirigakure?” she whispers, snapping him into a completely different sort of flustered. He robotically turns to check and realizes that Izumo had dragged him closer to eavesdrop, their pose mirroring every other couple around them. That knowledge helps him relax, his shoulders slumping in relief as he heaves a big sigh.

Fingers dig into the back of his neck and the pain reminds him to focus. “Owww— yes, we’re good!” he whisper-shouts. “But man, Eyebrows, you’re really good at these kinds of missions, huh?”

Although looking directly at her is still a challenge, it’s quite obvious that Izumo’s glaring at him as she ‘accidentally’ steps on his foot. “Whoops,” she deadpans. “Sorry, Satan Boy. Anyway, I don’t think it’s that I’m good at them so much as you’re extremely terrible.”

His eye twitches. The tip of her ponytail is right there, just dangling right by his fingertips… but his aching toes and side advise against it.

They sway in silence for a moment, listening in for the code word over the soothing lull of the music. A soft giggling alerts Rin to the fact that the bride and groom have joined in. They look at each other like there’s no one else in the world, like every clichéd fairytale and love song has come to life between them. It’s as inspiring as it is beautiful, and despite the odd circumstances that led to him being there, he wishes these two strangers every happiness in the world.

And hopes beyond hope that even the son of Satan can have that someday too.

“About what you said earlier…”

He looks down at Izumo and is surprised to see her staring at his chest, furrowing her brow and worrying her bottom lip. “I wasn’t really… allowed to think about something so happy for my future. Loving someone— trusting someone to that extent… It all seemed utterly impossible.”

When her eyes grow distant this time, he understands. The memories she relives aren’t just her own anymore. So when his grip on her reflexively tightens, drawing her nearer—it feels as though she’s sheltered from the world in his arms, his warmth a gentle, firm reminder that she’s not alone. Izumo looks up to him, feeling a wondrous sense of security and unrestrained joy, and a glorious smile blooms upon her lips.

“But thanks to you all… I have that freedom.”

Rin’s heart pounds violently in his chest.

All the things he’s been acutely trying to ignore flood his senses all at once: her face, usually sharp with hostility and anger, is soft and warm and mere inches from his own; a pretty red dusts her cheeks, matching her sparkling eyes, two priceless rubies; her slender waist, her silky hair… and god did she smell good.

Was Izumo always this beautiful? And—this beautiful girl in his arms, blushing so prettily just for him—was she maybe—

“—nyahaha~ maybe we should go somewhere private?”

The pair springs into action, leaving Rin’s arms noticeably bereft as they flank Shura and the target off the dance floor.

He tries sneaking peeks at Izumo, but her stony expression conveys single-minded focus on the mission—until he catches her peeking at him too. Her whole body jumps when they lock eyes, and even though she quickly whips her head away from him, he still watches in fascination as a furious red colors her skin, all the way from the tips of her ears down to her shoulders.

It sends a thrill through him, one that tells him to hurry up and finish this mission so he can figure out what the hell this—this—whatever this is, this potential between them is.

And when they round the corner and he catches one last glimpse of the newlyweds, he sends them another blessing, ironic as it may be coming from him. Because thanks to them, to people like them, to all of their loves—it gives kids like him and Izumo a chance to dream.