#and he does the first instance of pulling him down roughly and shouting at his face

[onesidedradiostatic]

can we talk about how the weirdest part of staticmoth isn't even the fact that they're toxic to each other?

it's how they both react to each other's toxicity with nonchalance.

like. first, during val's tantrum, val throws a glass at vox, or well, in his vicinity.

then vox just... steps away like it's nobody's business, barely bothered by it.

and later, when it's vox's turn to be angry, he roughly pulls val down, shakes him, and shouts at his face.

then val just... shrugs it off.

usually when you think of a toxic relationship, you'd probably think of person A being toxic to person B then person B biting back just as toxic until it's a back and forth of toxicity, a full-blown fight.

but that. that's not staticmoth. staticmoth is fucking weird in that when one is acting toxic towards the other, the other acts nonchalant and doesn't retaliate. then they switch roles on who the toxic one is and who the nonchalant one is.

I am not at all denying the toxicity in their relationship, but they certainly are a really fucking weird brand of toxic that is just. so hard to describe.

[amjustagirl]

Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi's heart has always pointed north. He wonders if it's broken when it starts to point inexorably towards her. 

Set in the aftermath of The Astrophile, in the same universe as Storm Chaser.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi / f! reader

Genre: Fluff, angst, romance 

Wordcount: 7.8k 

Masterlist link here

A/N: Dedicated first and foremost to Ami @softsakusa, one of the first people to convince that my writing isn’t shit and that I should keep creating fics. 

This fic is also for all the readers who wanted a happy ending for the reader in The Astrophile (which sets out the backstory of the reader, Iwaizumi and Oikawa), and also follows the events of Storm Chaser (which follows the turbulent relationship of Miya Atsumu and now wife - I named her Kaiyo in this fic to avoid confusion!). 

Hope you like it - reblogs and comments are always dearly appreciated <3

It must be the worst meet cute of all time. 

That is – if he’s using that phrase correctly. It keeps appearing in the god-awful English movies Bokuto and Miya keep playing during team movie nights that makes him want to tear his hair out. 

But yes, he meets her at Miya Shino’s seventh birthday party, the birthday girl the apple of Miya Atsumu’s eye, the princess of his castle, the most perfect angel in the entire heavens - the list of pet names growing longer and longer the more the obnoxious setter prattles on about his daughter. 

And apparently Miya Shino is a chip off the old block, and is as obsessed with volleyball as her father. Which means that he, one Sakusa Kiyoomi, is forced to turn up on a Saturday afternoon for a birthday party to teach a group of children roughly about the same height as his kneecaps how to play volleyball. 

There are plenty of other MSBY players that Miya Atsumu could have rounded up to fritter away a Saturday afternoon. Hinata, for instance - the sunny, fiery headed opposite hitter a perennial favourite with young fans. Or Inunaki - the liberio has an amiable personality that he certainly wouldn’t mind snot nosed children hanging off his arms like a walking, talking monkey bar. But no, Hinata is apparently busy on a weekend meditation retreat, and Inunaki is at his sister’s wedding party, so both of them managed to escape this travesty of a birthday party. 

That leaves him with Bokuto who’s practically a child himself, beaming, bumping balls at screaming children with one hand, the other hand lifting another child above his head. Meian’s here too but his own kid is somewhere in this gaggle of monsters anyway, so he’s here to carry out his parental duties – hopefully his presence might balance the sheer chaos he’s sure he’s about to face.   

‘Omi-omi you made it!’ Atsumu greets him with a slap to the back. 

Sakusa resists the urge to bare his teeth. Is this what hell is? Screeching gremlins underfoot, the nauseating smell of fried food permeating the air. 

And it’s probably because he’s still in a horrified daze at the situation he’s put himself in (which Atsumu is either too dense to pick up on or already immune due to the series of similar expressions he pulls at him on a daily basis), Atsumu manages to snap a party hat on his head, before he prances off in victory. 

Sakusa snarls, ripping off the red paper hat off his head. 

Why on earth did he agree to this again? 

‘Sakusa-san! Thank you so much for coming!’ 

His glare softens by a fraction. 

Miya Kaiyo, Atsumu’s long suffering wife approaches him, careful not to touch him, waving at him instead. He appreciates her thoughtfulness, so he thaws a little, giving her a slight nod in greeting. 

Right, she’s the reason why he’s here. 

He’s always been fond of her - competent, patient, intelligent, far too good for her idiot of a husband. Approximately a year ago, he sought her professional help with his accounts. He graduated with a business degree from Chuo University, so he can tell there is obviously something fishy that his manager is pulling with his finances, but the accounting courses he took weren’t in depth to pinpoint the problem. Miya Kaiyo, on the other hand, a trained forensic accountant with a nose like a bloodhound for fraudulent accounts, nailed down the problem within a week. So when she asked him after a game whether he’d be free to attend her daughter's birthday party, he hadn’t been able to turn her down. 

‘It was no problem’, he says stiffly, already itching to spray the whole place down with disinfectant. ‘I’m glad to be here.’ 

Kaiyo laughs at his obvious lie, tugging at his sleeve to seat him in a corner. ‘You don’t have to go play with the kids if you didn’t want to! I invited you so we could catch up, and besides, I did want to introduce you to someone.’ 

‘Hm.’ 

He doesn’t try to mask his reluctance this time. Kaiyo means well, he knows, but between her and his mother, he’s tired of having to fend off match making attempts. It’s not like he can’t get a date – he can and he has, it’s just difficult to find someone willing to put up with his prickly personality and busy schedule.

‘Well she’s not here yet, so you’ll have to wait. And while we’re waiting, tell me how’ve things been, Sakusa-san?’ 

Grateful that he’s not going to be forced into shepherding children into playing anything remotely resembling an actual volleyball match (he suspects he might have more luck teaching cats how to do the conga), he settles into his seat, mouth stretching into something resembling a smile. He lets her chatter about work, and they’re deep in a discussion about his plans post-volleyball (because he can feel the countdown on his career in his creaking bones, his aching sinews)  when Atsumu swoops in on him again, like a vulture seeking easy prey. 

‘What’cha doin’ with my wife, Omi-omi’, he slips a hand around Kaiyo’s waist mock possessively. 

She swats at him. He ducks, raising his hands in surrender. 

‘I enjoy talking to an actual adult sometimes, ‘Tsumu!’ 

‘Oh come on, I already have to share you with ‘Samu most of the time, now you’re leaving me for Omi-kun?!’

‘Dramatic ass.’ 

‘Please, you chose to marry me.’ He crows, flipping his hair. He looks ridiculous, he always does. Kaiyo seems to agree - 

‘And I wonder why sometimes.’ She retorts, Atsumu squawking indignantly at her response, hair ruffling like an offended chick. But Kaiyo ruins the effect of her words by laughing, leaning over to affectionately peck her husband on the cheek. 

Sakusa should be annoyed by this display of childishness, but for some inexplicable reason, a frisson of longing bubbles in his chest instead. It’s strange. Marriage or even serious relationships have never been something he’s actively sought. After all, it always seemed horrendously illogical to put all your eggs in one basket and hope nothing trips up – but his heart pays his mind no mind, and the strange sensation continues to trickle down his throat into his chest. 

He makes up an excuse to slip to the bathroom for a tactical retreat from this madness. 

Then he takes a breath. 

Rinse. Lather hands with soap. Rinse. Repeat again .

Familiar motions, bred out of a desire to do things right, transformed into an unbreakable habit. Cold water, washing away soap bubbles.

Right. Now he’s ready for another plunge off the deep end . 

He’s a foot past the threshold of the community hall where the party is being held when Miya Shino darts towards him. She’s very clearly her father’s daughter with his penchant for mischief because she dives between his legs, making him stumble in confusion. Then Meian Shugo’s eldest son Makoto barrels towards him, intent on reaching the ball held aloft in Shino’s hands. 

Athletic reflexes be damned in the face of a pair of hell-spawn. 

‘Shino!’. Kaiyo shouts. 

‘Makoto!’ Meian thunders. 

Sakusa flails, decidedly without grace, and in his attempt at not squashing the two little devils, he manages to do something even  worse . 

Much, much worse. 

He manages to trip over his feet and bump right into the woman Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to (this, he finds out later). It’s a lost cause – he’s six foot two of pure muscle, dwarfing her by a mile, and she’s carrying a huge box in her hand. 

He ends up face planting directly into her chest. 

His brain short circuits at the feeling of plush softness and vanilla and – , 

‘Woah - Omi-omi, never thought I’d have to defend the honour of my cousin in law’, Atsumu laughs.  

The sudden flare of irritation at Atsumu’s words kickstarts his brain back into gear. Rearing back in alarm, he promptly topples over onto his butt. 

‘Uncle ‘kusa, I’m sorry’ Shino screeches, distraught. Makoto merely snivels. Kaiyo is evidently the only one with working brain cells, because she rushes over to help them up.  

The-woman-with-the-mysterious-box makes Kaiyo take the box first. It holds precious cargo - Shino’s birthday cake, he later finds out, but because she manages to cling on to it with admirable tenacity, it emerges more or less intact. Then she turns to him, still sprawled on the floor. He scoots away, still dazed. 

She offers him a steady hand. ‘Hello’, she says. ‘It seems we’ve gotten off to rather a bad start.’

There is a hint of mirth in her voice, but her eyes are kind.  

He takes her hand with a rare smile. 

Miya Kaiyo grins behind the cake box. It turns out her daughter is a better matchmaker than either her or (heaven forbid) her husband. 

It turns out that Miya Kaiyo wanted to introduce him to her cousin, newly moved to Osaka from Tokyo. She’s a sports journalist, used to cover volleyball even, but for some reason their paths never crossed. She too, is tired of her cousin’s well intentioned meddling, but asks him if he’d like to meet her for dinner one day ‘if only to get Kaiyo off her back, because she’s persistent’, and funnily enough, he agrees. 

He doesn’t mind making a new friend, he reasons. She seems decent enough. 

They go out for dinner on a Tuesday night. She doesn’t complain when he tells her that due to his diet planned by MSBY’s nutritionist, most restaurants are off limits. Instead, she asks intelligent questions about whether the sources of protein and fibre he’s relying on are varied enough, even suggesting alternatives like tempeh, a Southeast Asian soy product. 

He appreciates that. 

She doesn’t also fawn over the fact that he’s a professional athlete. That makes sense, considering she’s probably interviewed dozens, if not hundreds of individuals who are just like him. It’s nice - he’s tired of groupies who start dates off by staring at him starry eyed, but ending it with disappointment in their eyes when they discover that he’s just a guy who practices hitting balls enough to do it for a living. And best of all, she doesn’t mind that their conversation sometimes wanes into silence. She doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill empty spaces with inane drivel, nor expect him to entertain her like a circus animal. 

He likes that. 

So when the night ends, he asks her whether she’d like to have dinner with him again. ‘Just as friends’, he’s quick to clarify. 

‘Sure’, she nods, and they bid each other goodnight.  

They start having dinner every Tuesday night, subject to their erratic schedules. 

He enjoys her company. She’s thoughtful, bringing him home made baked goods like zucchini cake (low sugar, of course), sneaking him chocolate scones for his cheat days after she discovers his hidden sweet tooth. She’s considerate too, never blinking an eye at his compulsive need to make sure everything is just in order, even if the waitress stands behind them aghast when he insists on using disinfectant to wipe down their table. She doesn’t even call him paranoid when he passes her a bottle of sanitizer. 

Slowly, he finds himself confiding in her about things he’d maybe only tell his cousin, Motoya. Or at least, the things he would tell Motoya if the guy would only pick up his calls. 

‘Sorry’, Motoya texts back after a couple of missed calls. ‘ Practice has been brutal recently. 

In a remarkable display of restraint, Sakusa does not point out that EJP Raijin is below MSBY in this season’s rankings. 

So he tells her instead about how he’s contemplating retirement, how he’s trying to chart out his next steps career wise. She surprises him by listening to him gravely, pointing out that he can lean on his business degree to possibly land an office job in event management or with sports associations, putting him in touch with one overly excited Kuroo Tetsuro. He tucks her suggestions away carefully at the back of his mind.   

It’s nice to have a friend, he tells himself, his lips quirking ever so slightly when her hand grazes his as they walk down the street together. 

He invites her to the monthly gatherings that the MSBY players take turns to host for their family and friends, making the excuse that he needs a human shield in any event hosted by Miya Atsumu. She agrees easily, perking up at the chance to spend a Sunday afternoon with her cousin and niece - ‘ and Kaiyo’ll need help, especially since she’s pregnant’, bringing far too many cupcakes topped with the lightest, fluffiest cream cheese frosting he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. Even Miya Osamu gives her a nod of respect after stuffing his face full of her cupcakes.  He, unlike his twin, has good taste.

Her brow furls into a concerned frown when he quietly sneaks himself a second cupcake. ‘You don’t have to force yourself to eat it just to be polite! I made it, so  I  know it has so much sugar and butter it would make your nutritionist weep. If you want, I snuck some zucchini cake in my handbag for you instead.’ 

He stubbornly shovels a large bite into his mouth. ‘I won’t tell if you don’t.’ 

She bursts into laughter, leaning forward to wipe away the smudge of frosting on the tip of his nose with her thumb. 

Miya Kaiyo shoots him a knowing look across the room, waggling her eyebrows in an eerie imitation of her husband. He fights to keep his face blank, refusing to feed her satisfaction, but fails, a hot flush rising in his cheeks. 

‘Traitor’ he mouths at her. Her smirk only deepens.

Fortunately, the gathering ends with no further mishaps, either to his physical well-being or his dignity. Makoto is packed off with Meian, the little boy whining for more time to play with Shino. Hinata and Bokuto prance off for some ridiculous buffet on the other side of town.

As for himself, he hangs back with her to help the Miyas put their house back in order, expelling an amused puff of a laugh from his nose when she forces the very pregnant Kaiyo to ‘stay still, for goodness sake!’  on the couch, dancing around the house with a mop, Shino trailing after her waving a feather duster with gusto. He refrains from telling the little girl that she’s more likely to spread  the dust than to actually clear it – at least she’s not causing more havoc this way. 

‘I can’t believe I could’ve ever taken this for granted, y’know’, Atsumu comments from behind him, mouth wide in a tender smile. ‘It’s the best feeling in the world to have a wife and kid who loves ya to the moon and back, welcoming ya home after a long day at work. They make everything worth it.’

He’s thrown for a loop at this rare display of emotional vulnerability from the usually obnoxious setter and for once, does not resort to hostility, choosing instead to acknowledge the blonde setter’s words with a tacticum nod. 

The Miyas’ apartment is far too chaotic for his tastes, with colourful toys scattered on the floor, mismatched picture frames of the little family on the walls, but laughter hangs in the air, and light spills from the windows, illuminating the warmth and love and fondness in every look and word the Miyas gift each other. 

His father gave him a compass when he was a child, as a present to celebrate his first match. His mother clucked her tongue because it’s a strange gift for a child - delicate, fiddly, its gold exterior tarnished with age. But his father chuckled and told him that he’s old enough to appreciate that the compass is his father’s, and his father’s father before that, an heirloom to remind their sons to work hard at everything they do, and to keep their hearts on course, pointing north. 

And Sakusa thinks he’s done that. He’s worked and worked and worked at perfecting his skills in his chosen sport. He’s accepted his solo course, so laser focused on carving out a career in professional sports leaves little time or space for intimate relationships. Not to mention the fact that watching the disaster of Atsumu’s early years of marriage from the sidelines, made him swear off similar heartbreak for himself. 

But there are times when he can’t help but feel a little lonely - when he has to struggle to find a date for MSBY events, when he has no one to celebrate the holidays with, when he goes home every day to his neat, cold apartment with space for only one occupant. 

The compass in his heart creaks. It starts to turn a few degrees just off-course. 

‘Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to get married?’ he asks her as he’s walking her home that night. 

‘I did, once upon a time’, she shrugs carelessly. He misses the sudden strain in her smile. ‘Why do you ask?’ 

He stays silent for a while, the length of the quiet street giving him time to properly ferment his response. He considers the effects of adding splashes of colour to his dull life, weighs it against his long cultivated instinct to avoid the potential chaos of any emotional entanglements. He finds himself suddenly craving the sweetness of cream cheese frosting, and wonders how it’d be like to come home to light, fluffy cakes baked by her hands. 

When they reach her apartment block, she tilts her head at him curiously, obviously awaiting his answer. He tugs his words together, strings his swirling thoughts into a decipherable sentence. 

‘Because Atsumu and Kaiyo seem happy together. And I wondered if we’d be happy together too.’ 

He watches her puzzle over his words, her brow furling into a confused frown. ‘And I wasn’t proposing, by the way’, he feels the need to clarify. 

She snorts. ‘I didn’t think so.’ With a directness that he very much appreciates, she looks at him squarely and asks - ‘Are you asking me out, Sakusa Kiyoomi?’ 

He meets her gaze. ‘Yes, I am. We’ve known each other for a decently long time for me to conclude our personalities are well matched, and we’re both mature adults who respect each other’s work schedules and commitments. And if you don’t mind that I can be overly blunt and quiet sometimes - ‘ 

‘ - which I don’t’, she interjects, with a chuckle. 

‘I think we might be happy together’, he concludes, with a small smile that’s becoming more common in her presence.

He allows her the space to turn his proposition over in her mind. 

‘Alright’, she finally says. ‘I guess we can give it a go’. 

So much for Atsumu accusing him of having a heart made out of tin. Flesh and muscle works overtime to pump blood into his cheeks as she slots her fingers between his and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Being in a relationship isn’t too different from what they had before. 

They still keep to their standing date to meet every Tuesday (schedules permitting, of course). But now he doesn’t have to make up excuses to ask her out on outings that aren’t food related. At first he tries his best to adhere to dating norms, arranging for romantic dates at candlelit restaurants, buying her massive bouquets that make her sneeze. 

‘It’s fine, Omi’, she tells him gently after they spend another uncomfortable evening in a dimly lit restaurant eating off plates too large for the laughably tiny food portions. ‘I’m happy just hanging out with you. You don’t have to go out of your way to impress me, I’m not holding on to any ridiculous expectations of you’. He stops after that, glad he doesn’t have to suffer another night trying to decipher which utensil to be used at which course, or having to put on starched formal wear to yet another stuffy restaurant. 

She’s noticeably happier when they accompany each other on trips to the supermarket, each holding a stack of coupons to take advantage of the latest deals. She shields him from any overly zealous obaa-sans with gusto, throwing elbows and using her grocery basket as a makeshift battering ram before they crowd close enough to him to trigger his anxiety. He helps her reach for things on the top shelf ��to prevent her from scaling the grocery shelves like an overgrown teenager’ , he snarks. He’s worried his attempt at teasing lands wrong, but she snorts and thanks him good naturedly anyways. 

On the weekends, they develop a habit of meal prepping for the rest of the week at her apartment. His kitchen lacks the fancy mixers and blenders that she has, and in all honesty, his dark, spartan apartment lacks the sunlight and warmth that spills into her apartment from the windows, so it’s only logical that they should spend the bulk of their time there. It’s an oasis of calm for him, chopping vegetables and chicken into small cubes, sautéing them for the week ahead, while she bustles around whipping eggs and flour and milk together to form another delectable cake that they always end up sharing at the end of the day. 

He starts to dread matches away from home a little more than he used to. While hotel rooms are as spartan as his own apartment, he doesn’t have the option of heading over to her apartment to bask in her quiet warmth. His meals come in styrofoam boxes instead of the glass tupperware she stacks on her kitchen counter, and he turns up his nose at store bought cakes that his teammates offer him, only craving for those baked in her oven. He even starts looking up to the stands for a glimpse of her, only to remember that she can’t be there to cheer the team on. 

‘Cheer up, Omi-omi! We’ll have a home match next week’, Atsumu tells him jovially. 

‘It doesn’t matter either way to me’, he mutters resentfully, but the setter only grins.

‘Trust me, it matters a great deal to have the girl ya love cheering ya on, y’know?’ 

He stalks off to the changing room, ignoring the peals of laughter from the blonde annoyance he leaves in his wake.  

The tight coil of loneliness only loosens when he sees her waiting for him at the station when he returns. She ignores his protests to snag his suitcase away from him, the case looking comically large against her small frame, but she uses it effectively as a tank to force a path through the crowd, and drag him back to her apartment in no time. 

‘You need a home cooked dinner to make up for all those industrially prepared food you must’ve been eating this entire week’, she tells him, bustling around the kitchen, only stilling when he takes her shoulders in his hands. 

‘Are you happy?’ he asks, when he cups her face to carefully brush the dusting of flour on her cheek away.  

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ She laughs, the sound fond.

‘Just checking in’, he tells her, closing his eyes as she pulls him down towards her for a kiss. 

All in all, it’s a happy, uncomplicated relationship. He likes it that way.

If his heart were a compass, he’d suspect it’s broken because instead of pointing north, it starts to inch inexorably towards her. 

But there are strange quirks he notices about her that niggles at his brain. 

She refuses point blank to check out the planetarium when she attends an event held at the adjacent Art Museum as his date, professing to have an irrational dislike for stars. 

‘They’re just balls of burning gas and light ’ , he points out. ‘What could you possibly have against them?’ 

There’s a flicker of irritation in her eyes that he does not miss. ‘I know it’s stupid but just humour me, ok?’ Her tone verges on a snarl, before she storms away, ostensibly to the bathroom to freshen herself up. 

She returns later with an apology for her behaviour. Though he’s confused, he respects her privacy and does not push for an answer. 

He’s at her apartment preparing meals for the week ahead when the doorbell rings and an enormous bouquet of white lilies are deposited into her arms. She stares dumbly at the flowers, their sickly sweet scent permeating the air. 

His brow furls. ‘Today isn’t your birthday, is it?’

His words jolt her out of her trance. ‘No’, she answers, before inexplicably storming to the living room and dumping the bouquet with a vengeance on the coffee table. Pollen flutters to the floor, delicate white petals crushed in her hands. 

‘It’s nothing’, she tells him as he shoots her a questioning look. 

When she disappears to the washroom, he peeks at the card. There’s no name on it, just a simple message - ‘consider it, please?’

He doesn’t question her about it when she returns to the kitchen. She doesn’t offer him any answers either. 

He finds himself wondering about them. 

It was refreshing at first to have a relationship free of any expectations. She never asks for more than he’s willing to give, seems happy enough to slot herself into the pockets of time he offers, only attends his games when he gives her tickets, doesn’t get upset with him when he inevitably forgets to text. 

But therein lies the issue, doesn’t it?  

If she truly likes him, wants to pursue a relationship seriously with him, shouldn’t she be demanding more than the crumbs of affection and attention he shows her? They’re both past the age of thirty, shouldn’t she be looking to get married and settle down, maybe spawn a demon child or two? 

He’s tried raising it with her once, but she responded with confusion. 

‘I don’t have any expectations of you, Omi’, she’d replied. ‘We both have busy lives, so whatever you’re willing to give, I’m happy to take’. 

There’s technically nothing wrong about her answer. It’s wholly considerate and kind - very much her.  

Still, it makes him wonder - if her heart were a compass, would it point towards him? 

He manages to hold his tongue until she gets another delivery of flowers. 

This time he opens the door when the doorbell rings, assaulted by the heady scent of lillies, pollen smeared on his sleeves. This time, there’s a name on the card. 

Oikawa Tooru . 

It takes a couple of seconds for him to realise why the name is so familiar. It’s the same name Hinata and Kageyama used to buzz about every Olympics - the famous Argentinian setter who started his career as a schoolboy from Miyagi, a prodigious setter who never made it to Nationals in high school, refused to give up and forged his way to success in a whole new land, continents away.

‘How do you know Oikawa’? He asks her. ‘And why does he keep sending your flowers?’ 

‘He’s just an old acquaintance,’ she admits. ‘He’s just sending the flowers to persuade me to attend his wedding.’

His forehead crinkles in confusion, and he tries his best not to leap to conclusions, but since she doesn’t seem to be forthcoming with further clarification, he presses her further. 

‘And why won’t you attend his wedding?’ 

Her shoulders slouch in obvious reluctance as she turns away, focusing her attention on the mixing bowl. But Kiyoomi isn’t easily deterred, so he firmly takes the mixing bowl from her and sets it on the countertop. He raises an eyebrow at her, clearly seeking an answer. 

She huffs a sigh through her nose. ‘Because he’s getting married to my ex-boyfriend, ok?’   

He blinks. That was unexpected. 

‘It happened half a decade ago. Ancient history. I’m over it.’ She mutters to the floor. 

‘Why didn’t you tell me about it?’ 

‘Because it’s none of your business’, she snaps, grabbing the mixing bowl again, beating the batter with a vengeance. 

‘You’re going to ruin the texture if you whisk it too hard’, he tugs the bowl away from her again. She refuses to relinquish her grip.

‘Leave me alone!’ she snarls, yanking the bowl back. Confused by her sudden fury, he lets go of the bowl, only for her to stumble back, eyes wide as she loses her balance, knocking her head against the countertop.

He drops down onto his knees, not even noticing the batter soaking into his pants, combing through her hair, scouring the back of her neck for any sign of injury. It’s only when he’s satisfied that her fall has resulted in nothing more than a bruise that should go away by tomorrow that he notices her tears soaking the front of his shirt. 

‘Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asks, wiping her tears away with a batter splattered thumb. 

She hangs her head, body still shaking from her sobs. ‘I’ve already made such a mess of things – don’t want you to have to listen to my nonsense – am just bein’ stupid, that’s all - ’. 

He patiently waits until her sobs dissolves into mere sniffles before speaking. ‘I want you to tell me what’s wrong. If you’re up to it.’ 

So through more broken sobs and hiccups, he listens to the tale of Iwaizumi Hajime, a boy who was her world, who only realised he was always in love with Oikawa Tooru, a fortnight before she and he were to wed. Her voice wavers as she tells him the full story of the white lilies, explains that her irrational dislike for stars stems from the reminder that she chose to give her world up to a boy-king burning brighter than the stars in the night sky combined. 

He waits until her words run out, and she’s leaning against him, broken and pliant in a way that makes his heart ache. 

‘I wish you told me about it earlier’, he tells her, tucking the loose strands of hair behind her ear. ‘That you would trust me enough to tell me about the things that hurt you in the past. And I wonder about the state of our relationship if you don’t even trust me enough for that’. 

‘That’s unfair. You never asked - ‘ 

‘How could I ask about something I didn’t even know about?’ He takes hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. Hurt and anger and shock simmer in her eyes, each swirl of emotion fighting for dominance. 

‘I didn’t want to expect anything more from this relationship than you were willing to give’, she admits after a pause. 

She’s scared of being hurt again. He doesn’t miss the subtext.  

‘Shall I tell you what I want from you then? I have a list, if you’re willing to hear me out’ he asks, with a smile that’s growing more common the more time he spends around her. 

She nods, but keeps her gaze stubbornly on the ground. 

He takes his time to choose his words. He’s never been verbose - not like Atsumu or Bokuto or even easygoing Motoya, choosing to only say what is strictly necessary, using the precise amount of words, nothing more, nothing less. But this is a situation that requires more emotion rather than precision, so he inhales a shaky breath, letting it fuel the sentiment in his heart as he exhales. 

‘First. I want you to trust that I’ll never hurt you like he did’, he says, and with a self-deprecating smile he adds - ‘I don’t have any childhood friends to be secretly in love with besides Motoya, and I’m hardly going to be pining after my flake of a cousin’. 

That triggers the corners of her lips to tilt upwards, and encouraged, he carries on.    

‘Second. I want you to be open with me about what you want - your dreams, your expectations of me. I want to hear them all because  you’re important to me.’

That makes her flush pink, and she sneaks a glance up towards him. 

‘Third. I want to wake up each morning with you by my side and come home to you every night. I want to watch you fight cranky old ladies in the supermarket in my honour, be the first person to taste test all your baking experiments - even the failed ones that are only fit to feed Atsumu. I want us to be happy together. Forever, if possible.’

He lifts her bodily into his lap, brushes his nose against her cheek. ‘Now that I’ve told you what I’m willing to give, is that too much for you to take?’ he murmurs against her lips. 

Her blush blossoms into a deep scarlet, but her eyes are iridescent pools of startled delight. She doesn’t speak, sealing her answer instead with her lips. 

His heart’s compass is irretrievably broken, the needle melted into place. It doesn’t point north any longer, no  – it’s always going to point towards her. 

They move in together after that. 

He gives up his apartment, professing to prefer the warmth and light of hers. The Miyas help him move in even when he tries to refuse their help, Atsumu helping him to lug cardboard boxes up the stairs, Kaiyo helping him sort out his belongings, sorting them into his allocated cupboards. 

When they’re done, they order pizza and she bakes a cake to celebrate. ‘An impromptu housewarming’ she says, toasting Miya Kaiyo with a slice of pepperoni pizza with a laugh.

Kiyoomi shares a slice of chocolate cake with Atsumu in complete defiance of their nutritionist’s advice, jostling forks over the very last bite. She and Kaiyo scold them teasingly, telling them to behave like they’re actually thirty and not teenagers on the cusp of adulthood. Atsumu pulls at Kaiyo’s ponytail in retaliation. He refuses to engage in similar tomfoolery, reddening instead when she reaches over to ruffle his curls.

‘This is nice’, he remarks to Atsumu later, when their significant others are out of earshot, gossiping and giggling about something or other.  

‘It is, isn’t it’, Atsumu replies, a dopey smile on his face as he stares at his wife. 

It truly is , Kiyoomi thinks, staring at her.  

He takes over most of the cleaning, it clears his mind, he tells her. So to split the chores evenly, she insists on doing their laundry and cooking, and he doesn’t even nag her too much when she forgets to split the white and coloured clothes and stains some of his shirts once in a while. 

Wedding invites printed on expensive cream paper and bouquets of white lilies start to litter their doorstep every day. He tries his best to dispose of them before they reach her sight, but every so often, he comes home too late, catches her wilt as she brushes white petals from their doorstep. 

‘I don’t blame either of them’, she tells him, after he asks if she’d like him to call Iwaizumi and tell him to drown himself in a vat of batter, thank you very much. 

‘You’re too kind to both of them’ he says plainly, as they share a pot of tea, his head pillowed in her lap. ‘I would’ve just set them both on fire and left them to rot.’

‘Hajime loved Tooru for almost all his life - I just wanted to see him happy in the end. Argh  - I sound so stupid and sentimental like an old grandma, just laugh at me already’ she complains, hiding her burning cheeks in her hands.  

‘You aren’t stupid for being kind.’ He hums, quiet and low. ‘It’s why I love you so.’ 

He relishes the soft light dawning in her eyes, captures her whispered affection with careful fingers, spins them into gold. 

He has to turn off the stove to answer the door when some rude lout bangs on their front door far too early on a Sunday morning. 

With his coldest sneer and thinking resentfully about his breakfast, Kiyoomi swings the door open, fully intent on looming over the disturbance with his full height, but takes a step back instead when he finds one Iwaizumi Hajime hanging off the door knob. 

‘Hello’, Iwaizumi looks up at him confusedly. 

‘Hi’, he nods a greeting back at his old Olympic team trainer. They stare at each other. 

‘Eh - I think I’ve got the wrong house’, Iwaizumi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. ‘Sorry about that, Sakusa-san.’

He’s about to close the door in Iwaizumi’s face when her voice chimes in, clear as a bell. 

‘Who’s at the door, Omi?’ 

The shorter man shoots him a look of barely contained rage as he uses his bulk to push his way through the doorway towards her. Kiyoomi tries to stop him, protesting that he can’t barge into someone’s private property without an invitation like that, but it’s as futile an endeavour as trying to block the path of a raging storm.

Iwaizumi reaches her first, raising a hand as if to cup her face by instinct, before letting it fall back limply by his side. ‘You weren’t answering any of my messages or calls’, he says. ‘I was worried about you.’

She stares at him blankly for a moment. Then fire sparks in her eyes. 

‘Well, as you can see, I’m completely fine’, she replies, jaw and fists clenched. ‘You don’t need to do a welfare check on me, we’re not involved anymore.’

The scorching pain in Iwaizumi’s eyes is evident, even from a distance away. ‘Yeah. Well. I thought we were friends. You didn’t even tell me you were dating again’. He shoves his hands in his pockets, tossing another heated glance in Kiyoomi’s way. 

‘I didn’t think I needed to update my ex-fiance about my love life, especially not when he’s trying to drag me to attend his wedding that I already said I’m not going to attend’, she bites back. 

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, then closes it with a resounding snap. ‘I’m sorry’, he says, with heartbreaking honesty. ‘I told Tooru that you probably didn’t want to hear from us, but he insisted and I got worried when I didn’t hear from you for months’. 

Kiyoomi can see her glare soften into molten sympathy. The tension in the air crackles with electricity. He’s neither blind nor stupid – he can sense the years of longing and love not quite lost between them. 

He thinks she loves him, Sakusa Kiyoomi – weird habits, cold disposition and all, but the doubt clogging up his arteries and veins is enough to make his heart seize – and if she’s going to break his heart, he’d much rather she not do it in front of Iwaizumi.  

‘Hajime - ‘ she begins to say, and at this point he jumps in - 

‘I’ll excuse myself so you both have the chance to catch up’, he says, waving aside her protests as he slips on his shoes. Even in his haste to leave the house, he clicks his tongue at the mess Iwaizumi left behind at their  genkan , kneeling down to arrange their shoes, only standing up when he’s satisfied they’re neatly arranged back in place. 

‘Omi, you don’t have to leave’, she says, holding the door open. 

He shrugs his shoulders at her, nose and mouth already obscured by his usual face mask. ‘Let me know when you’d like me to come back’. 

If she’d like him to come back. She doesn’t chase after him, after all.  

It’s a beautiful Sunday morning, but the golden sunshine feels more like a taunt rather than a balm to his mood. His stomach growls, making him long for the scrambled eggs he was in the middle of frying before he was so rudely interrupted, but his growing sense of nausea keeps him from seeking out an alternative meal. 

Instead, he makes his way to the park, sits on a relatively clean bench. There are couples a-plenty, strolling around hand in hand, families picnicking merrily around him, compounding the growing chasm of loneliness in his chest. He tries to count the seconds by his breaths, tries not to let the minutes expand the insecurities crawling, inch by inch up his throat. 

He sits alone. Poised, yet short of breath. 

He wonders if Iwaizumi Hajime has finally figured out that stars, for all their brilliance, cannot compensate for their lack of human kindness. And if so, he wonders which direction her heart would point towards if it were a compass - whether it’s as broken as his, and whether it points towards Iwaizumi or him.   

He waits. 

Then his phone buzzes. 

Ah. 

She’s asking him to come home. He does not dare to overthink the meaning of that single word. But he does not hide that his steps back  home are lighter than when he left, though the key in his hand shakes so hard it takes him three tries to fit it into the keyhole. He does not try to suffocate the seed of hope budding in the soft earth of his heart when he realises Iwaizumi’s shoes have vanished without a trace.  

“Omi?” 

She’s waiting for him, slipping warm arms around his waist, tangling her fingers in his curls, ignoring his complaints about letting himself wash his hands first. 

‘Am I silly for missing you, even though it’s only been an hour?’

He refuses to be distracted by the affection in her voice.

‘But what about Iwaizumi?’ he frowns, hesitation still poisoning the well of thoughts in his mind. 

Perhaps it’s a testament to how well they’ve grown to know each other that she doesn’t need to read the silent subtext of his statement. She smiles, bringing his palm flat against her chest, does not answer until his pulse matches the steady beat of her heart.  

‘I love you , Omi’, she tells him. Her heartbeat does not quicken, her smile does not waver. ‘You told me not to long ago to always be upfront with you about what  I  want so I’m going to be honest with you now - Iwaizumi is only ever going to be my past, and I want you from now on’. 

If her heart were a compass, the steady beat of her heart tells him, it would point only towards him.  

‘That is – if you’ll have me’, she adds, a shadow of doubt suddenly appearing on her face. 

‘Don’t be ridiculous’, he scoffs, burying his nose to breathe in the familiar scent of vanilla in her hair. ‘Who else would I rather have than you?’ 

Who else would he be lucky enough to call his home – a woman with a heart large enough to fit a whole ocean within its depths, with kindness in her eyes and mirth in her smiles. 

She laughs in spite of the salt in her throat and water in her eyes, leaning on her toes in a vain attempt to reach his face. He lifts her into her arms, laughs when she squeals indignantly as her feet only find air, toppling them both onto the couch where he can seat her between his legs, press kisses to her cheeks.  

She’ll tell him later that Iwaizumi came looking for her because he’s never outgrown his overprotective streak, and he’s truly happy for her - for them, because they’ve both moved on with their separate lives. And she ended up agreeing to attend his and Oikawa’s wedding on one condition – that an invitation is extended to him, Sakusa Kiyoomi, to attend with her as his date. 

He’ll tell her later that he’s happy to attend the wedding with her, just not to expect him to smile in any wedding pictures. And more importantly, he’ll tell her in his plain way that the list of expectations he has of their relationship has expanded yet again. 

He’ll lay out his dreams of a pair of matching golden rings to bind them to lifelong companionship, of hellspawn of their own and a dog, maybe two. 

He’ll ask her if it’s too much for him to ask of her.  

She’ll tell him that she’s willing to give him everything he asks for and more. 

It’s Miya Shino’s ninth birthday party. 

He’s retired from volleyball proper, and is thankful he insisted on getting a business degree from Chuo University before going pro, because it comes in handy working alongside Kuroo Tetsuro at the volleyball association. 

Miya Atsumu insists on inviting him to the party, though he supposes he’s invited not by virtue of being a former teammate, but because he’s also Shino’s uncle by marriage now. The thought that he’s related to Miya Atsumu, however distant and most definitely not by blood, still fills him with dread. 

The birthday girl is a little less imbued with her father’s chaotic energy this time, though she still squeals when her birthday cake is unveiled – though to be fair it’s less a cake, more a tower of cupcakes with cream cheese frosting spelling out her name. 

‘Thank you Auntie!’ Shino cries, flinging her arms around her. Kiyoomi flinches at the sight of anyone, even his nine year old niece, coming in close contact with his extremely pregnant wife, but a sharp glare from her subdues any complaint he dares to make. 

He fusses over her the minute he has the chance to corral her away from the clutches of Miya Shino. ‘Are your feet hurting? What about your back? I don’t know why you insist on walking so much when you know the doctor said you should be on bed rest soon’. 

‘Stop fussing, Omi! The baby and I will be fine’, she replies, exasperated. ‘This is the last social event scheduled before I pop and I’m determined to enjoy it while I can.’ Then she scuttles off faster than he imagines her frame allows, leaving him floundering in her wake. 

‘Just let her be’, Miya Atsumu laughs, slapping his back. Kiyoomi is on the verge of pointing out -  pot, meet kettle, reminding Atsumu that the last time Kaiyo was pregnant, Atsumu didn’t stop fretting until she went into labour and delivered a healthy baby boy. But then he remembers the grief etched into Atsumu’s face when Kaiyo miscarried in the stands during a game, so he holds his tongue and rolls his eyes instead. 

‘I’m just worried she’s pushing herself too hard’, he admits in a rare bout of vulnerability. 

Atsumu smiles, genuine for once. ‘Those crazy women, eh? They’re always gonna drive us up the wall, but they’re worth every minute of it.’ 

He looks at her, belly swollen with their first child, peach blossoms blooming in her cheeks. His past self would never imagine that he’d find this much joy and contentment in being a husband and a father, but then again his past self was satisfied coming home alone day after day to a cold apartment. He knows better now - life is so better when he has her, sharing stories of their day of over steaming mugs of tea at their kitchen countertop, listening to her hum as she bakes treats for the weekend, warmth and laughter and love abound in their cosy apartment for two, soon to be three.   

So feeling vaguely drunk though he hasn’t had a drop of alcohol in the months since she whispered during their anniversary dinner that they were expecting, Kiyoomi laughs aloud. 

Atsumu lifts his eyebrows in surprise.

‘She really, really is’, Kiyoomi says, breaking into an unguarded smile.  

If you wanna know more about the backstory of the reader - check out The Astrophile, and if you wanna know more about Miya Atsumu’s relationship with his wife, check out Storm Chaser. 

As always, reblogs and/or comments are so very appreciated <3

Taglist: 

@snoozless @softsakusa @moondaius​ (yeon i’ll be shameless and tag you cos I know you’re an Omi stan!)

[stickyy]

if it's not too much of a hassle,you can write about hawks with a SugarBaby (reader) because he's like a SugarDaddy BUUUT Instead of being the one who dominates,¿is the reader who does it? hawks only gives her money and gifts as payment for a little of your attention,hawks pays the reader to dominate it and pay for his company,if you step on his crotch he will surely thank you (femdom and ¿mommy kink?). I was thinking a lot about this dynamic and I found it VERY interesting,¿what do you think?.

warnings: sub!hawks degradation, findom, femdom, mommy!kink, cock stepping, spit kink, an instance of face slapping, hawks is a little bitch simp with a fat wallet, reader is kind of a bad bitch ngl 

wordcount: 2340

notes: anon this is IT this is what im mf talking ABOUT!!!

PERFORMANCE

Keigo all about spectacle. Chaotic destruction in the pursuit of a villain, the dramatics of combat, blinding camera flashes, cacophonies of squealing fangirls, the sheer wealth that comes with the exclusivity of the top 10- he’s no stranger to the limelight. Popular for a reason, he’s young and powerful, deceivingly coy despite it all, and it drives the public wild. He has them in the palm of his hand. A playboy poster child, spectacle is his middle name, and he wears it well.

He gives you a different performance behind closed doors.

You’re working, finishing an uneventful shift at your dreadfully mundane day job. You’ve been counting down the hours, which, ironically, causes time to slow down. Scrolling through your social media feed, you just want to pass the time. You’re skimming an article about music when your phone vibrates in your hand.

‘heyyyy :)’

A grin spreads across your face. The number is unlisted, which is exactly why you know who it is. Excitement bubbles in your chest, the monotony of the day suddenly shattered. Keigo must be in town; he knows not to contact you unless he has something to show.

You check to make sure your read receipts are enabled, before staring at the message on the screen, not bothering to type a response. It’s a waiting game; you want him to work for it, to put on a show only for you.

Two whole minutes pass before you receive another.

‘i’m back in town tonight! :D’

You make no move, not yet appeased. It takes five minutes for him to cave:

‘can i see you?’

‘i need to see you’

‘missed you so much, mommy’

‘let me take you out to dinner? please?’

The prospect of a nice dinner outshines the takeout you were planning to order. A quick google search gives you a few options, and you decide on a steakhouse. They have wagyu, which you’ve been dying to try. Of course, coming in at $120 a steak, you hadn’t gotten a chance to yet. 

You send him the link, along with a short message:

‘8 pm, wear something nice.’

He instantly responds with a ‘thank you mommy :)’. You can’t help the the giggle that comes out of your mouth.

-

Keigo takes you back to his place after dinner. You make a point to keep your red-bottomed heels on, the click-click of your stride setting the tone for the night. He slips into his role easily, taking your coat and purse (both gifts from him; $1,790 and $2,850, respectively) to hang up. You take your place on the plush couch in his living room, legs crossed as you lean back, thoroughly satisfied from your meal. You never pay, of course- you don’t even go out of your way to acknowledge the check, but you were able to sneak a peek at the tab, which came in at a whopping $459.85. You didn’t think that two people could spend so much on a meal, but Keigo always found a way to spoil you.

He comes back into the room with a bottle of wine that you had requested last time you saw him (1990 Château Haut Brion, $875; even you had to admit that was ridiculous), handing you a wine glass and pouring your drink. He moves to fill his own, but you stop him.

“I didn’t say that you were allowed to drink tonight,” it’s a casual statement, but your pleasure ignites at the slightly dejected look on his face as he closes the bottle. It’s such a contrast to how you see him in the press. He never stops performing, you know, but this act is different. His fans see his chest puffed and wings flared, you get to see him on a leash.

“Why don’t you come sit next to Mommy?” you offer, Keigo perks up, meeting your gaze as he moves to take a seat next to you on the couch.

“The floor,” you correct before he can do otherwise. His breath hitches and he hesitates for a moment, but he kneels next to you anyways. He’s so pretty beneath you. It minimizes him, his usually proud aura squandered from your elevated point of view. It doesn’t help that he loves it- loves slipping into his role of being lesser. It excites him, and that, in turn, spurs you on. You thread your free hand through his hair and he visibly relaxes, pressing into your palm as his wings unfold slightly. The two of you stay like that for the moment as you sip on your wine, the luxury made so much sweeter by the hero in your company.

“Did you miss me?” you break the silence with your question, tilting his head up toward you to make eye contact. He nods enthusiastically, subconsciously scooting closer to you.

“Yeah,” his voice is saccharine, gaze full of adoration, “couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Of course, you sick freak. You’re supposed to be off saving the world, and you’re thinking about the girl who won’t even fuck you if you don’t pay up first,” you tug on his hair roughly, causing him to hiss in pain. A grin graces his features despite the abuse.

“You know I can’t help it, you drive me crazy.”

He shifts, and you can see the outline of a bulge in his pants.

“You’re fucking kidding,” you scoff, “all I’ve done is play with your hair and you’re already hard?”

He’s so easy to fluster when he’s like this, willing and pliant in your hands. He nods again, always so unashamed in his perversion.

“I didn’t touch myself at all, like you told me to, and it’s been so long,” his eyes plead with you, slightly rocking his hips for any kind of relief. He wasn’t allowed to jerk off so long as he was seeing you.

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re easy for it, baby. All it takes is a little affection to get you to empty your wallet. Pathetic, don’t you think?”

He whines quietly, pupils visibly dilating . “Yeah, I’m pathetic, just a slut for Mommy.”

With a hum, you set your glass down and uncross your legs. “Unzip your pants.”

He obeys, getting the zipper stuck twice in his haste. Cute.

You press the flat of your heel against the tent in his boxers. The moan he lets out is sinful, grinding up against you in search of any sign of relief.

“These heels are so nice, aren’t they? Probably one of my favorite gifts,” you reminisce, admiring the way the shiny leather contrasts against his skin. You can already see a wet spot forming on his boxers. “Do you remember how much they cost you?”

He’s lost in the sensation, too preoccupied to answer your question. You step down slowly, watching his face contort into one of pain, though the grinding doesn’t cease.

“Answer me, Keigo.”

“F-fuck, what was it, like $700?” his voice cracks, his breathing labored.

“Close enough. Aren’t you embarrassed, spending all that money on shoes just so you can rut against them?” your words send a shudder through his body. The act is starting to fade as he nears his orgasm, his playful exterior melting into one of desperation.

“I’m close, fuck I’m close,” Keigo almost sounds panicked, his hips desperately bucking in pursuit of his first release in a long time. You remove your heel abruptly, pouting at him. He lets out a pitiful gasp as the loss of sensation, a sob making its way out of his throat.

“You know what you have to do if you want to cum,” you say sternly, feigning disappointment. He jumps up, stumbling across the room for his jacket and reaching for his phone in the pocket. You notice his hands are shaking as he taps his screen a few times, before your phone chimes in its place next to you. You look over, and grin at the Cash App notification. 

‘birdbrains🐤 sent you $1,430 for i love you mommy <3’.

“Holy shit, Kei, you’re that desperate to cum? If I didn’t know otherwise, I’d assume you can’t get anyone else to fuck you,”  You’ve always made his pay before he touches you, but he’s never broken a grand for just an orgasm.

“Please, Mommy,” is all he gives. He’s already back at your feet.

You spread your legs, unable to contain your arousal at this point; seeing the winged hero so broken always sets a fire in your stomach. “Make Mommy feel good, and I’ll let you stuff that needy cock inside of me.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He’s immediately between your legs, pulling your lacy panties to the side (one half of a custom made designer set, $650) and shoving his face between your thighs. He always eats you like his life depends on it, obscenely slurping on your gushing entrance. He’s good at it too, expert tongue on your clit, pushing two fingers inside and prodding at your velveteen insides, causing you to bury your hands in his hair to keep him in place. You moan loudly, not bothering to hold back your noises. This is always about your pleasure, and you make sure to remind him of that first and foremost. It’s not necessary, though; you're convinced that he’d go bankrupt if it meant he could have even an hour of your time. You can do anything to him, say anything to him, and it only drives him crazier.

To prove your point, you squeeze your thighs against his head, effectively suffocating him. He doesn’t let up- if anything, he begins to lick and suckle more enthusiastically, hands gripping your thighs tightly. You keep him there for a solid minute, watching him struggle in your grip. It’s enough to push you over the edge, and you shout as you grind against his face, riding out your first orgasm of the night. You let up, spreading your legs again and he gasps for air, tears flowing freely as he catches his breath.

“Thank you Mommy, thankyouthankyouthankyou,” he huffs between gasps, face glistening with your juices. You grab his chin and lean down to give him a kiss, feeling him melt into you as he lets out a little moan. The taste of your arousal on his lips causes you to shiver in pure euphoria. You pull back but keep his chin in your hand, coaxing his mouth open before you spit, tilting his head back and watching your saliva slide down his throat.

“Good boy,” he perks at the praise, smiling despite himself.

“Go ahead and strip for me, and I’ll let you have that orgasm you want so bad,” you say as you stand, peeling yourself out of your dress. He obeys, albeit slowly as he’s more distracted watching you strip in front of him, eyes tracing your curves as you undo your bra and slide your panties down, opting to keep on the heels. You notice, but decide to let it slide this time. You gesture for him to sit and he obeys, grabbing your hips as you straddle his lap. His cock curves against his stomach, an angry red and damp with the obscene amount of pre dripping down his length.

“This looks like it hurts,” you lilt mockingly, gently running a finger up his length to gather some of his pre. You smear it on his lower lip, raw from your earlier abuse.

“It does, fuck- Mommy, please,” he’s back to begging, eyes misty, “Please let me fuck you Mommy, I promise I’ll make you cum again, I’ll make you cum as many times as you want-”

“Shh,” you stop his babbling, positioning yourself over him, “keep your hips still for me, okay?”

He nods, and you begin to sink onto his length, slowly.

He moans, eyelids fluttering as your gummy walls begin to constrict around his length. He struggles to keep himself from squeezing your hips and fucking up into you, but he manages in fear of a punishment. You take your sweet time before bottoming out, staying completely still. Keigo chokes on a sob, thighs quivering with the effort to stay put, and you watch him for just a moment longer, revelling in the sight. He’s flushed down to his chest, eyes lidded and pupils blown, skin dewy with sweat and tears and your slick, wings fluttering behind him. 

If only his fans could see him now.

You take pity on him and start to move, allowing him to take your weight in his hands, bouncing you on his cock. It takes a lot of focus not to get lost in the sensation, squelching noises filling the empty air as your mind starts to blur, his cock rubbing against the spongy walls of your pussy. He’s nothing if not enthusiastic, moaning unabashedly, eyes trained on your face. He’s already close, but there’s a determination in his eyes that confuses you slightly; he has permission to cum after all. It’s when the blunt head of his cock hits something gooey inside of you that it makes sense; of course he’s making good on his promise to make you cum first. He’s a good boy, after all. It doesn’t take long, his hips jackrabbiting as he abuses that spot in you, forcing the pressure in your stomach to pull taut, and eventually snap. You cum with a squeal of his name, vision darkening as you watch him finish, stray tears flowing down his cheeks. You catch a few with your thumb and lick them up.

“What do you say?”

“Thank you, Mommy,” he’s breathless, but you can tell he’s not totally satisfied; it’s been weeks since he’s seen you, after all. He begins to roll his hips again, face scrunching in the sweet torture of overstimulation. 

You land a firm slap on his cheek and he gasps, giving you a surprised look.

“You know what you have to do if you want another orgasm.”

The show goes on.

[potterandpreferences]

The Way To A Man's Heart

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Reader

Setting: Half-Blood Prince; For the purposes of this one-shot, Ron dated Lavender in OotP

When you and Ron had started dating, a lot of people were convinced it would not last. Apparently, the school cohort was under the impression that he and Hermione were going to be the Hogwarts power couple. You could kind of see where they were coming from; there had been a lot of petty jealousy on both sides and there had been a sense that it was playground pigtail pulling. And yet, you couldn't help but think that those people were also selectively blind to how toxic that sort of relationship could be. Honestly if it wasn't for Harry, you didn't believe Ron and Hermione would still be friends six years down the line.

As it was, you had come to be somewhat of a secret friend to Ron Weasley. When he was at odds with his two best mates, he could find some solace in your company. Whether it was playing exploding snap, hanging out on the quidditch pitch (even if your feet stayed firmly on the ground some of the time), or - despite what others would believe - doing homework together in the library.

As a consequence of spending so much time with him one to one, it didn't take long to learn some of Ron's tells. When he was really, truly upset, he went off his food. When he was irritated, he preferred something like a pumpkin pasty or a sandwich, something he could tear into. When he was happy, he'd try some of everything, content with a little of lots until he went in for seconds. When he was feeling a bit down or worried, his preference of choice was a hearty stew followed by a warm apple pie with ice cream, something that reminded him of home.

This particular day it was sunny and one of the warmest thus far. Spring was slowly transitioning into summer, and with it exam season was upon the students of Hogwarts. Sixth year didn't count in the same way that seventh year would, but your continued presence in all your chosen subjects depended on passing all of their exams. And so, along with the sunshine, fifth years and up were also being subjected to the heat fueled by their ever increasing panic, which made sitting outside with a nice cool breeze all the more tempting.

You had been attempting to study in the library, but the librarian had all the windows firmly shut and it got a bit too stuffy for your liking. You checked out the books you required for your first exam, and ambled down the corridors in search of an empty courtyard. It was as you were descending the stairs to the first floor that you noticed a certain redhead stomping towards the doors that led outside, with the proverbial storm cloud raging above his head.

Concerned, you followed. He didn't slow his pace or give any indication that he knew he was being followed, something which raised even more alarm bells. Ron, as a by-product of living with the twins, was usually very aware of someone being on his tail. Ron's long legs carried him to the shore of the Black Lake. He followed the edge around to a little outcrop coated in pebbles and stones. These he grabbed at roughly, before launching them out towards the water with a growl.

"Ron? Are you okay? What's happened?" You approached cautiously, making plenty of noise as you walked closer so that your voice didn't startle Ron into accidentally throwing any remaining stones at you.

"Hermione bloody Granger is what happened!" He yelled.

You made a soft sound of understanding at his near shout. "Want to tell me what she did this time?"

Ron sighed, tossing the last stone into the water as he stared at the horizon for a long moment. Then, he sat down on the roots of a nearby tree and started to explain.

"I was revising for transfiguration. Had one of my old essays out for vanishing vertebrates, you know? Figured looking at where I went wrong on something that's bound to come up on the exam would be a good idea."

"I take it Hermione had different views on the matter?" It really had become something of a thing that your entire year and to an extent the years below knew. Never, ever do anything to get Granger started on how you should be studying, and Ron's mirthless chuckle did nothing to change your previous notion.

"She freaked the hell out. Started having a go at me for having got a P on an essay in the first place, told me it was useless trying to learn from rubbish like that, and then told me if I'd followed her revision schedule I'd have already covered the topic and at this point should be onto the practical wand work," Ron spat venemously.

"You know she's wrong, don't you?" It wasn't uncommon for Hermione to tell Ron that he was doing something wrong, and you knew that being told something repeatedly would make the thought that much harder to shake. How many more times would Ron be able to take unproductive, callous criticism from a snobby know-it-all before the thoughts became a fundamental part of his psyche?

"I know but... she just makes me feel like an idiot! I don't get the theory behind magic at a drop of a hat like she does! Hell, most of us don't. But you make one little mistake in your homework and she gets so bloody condescending," Ron sighed. Many thought he was lazy when he tried to get Hermione to do his homework. In truth, it was so he knew what she was expecting in the essay to avoid a rant - her, not the teacher!

"It sounds like it's gotten worse than normal. Actually it sounds like how she behaved when you dated Lavender last year," you commented. To be fair, dating was a very loose term for what Ron and Lavender got up to. It was too public to be just friends with benefits, but there weren't really any romantic feelings. The PDA was a bit much at times, but it was rarely ever Ron that initiated those instances.

"Ugh, don't remind me. I still have the scars from them birds! Mental, she is," he exclaimed. And yet, as you looked closely, you can't help but notice the tips of his ears were getting very red.

"Wait a minute - you're not dating Lavender again are you?!" His eyes widen in shock and he shakes his head, waving his hands in adamant protest.

"Merlin, no! I don't even - " He pulled a face of disgust. "I mean, I dunno, can't believe I dated her in the first place I suppose. Seems like a lifetime ago."

He was lying (you could tell from the way he fumbled for an explanation), but that was okay. You knew the sentiment was true even if he was sidestepping what he was honestly thinking about. You were curious, but you weren't going to push it. This wasn't the time for an interrogation by any means. Thus, you decided to change the topic entirely.

"Do you still feel up to studying some transfiguration? I have some books from the library and all my notes. I even have some cauldron cakes." When he refused both the studying and the food, you smiled sadly at him. "Okay. Well how about we go down to the quidditch pitch?"

And that was exactly what the pair of you did. You didn't feel like flying, so you sat in the stands and watched as Ron flew for a couple hours. He zoomed around the pitch in patterns you recognised from quidditch practice drills, before enchanting the practice quaffle so that he could work on his keeper skills. You called Dobby when you were sure Ron wasn't looking, and when Ron eventually joined you in stands, it was to find a delicious bowl filled with a generous helping or rhubarb and apple crumble waiting for him.

"I thought you might have worked up a bit of an appetite. Some of those drills looked tough," you admitted when he stared silently in surprise, mouth gaping.

"It's like you read my mind!" was all Ron managed to say before he was practically inhaling the food, shovel sized spoonfuls disappearing with complete gratitude no matter how swift.

"I just know you, Ron," you laughed. It should gross you out how much he ate so quickly, but his only fault at foodtime was talking with his mouth full. None ever spilled on his clothes, and his chin was remarkably clean.

When the pudding was half gone, Ron slowed down enough to process what you had said. "How d'you mean, you know me?"

"Well, when you're really upset, you don't want to eat, but flying makes you happy. When you've had a fight with Hermione, you usually tend to prefer something filling and pies and crumbles are your go to when you're feeling a bit down still."

He stared at you like he'd never seen you before. No one else had ever noticed - or at least mentioned - knowing what he liked to eat and when. Oh sure, lots of people had commented on his appetite and knew him not having much of one was a sign something was wrong, but the nuances? What food went with what situation? That was all you.

And, he realised as he ate in companionable silence next to you, this wasn't the first time you knew what he wanted to eat after having a falling out with his friends or stressed out about exams. The cauldron cakes you had in your bag, he liked to eat them when he was feeling nervous about school work. He rarely saw you eat them though so... did you keep some in your bag just for him? And there were all those other times too, when you just seemed to know when he was actually hungry and when he was just bored.

There was a plethora of things unique about his relationship with you that he adored, and he had sort of had thoughts that weren't strictly platonic about you, but this little insight into how much you knew about the things that went unsaid was what made what he was about to do next feel so incredibly right.

"Er, Y/N, I was wondering... would you like to go on a date some time?"

[thebiasrekkers]

Call You Mine [MYG]

Plot: "I never regretted the day that I called you mine..." 

A Min Yoongi/Agust D one-shot. 

That's it. That's the summary. I have nothing else to say. 

Happy Birthday Min Yoongi!

Rating: PG // SFW

Genre: fluff | romance | idol romance | one-shot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: None

Links: FAQ || BTS Masterlist || Admin E’s AO3 || [ REQUESTS ARE OPEN ]

Word Count: 1,912

AN: Wee. It’s late. I’m late. I’m always late. Who’s surprised? Not me. Happy Birthday Lil Meow Meow! All reblogs, critiques/reviews, comments and affection are accepted! Happy reading!

© thebiasrekkers (Admin E). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

"Who are you?"

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"Your breathing shifted just now."

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. That was how he always responded when you asked him that. Was it because you knew him so well? Or were you just anxious? Maybe it was a mixture of both. Either way, it was something you didn't want to admit aloud.

Not to yourself. Not to him.

"Does it matter?" he asked. 

Of course it mattered! 

You didn't respond, determined to get your answer first.

He flashed you a mischievous grin, a bit of his silver fringe falling along the bridge of his nose. "Why don't you guess?"

You felt your lips pulling into a pout, mustering what patience you had to not smack his bare chest with all the strength you could manage this late in the night. Even in the low light, he must have seen the disapproving look you were giving him. Lifting one hand up, he lightly poked your forehead and you whined at being teased. You knew he did this to get a rise out of you. He also knew how important it was for him to give you an answer.

It bothered you how much he always dragged his feet on this matter. The more logical side always reminded you to have patience. This was his own personal game that he liked to play with you. Sometimes he would win. Sometimes you did. 

No one was really keeping score anymore.

You didn't want to guess. You didn't feel like playing this game tonight. To showcase your intent, you roughly pulled from his side and flipped over on the bed to turn your back to him. This must have surprised him because he didn't start laughing at your reaction. In fact, the bed was absolutely still - your breaths barely audible in the dark.

Warmth touched the flare of your hip as he placed his hand there. You tried not to relish in his touch, but it was difficult. After everything you'd gone through to get to this moment, it was only self-inflicted pain to ignore him. Part of you knew to stand your ground. The other part was willing to give in to his advances.

Because you loved him so much. Because you loved all of him…so much.

“Hey,” he called softly, reaching over your stomach and pulling you close to his body, “remember when we first met? At that bar in that one town?”

You bit back a scoff. Like you could forget. He never made it easy for you to, even if you wanted to. 

You kept silent, not wanting to cater to his need to hear your voice. To hear how, even now, you found yourself in an endless loop of falling in love with him each and every single day. To him, you were a lifeline for survival. To you, he was the reason you pushed through your tiresome work week.

The bar was crowded that night. It was an average Friday evening. You were out with friends, hitting the town and it was the third bar on the stop of your group’s infamous “bar hops”. Nothing was special about that night. It was just the end of another long work week for you. Another end of being a faceless number down a long hall of cramped cubicles and endless phone calls. A moment’s reprieve from jittering printers and raucous fax machines.

Two days of escape from being a nameless paper pusher in a seemingly endless cycle of meaningless.

He walked through the doors with his entourage - exuding purpose and power. They were celebrating another successful performance and chatter about said performance was the first thing you heard as they burst through the door. You watched him go straight up to the bar and buy it out, saying everyone’s drinks for the rest of the night were on him.

You envied his smile. You envied his “can do” attitude that dripped from every square inch of his body.

But it was his freedom that made you jealous the most.

You weren’t wearing anything particularly fancy that night. A pair of acid washed jeans stuffed in combat boots, a loose sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder. Hell, even your hair was in a messy up-do. After all, you weren’t looking for an easy score that night. Your plans to get laid were the furthest thing from your mind.

Yet there was no mistaking the way he zeroed in on you. Out of all the patrons in the bar, you were the one he decided to nail his focus to. You were the one who somehow managed to get his attention.

So, what should have been a night of blissfully getting toasted with your friends turned into something much different.

Feeling his lips against the nape of your neck, you felt your breath hitch slightly as his mouth moved to speak. “I asked you what you were doing for the rest of your life.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that burst from your chest, causing you to curl up into a ball as you covered your mouth. It was one of the most absurd questions you’d ever been asked. Who even asked something like that in this day and age? What you were doing tomorrow? Sure. What you were doing next weekend? Of course.

The rest of your life, however, held a different weight altogether.

“I don’t even know what I’m doing tonight,” came your amused reply as you lowered your hands from your face. You still refused to look at him. “That’s what I said.”

The memories were flooding in quickly. His looks. The low dulcet sound of his voice. Even the cute little lisp he had when he spoke excitedly about something. His hair was a different color back then; jet black with an undercut. 

Everything changed in that one conversation. 

Despite his big spending at the bar, you knew he wasn’t well off. Not yet. But he had big dreams. He had drive. Money didn’t grow on trees and his dream would yield fruit if it prospered. Music, however, was such a shaky basket to throw all of your eggs into. But his passion and determination made you believe that he was telling the truth; that nothing would stop him from succeeding. He was determined and there was a small part of you that wished for his success. Somebody needed to grow wings and fly.

But the conversation didn’t take long to reverse back to you. On to your current occupation and your overall distaste with how things were going in your own life. It was a dead end road. You knew this. Somewhere along the way, you even accepted it. Some people were paper pushers and others were the stars that people could admire from afar. You had no place in that world. Your meager complaints and tiny goals could hardly hold a candle to the strength of his burning ambition.

That’s what you believed in the beginning.

You should’ve known better. 

After his friends and yours all got together to finish the bar hop for the night, your groups eventually wound up near the outskirts of town at a park. The drinking, laughter and flirting continued. He was never far from your side and neither were you from his. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, his hand found its way into yours, holding it close. Your lips touched soon after and it was a magical moment.

That was the beginning of the end for  you.

Days rolled into weeks. Weeks into months. You looked forward to the weekends not to escape the dreary worklife you found yourself trapped in, but to see his performances in underground venues and fringe shows. The energy he exuded from the stage was intoxicating and the cheers from the crowd as he pumped them up was contagious. It only took a few shows and you were screaming and hopping around like an idiot like the rest of them.

Afterward, your groups would meet again to drink and celebrate in the success of the show. It wasn’t embarrassing for you all to run through the streets, screaming and shouting as the thrill of the night cloaked you from head to toe. Bottles of beers in your hands, you ran through crowds and stumbled down stairs in hopes of catching the last train home. You both cuddled in a drunken haze together as everyone talked all over one another - wrapped up in their own conversations.

It was only then that it became apparent that the person you were slowly falling for had two personas. One for the stage and one for when it was just the two of you. Sometimes they bled into one another. Sometimes they were kept far apart from each other.

Agust D and Min Yoongi.

As his success continued to build, your anxiety mounted - worrying about where your place was in his life. More months passed and the venues started to change. You knew there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to go to a performance because it was in the middle of the work week. Or maybe it was too far for you to travel. You couldn’t risk taking off of work for something “trivial” like a concert performance. That’s what your managers would say. They would belittle you for inconveniencing the rest of your co-workers. 

You had an image to maintain.

When he showed up on stage with silver hair, you knew that it was time. Agust D was rising to a level of stardom you wouldn’t be able to compete with. Fans cheered and remained loyal. Fans who were willing to drop any plans they had to hit the road and support their idol. They’d been around far longer than you had; had been cheering for him during a time when you didn’t even know he existed. 

It was the life he’d chosen; one you knew was going to take wing.

How were you supposed to stay close beside him? How were you going to continue to nurture this thing that existed between you both?

Feeling his arms wrap around your bare stomach, he pulled you even closer. You could feel his heartbeat slowly bumping against your shoulder blades. Yoongi pressed a kiss behind your ear, one of your weak spots, before allowing his tongue to glide along the curve of your jaw. You resisted the urge to moan at how he made you feel, both in that moment and every moment before now.

“I never regretted the day that I called you mine…”

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, blurring your vision. Part of you wanted to curse him for his words. For his way with words. But that was how he always was. On the stage or off, it didn’t matter. It was his answer for any worry that threatened to smother you into a dark pit of no return.

Slowly, you turned in his arms. Yoongi’s eyes peered at you, his brows furrowing with concern despite the smirk playing on his lips. 

“Do you know the answer?”

That was the answer to your question. It was always going to be the answer.

Lifting your arms up, you wrapped them around his neck and leaned in, your lips barely touching his. “You’re Min Yoongi…” This time, you could feel your own smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “...and you’re mine.”

[ahgaseda]

to kill an empire || chapter 25

⇥ synopsis : when you agreed to marry Jaebeom, the heir to a lucrative but not quite legal organization, you never expected the boy who was once your greatest rival would inevitably become your most powerful ally…

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language, recurring gang violence, mentions of drug or alcohol abuse, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

Jaebeom opened the double doors and leveled his eyes at the desk before the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. It was his now. His proverbial throne.

He brushed his fingertips over the oak, pivoting around the desk and slowly taking a seat.

It was uncomfortable. Jaebeom expected nothing less.

The damned chair was what he had been groomed to take for his entire life and yet it was the one thing in life he dreaded most.

He had spent countless hours thinking of what he would do when he became the head of Lim Corp. The company had been passed down from generation to generation. Always to the first born son.

Jaebeom frowned at that. His father had told him you would be expected to produce a male heir to follow the archaic tradition. Jaebeom never burdened you with that. And deep down, he never wanted to pass the cruel responsibility of this godforsaken company to any child you gave him.

Jaebeom thought about you then; thought about how he had to make things right. You deserved it. You deserved the world and Jaebeom would make sure you had it.

End it all, he mused to himself. With the days he spent tormenting his mind over what to do when he rose to power, Jaebeom decided a long time ago he would rid this world of Lim Corp. Especially when he learned just how far the blood flowed through its foundation.

Jaebeom could never come to terms with his anger when he saw the true face of his family’s company. Which was why he was sympathetic to your current grief of learning the same fate awaited you.

Belonging to luxury and excess came with a heavy price. Usually the cost of one’s soul.

Pulling the phone from his pocket, Jaebeom was about to unlock his screen just to catch a glimpse of you on his wallpaper. Maybe it would give him some fraction of comfort.

The door swung open loudly and Mark rushed inside, disrupting the silence.

Jaebeom frowned. “What now?”

His face was pale, grave. “We have a situation.”

By Mark’s tone alone, Jaebeom leapt to his feet.

You were shocked how quickly everyone sprung into action. The plaza was emptied. A crescent of law enforcement was poised before you. Now dozens of guns were aimed at your chest.

The man with his arm barred across your waist never spoke to you directly. In fact, since his demand for Jaebeom’s presence, he hadn’t spoken to anyone again.

And you hadn’t uttered a single word. The occasional cold bite of the metal barrel against your skull made you borderline catatonic.

Jaebeom thought he was having a heart attack. His blood was pumping so roughly he thought at any minute he would come unhinged at the seams. “Have they identified him? What does he want?”

Mark shook his head, weaving the SUV between cars. “They are running his picture through facial recognition. Nothing yet. If he had a criminal record, he would have popped up by now.”

“He wants you there,” Jinyoung chimed in. “Other than that, he’s made no demands.”

Jaebeom ran a hand down his face before slamming his fist against the car door. “Fuck,” he shouted.

Jinyoung shifted his gaze nervously between Mark in the rearview mirror and Jaebeom at his side, searching for what to say. Ultimately, he consoled, “He hasn’t hurt her. For the time being, he’s using her as a human shield. Police won’t fire.”

Mark added levelly, “Sniper is in place. The moment they have a clear shot, they will drop him.”

Nothing they said helped. Jaebeom gripped his head between his hands. This was his fault. He put you in this danger.

The SUV came to a stop and Jaebeom was out the back before Mark could put the gear in park. Racing to what looked like a police chief, Jaebeom snapped, “What the hell is going on here?”

The officer stood at attention, recognizing Jaebeom immediately, and explained, “Sir, he’s specifically asking for you. He won’t speak to the hostage negotiator.”

“Then, put me in a vest and let me out there.”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened. Mark had confirmed that was an option if all else failed.

The officer hesitated, but after a short pause, relented, “I can’t stop you.”

As one of the cops tightened the velcro of Jaebeom’s vest, Jinyoung could no longer bite his tongue and raced to his boss, speaking rapidly in hushed tones, “This is insane. They don’t make bulletproof helmets.”

“She’s in this because of me,” Jaebeom replied shortly.

“And so you both have to die now? Is that the plan?”

Jaebeom snorted, running out of patience. “No one is going to die, Jinyoung,” he murmured, almost in chiding.

But Jinyoung could hear the tremor in his voice.

Jaebeom gave his most trusted and loyal companion a nod in farewell, then let the officers lead him.

His only thought was you. He couldn’t see or think past his concern for you. His survival was of no consequence while you were in danger.

The negotiator led him through with a hand on his shoulder, explaining things Jaebeom could try to do to diffuse the situation. And if that didn’t work, he needed to engage this man to drop his guard and give the snipers a clear shot.

Jaebeom didn’t think he was capable of the anger currently pulsing through his veins. There stood a stranger, a man he had never seen before in his life, ready to take you away from him forever.

“Jaebeom…,” you whimpered, legs almost folding with relief at the mere sight of him.

The man tightened his grasp around you, hoisting you back into position. You were the only thing between him and a bullet.

Jaebeom set his jaw. His first instinct was to charge forward and beat the man with his bare hands until nothing remained of him. The gun braced against your head felled that idea.

“Tell me what I can do for you,” said Jaebeom, stifling his rage and holding his hands up at his sides in surrender.

The man held no emotion. He spoke coldly, “I have a message for you.”

Jaebeom deadpanned, “I’m all ears.”

The man waved the gun a little, almost in taunting. “Who lives and who dies?”

Jaebeom set his jaw. “Let her go and you can have me.”

“The second I let her go, that sniper is gonna pop me.”

“That’s out of my control.”

The man looked around, as if considering his options. Then, he jeered, “You made the wrong move, Jaebeom. You should have known he wouldn’t go down without a fight.”

Jaebeom narrowed his eyes, a realization washing over him. With a nod, he proceeded to unfasten the velcro at his sides.

“Jaebeom, what are you…” you spoke frantically.

The man clamped his hand over your mouth.

Jaebeom loosened the last of the straps and called to the winds, “Once and for all. Let’s settle this now.”

You finally struggled, adrenaline kicking in. “Bummie, please,” you cried to him, alarms ringing in your head that the love of your life was in mortal danger.

Jaebeom stripped off the bulletproof jacket, which fell to a little pile by his feet.

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung shouted from behind the line of officers.

The barrel of the gun was promptly pressed to the back of your head. Your eyes met with Jaebeom’s. There was a chance this was the last time you would ever see him again.

You knew you were about to die. At any moment, the lights were going to go out forever. “I’m sorry,” you called to him.

“I love you,” Jaebeom whispered, for your ears only.

Tears rolled down your cheeks.

A gunshot echoed through the air and your world came to a violent, screeching halt.

chapter 24 ⇤ chapter 25 ⇥ chapter 26

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

[thepalace]

her body, his worries

➳  Prince Jinyoung didn’t lose hope on wanting to see the Lieutenant back on her feet.

characters ➵ Ahn Yuna, Park Jinyoung

warnings ➵ a little angst, mention of blood

Prince Jinyoung lay down his pen, his sight changed to the opened window - feeling the breeze on his hand.  

His eyes then fell towards a picture frame and whenever he looked at it, he could feel his ears turned warm and red - knowing he himself feels shy.

It was a picture of the Lieutenant - smiling slightly, wearing her usual uniform and her badges shining on both sides of her chest. 

Prince Jinyoung finds the Lieutenant looking cute whenever she wears a beret - maybe he is the only one finding her looking all adorable when others find her looking scary as the Lieutenant was heard to be a woman who rarely smiles.

The prince secretly had her picture ever since the Lieutenant has been offered a royal photoshoot - it was a ‘thank you’ gesture for her after saving the King’s life.

But what the Lieutenant didn’t know is that the prince was there - secretly spying on her the whole photoshoot and the whole time, she was feeling very shy as there were a lot of cameras facing her.

Prince Jinyoung has always kept an eye on her - hiding behind the walls when he sees the Lieutenant having a walk with the Colonel and the King and Queen, discussing the usual royal duties.

Sometimes, Prince Jinyoung would be caught by the Lieutenant and she would always brush him off by smiling slightly, continuing her walks with the royal family. 

The Prince finds the Lieutenant admirable and cool - though he didn’t often have conversations with her because they had complicated schedules with the prince having royal meetings and the Lieutenant having emergency calls from neighboring kingdoms.

Recently, Prince Jinyoung had his mind occupied with the Lieutenant knowing where she went. 

It was absurd for him as the Lieutenant went off to finish a war and knowing he can’t stop the King, Prince Jinyoung could only give in - praying that the Lieutenant would come back safe.

As Prince Jinyoung was about to pick-up his pen, his sight changed outside the window - to see soldiers from his own kingdom marching towards the entrance. 

His eyes search for someone he desire to see when his eyes slowly widen - a frightening sight he could have ever imagine.

He was quick to move, getting up from his chair in an instance - pulling the door roughly as he ran towards the hallway. He was the only one running through the hallway, earning a few shrieks from royal servants, wondering why the prince was in a rush.

The prince ran downstairs, jumping 2 steps down and as soon as he pushed the huge doors of the main palace entrance, he ran down the little steps - approaching the general soldiers as one of them were carrying a body on his arms.

As he got to see the body clearer, Prince Jinyoung’s eyes went teary.

“Yuna!” The Prince shouted, making everyone on the ground look at the prince.

“No, no, no, no..” Prince Jinyoung repeated as he gestured towards the head of the general for the young prince to carry Yuna’s bloodied body.

Yuna’s armor was filled with deep scratches - there were blood stains on her head and her chest. Her face was too filled with little scratches, her side-bangs covering her eyes. 

Prince Jinyoung’s eyes were brimming with tears, a silent sob being heard from him.

With a shaky sigh, Prince Jinyoung moves his head nearer towards her face - a way to know if she is still alive or dead. Once his ears were near on the Lieutenant’s nose, his eyes went wide.

“She’s alive,”

Yuna’s eyes slowly flickered open and the first thing she felt a  throbbing pain on her head, causing her to groan loudly.

“Lieutenant!” One of the royal maids called as she helped Yuna to sit up when the younger one was struggling.

Yuna squinted as she observed her where-abouts, seeing the Park’s Kingdom logo - sighing in relief. Her biggest nightmare was being captured by soldiers from another kingdom soldiers.

“Everyone is going to be happy as soon as news spreads that you have awakened, Lieutenant.” the royal maid commented as Yuna frowns slightly.

“How long was I on the bed?”

“A month, Lieutenant.”

“What?” Yuna muttered as she re-positioned herself, her feet touching the floor - her head was feeling much more heavier.

“A month? I missed a month..” Yuna muttered and the royal maid looked at her with a warm smile.

“You have to thank the prince, Lieutenant. When everyone started to lose hope, he was the only one who still stays - gripping onto every little hope he has, knowing that you will wake up.” the royal maid helped Yuna to stand up - going by her side as the Lieutenant rested her arm on the maid’s side.

“Stay? What? What happened?” Yuna repeated, clearly she was confused as she tried moving.

“Prince Jinyoung would always visit you - helping to wipe your face as an everyday routine. There were days where we would catch him silently crying while reading a book to you. The prince was really sad and just down. Everyone could see it,” the maid explained with a sad tone as she looked back to the previous weeks.

Everyone in the royal household could see Prince Jinyoung’s changed attitude, he was more focused and more strict to the soldiers ever since the Lieutenant is attached to the bed.

Days went by and one day, Prince Jinyoung stumbled across the King and Queen as the prince was about to visit Yuna  - hiding himself as soon as he heard the loud sobs echoing the hallway. 

He then realized why his own mother was sobbing after hearing the words coming out of the prince’s father. 

“My love, the Lieutenant died with bravery and courage. We can’t be like this. I don’t think Yuna would want to see you like this,”

“She was like a daughter to me. How are we supposed to tell our son?”

Prince Jinyoung was in denial. 

While everyone thinks that the Lieutenant is slowly dying, the prince would always pray every night as soon as he finished writing his diary - praying that the Lieutenant would wake up.

The prince would help the royal maids take care of the Lieutenant - with the permission of the Colonel. 

It was heartbreaking for the Colonel since his daughter was slowly losing her own life and he couldn’t do anything to help other than praying, doing the same thing as what the prince did.

The Colonel didn’t lose hope - he knew Yuna, his daughter, the Lieutenant would wake up, just like other days when she would get injured from going on battles and wars.

But it was just a little longer for her this time.

“How is Prince Jinyoung?” Yuna questioned weakly, then trying to drink some water - with the help of the royal maid. Yuna couldn’t realise that this was the weakest she had felt.

With numerous bandages on her head and all around her body she saw on the mirror, Yuna knew that this was the nearest she met with death.

“Devastated, but all of that would change after knowing that you are awake,” the maid commented and Yuna sighed softly.

Forcing the maid, Yuna asked her to be by her side in case she fell to the ground due to her being weak. She wanted to make herself back to her usual routine by trying to take a stroll by the hallway.

Yuna weakly twisted the door handle, pushing the door as she could smell the usual scent of the royal palace. 

“Where to, Lieutenant?” The maid questioned as she turned her head to both sides slowly.

“Just to the ends and back here.” answered Yuna as she started to take a few steps slowly. Yuna groaned slightly as she felt pain on her chest but she still made a few more steps.

This is what she always does whenever she woke up from wars and battles - back when she was staying in the soldier’s cabin.

Yuna didn’t know that she was about to meet someone when the prince was about to turn the corner with his usual book. 

As soon as Yuna looked up, she stood frozen with one of her arms on the maid’s shoulder as she saw Prince Jinyoung somehow flipping onto the pages with his feet moving forward towards her.

Yuna gulped as she wanted to turn away when it was too late. The prince looked up and he immediately stopped at his track, his book falling onto the ground as his feet started to run towards where Yuna and the maid is.

“Y-Yuna.. What.. W-why are you out here?!” The Prince muttered as his expression formed into a frown as his gaze fell towards the maid - she was in-charge of the Lieutenant yet she brought Yuna out when she was weak.

“It’s not the royal maid’s fault, your highness. I was the one who forced her to be by my side. I have to get back to my old tracks,” Yuna explained weakly as the prince could only frown while slightly pushing the maid away - wanting to be the one to support the Lieutenant’s side.

“Let’s get you back to your bed, Yuna. It’s an order,” The Prince commanded and Yuna could only sigh in defeat.

Prince Jinyoung let out a spoon of soup infront of her as she quietly opened her mouth slightly, letting the prince spoon feed her.

The prince smiled at her, seeing her eating. 

As soon as the prince lay Yuna back on the bed, Prince Jinyoung ran all the way to the throne room - informing everyone that the Lieutenant had woken up. 

All of the royal household had to see the Lieutenant. 

The King thanking the Lieutenant many times, The Queen giving a tight hug to Yuna and a rough kiss on both of her cheeks, the Colonel patting his own daughter’s head with tears on his eyes, the soldiers celebrating with chanting the Lieutenant’s name.

Prince Jinyoung on the other hand decided to show his actions by helping Yuna with her daily needs - which is eating, dressing her up with again, the Colonel’s permission and reading her books.

It’s been more than a week and Yuna was too weak to tell that she didn't need his help.

She knew the prince would in the end still continue to help her.

“I will be telling the Colonel that you would not need to attend battles or wars,” The Prince announced as he puts the bowl of soup on the bed-side. Yuna frowned slightly to hear his statement.

“Why not?” Yuna questioned quietly, watching Prince Jinyoung’s expression turning serious.

“Because.. You have done enough. Our Kingdom is at peace,”

“Peace doesn’t last-long, Jinyoung. What if a war breaks again? Someone has to go, I have to go,”

“No. You don’t have to. The Colonel and his men would go.” answered the prince firmly as he took the bowl of soup.

“I nearly lost you. I won’t lose you, again.” Prince Jinyoung continued and Yuna watched him before continuing.

“Why? Why do you care now?” Yuna questioned, her tone became softer as her gaze went elsewhere. 

Prince Jinyoung slowly looked towards her - seeing her expression turned sorrow.

Because I love you, Yuna. 

But I can’t seem to say it out loud.

I don’t know why.

“I have gone to battles and wars. This was the result every time and I would continue my everyday life as per normal. But you…” Yuna trailed off as she felt her eyes brimming with tears - when she met eye contact with the prince sitting in front of her. 

“You’re making it difficult for me,” Yuna choked and Prince Jinyoung slowly put the bowl to the side, his hands traveling across her head - caressing and trailing his fingers onto the Lieutenant’s side-bangs.

There were so many things that she meant when she said that he is making it difficult for her. 

Yuna has some sort of feelings for Prince Jinyoung but she is trying her best to lay it low - not wanting to grow more feelings for him. 

It was impossible for her to be with him. 

There was no way that Prince Jinyoung would like a woman like her.

She was positive that the Prince didn’t look at her as a woman - she was just an employee and a friend, a Lieutenant who is a commoner to him.

Yuna watches the Prince’s movements - noticing his expression that was filled with care and adoration. 

She was confused with the prince’s behaviour.

She was even more confused when all of a sudden, the Prince embraced her with a hug - feeling Prince Jinyoung’s heartbeat as his hands on her back.

Yuna must be dreaming - Prince Jinyoung is hugging her, she is in his arms.

If the Colonel or the royal maids sees this, she would instantly get a lecture. After-all, Yuna is considered a commoner.

Prince Jinyoung lets go of her - his eyes were onto Yuna while standing up, his hands reaching for the bowl of soup.

“You should rest. I’ll come by again, tomorrow.” Prince Jinyoung said simply then walking towards the door - giving Yuna one last glance before closing the door of her bedroom. 

Yuna looked towards the door - with a feeling of confusion.

What the hell was that? 

➵ masterlist

[greensaplinggrace]

trans!Cloud? Please and thank you 💕

Boy I hope this was a prompt fill because I just wrote you 7000+ words of pure trans!Cloud and trans!Barret developing friendship.

*TW for internalized transphobia, referenced self harm, unsafe binding practices, and negative self talk/self hatred.

-If you want to send in a prompt, the guidelines are HERE!

------

Removing the bandages is almost as bad as putting them back on. So Cloud has simply made a habit of never taking them off at all, aside from the routine cleaning and reapplication of new ones. Yet even then it’s always quick. Always short and panicked and filled with the mind numbing need to not look down and to think about anything else until it’s all over and he can safely go back to ignoring it. Putting aside the growing pain and occasional difficulties breathing is a small sacrifice to pay if it means he doesn't have to change his bandages again too soon.

It’s a good plan; a solid plan - or it was one. Right up until it wasn’t. Right up until he’d been surrounded on five sides by the enemy and hammered with bullets, chest flaring and lungs constricting. Doubled over and struggling to pull in air - to push through the sheer agony - as Barret hollered at him and the others dove out to drag him behind cover.

Right up until he’d almost gotten them all killed.

Cloud can still hear Barret’s furious tones in his head. The cold, steely silence afterwards that was filled to brimming with accusation and suspicion. He can still feel the glare of judgement prickling against his skin even as the next day dawns. 

He sits on his bed and tries not to think too hard about it, focusing on the painstaking effort of peeling the bandages away. His eyes are wet but he tries to blink the tears away, breathing stilted as he winces with every tug and every shift. It feels like his ribs are coming apart - broken and shattered and digging into his lungs - and Cloud has to bite his lip against the sounds of pain that try to escape.

He’d really fucked up this time.

He doubts he’s going to get paid after this.

The only thing worse than money burning a hole in his pocket is having no money at all, and Cloud has never felt the distinct absence of a steady income as strongly as he does in this very moment, with no food and no supplies and - most importantly - no more bandages.

Could this week get any worse?

The heavy, insistent pounding at his door tells him in no uncertain terms that it absolutely can, and if Cloud weren’t so hard up right now he’d probably curse the universe for putting him in this position. Hell, he should have cursed it ages ago for making him like this in the first place.

“Hey merc!” The person at the door shouts, and of course it’s Barret. He’d been the angriest about the whole fiasco. Simmering like a pot ready to explode for the entire two hours it had taken them to ride home.

Cloud wonders what the other man is going to do about it. He’s never seen Barret lay a hand on anybody who wasn’t the enemy, but he also knows that Barret doesn’t consider him anything but one.

“Merc!” Barret continues, the pounding never once letting up, “I know you’re in there!”

Cloud doesn’t answer, instead shuffling hurriedly about on the bed, heart rabbiting as he scrambles for a shirt. His bandages are only half finished but it doesn't even register amidst the chaos, Barret’s yells growing increasingly furious until they cease in one sudden, chilling stretch of silence.

Cloud barely has the time to get the cloth in his grasp before the door is slamming open, ricocheting off the wall and bouncing harmlessly against one of Barret’s broad shoulders as he pushes into the room.

Everything freezes. Cloud’s hands clench uselessly around his shirt, eyes wide and mouth dry, chest aching something fierce as Barret’s gaze immediately lands on the half done bandages. The other man stills as well when he sees them, a massive silhouette in the narrow, battered doorway, face falling at once into something thunderous.

“What the hell is this?” he demands loudly, and Cloud’s breath hitches at the tone, eyes burning.

“It’s none of your business,” he lets out in a rush, trying to sound stronger than he feels, “they’re just bandages.”

“It’s chest binding!” Barret barks, and his voice is so booming it has to be fury. Cloud’s mind is too blank to identify anything else - a white static filling his ears, pulse thready and weak.

“It doesn’t make a difference,” he tries, swallowing roughly.

“It makes all the difference! What the hell are you thinking?!

“Nothing’s changed. I’m not- I’m not different. I can still fight.”

“No, you can’t.”

A rush of anger has Cloud flushing all the way down to his navel, chest filling with a different kind of heat in the face of Barret’s implications. He whips to attention, mouth opening in a vicious retort, but before he can so much as speak to defend himself, Barret keeps going.

“Not with those bandages, and not with that positioning-” and it’s not at all what Cloud had expected, what he's used to and what he’s prepared for- “This is beyond unsafe! No wonder you were staggering about like a blind man yesterday, do you have any idea how damaging this kind of binding can be?”

Cloud blinks dumbly, the wind taken from his sails in an instant. He pulls his shirt into his lap with numb fingers and he looks blankly up at the other man. “What?”

Barret actually hesitates at that, his own anger draining away to be replaced by a small frown. Then his whole face softens in a way that Cloud has never seen directed at him before, and he feels like his mind is going through fifty kinds of confusion trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

“This your first time binding?”

Cloud grits his teeth. “I ain’t an amateur,” he lashes out viciously, “I’ve been doing this for years, so don’t go about acting like I don’t know a damn thing.”

For the first time since they’d met, Barret doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his face transforms into something contemplative, and Cloud doesn’t know whether he should be riling against the scrutiny or if he should keep protesting the implications that he’s a rookie when it comes to his own life, but he glowers all the same.

“You’ve been using medicine bandages specifically, Cloud?”

The use of his first name throws him for another loop, and he finds himself utterly wordless. Unsure whether he wants to admit to how desperate he’d been as a kid, scavenging for any scraps of stray cloth he could find and knotting up his old shirts into binders. Digging around for things to put in his pants and - in one thoughtless instance of true, sickening desperation - sticking a knife to the back of his throat in the hopes of making his voice deeper. 

The shame pushes at something he’d thought long buried, and he struggles to get the memories right, because he knows it hadn’t stopped at Nibelheim. He knows it went beyond Tifa and dreams and practices with wooden swords in the chill of the mountain peaks.

For all the trouble he’d suffered at Nibelheim, things had been infinitely harder at Shinra. Because he’d had to hide it every moment of every day. Because his officers hadn’t known.

...

Had they known?

Cloud flinches away from the beginnings of a headache and focuses on his shirt, picking at the loose threads with fingers he forces to remain steady. 

This is a disaster. A bonafide, level four, miserable disaster, and not a single person in Sector 7 will ever hire him again once Barret spills the beans.

“How’s your breathing?” Barret breaks the silence, and Cloud barely resists the urge to jump, “does your chest hurt?”

Cloud avoids his eyes. “Maybe. It’s fine.”

“Gaia, kid, it’s not fine.” 

Cloud’s almost surprised the man hadn’t shouted this time around, but when he looks up again it’s to see a crease of worry between Barret’s brows. True, solid worry. Not hatred or judgement or disgust.

Just a gentleness, like the way he’d looked at Tifa when he returned home to see her. Or the way he’d spoken to Marlene after she’d run scared from Cloud’s presence. 

Cloud’s never made the mistake of assuming such a look would ever be directed at him, yet here they are. It's more than a bit disorienting - almost panic inducing - and he wonders if he's finally gone insane.

He’d thought not five minutes ago that Barret hated his guts and wanted to murder him in some back alley for almost getting the team killed. And hell, maybe he still feels that way. Maybe Cloud’s reading into things like he always does, unable to grasp the depth of emotions going on in the people around him.

He doesn’t know what to think anymore.

“Okay, you’re coming with me,” Barret decides, and Cloud scoffs at that, some of his indignation returning.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you need help, and I plan on giving it to you!”

Cloud scowls. “Am I getting paid?”

“No-you-what the hell is wrong with you?!” Cloud swallows past the sting of hurt at the words, hands gripping his shirt so tight they’re white from the pressure. He ducks his head to avoid Barret’s enthusiastically sweeping arm motion, and then keeps it ducked as Barret keeps speaking. “You ain’t gettin’ paid, alright?! What you’re getting is a damn health and safety lesson as well as some new clothes! Now get those bandages off and let’s move.”

Cloud’s heart skips a beat, throat closing off in a panic. “What?! No!” he gets out, “I don’t-I can’t- you-” 

He cuts himself off before he can embarrass himself further, heart still racing with the disorienting rise of fear, but Barret’s already reacted. Almost immediately, the flamboyant movements come to an abrupt stop, Barret’s restless energy dying out in a second.

Then Barret speaks; calm and soft as if he’s never been anything but. “Okay, we’ll take care of that at the store, then. No need to worry about it now.”

Cloud swallows chalk and feels weak, but he straightens until he’s standing and pulls the shirt on in one smooth motion, expertly ignoring his ribs’ screaming protests. Then he juts out his chin defiantly and looks up, meeting the startled openness of Barret’s eyes head on. It’s difficult to maintain his anger at the situation when there’s such sincerity there, but Cloud manages.

“What if I don’t want to go?” he challenges.

“Then you won’t.” Barret crosses his arms and levels a stare right back. “But I ain’t hirin’ you again until you’ve got this situation fixed. It’s a danger to you and everyone around you in this line of work.”

Cloud’s lips thin in reaction, but he keeps his tone cold and detached. “I can handle myself.”

“Yesterday proves otherwise.” Barret raises a hand to calm the defensive rise of Cloud’s shoulders, mouth snapping open for a response. “Look,” he soothes, “I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do. And I may not always like the way you do things, but even I can see that you’re good at your job. That hasn’t changed.”

“Then what-”

“Just come with me, alright? You’ll see what I’m talkin’ about, and if you don’t like it then you can leave.”

Cloud hesitates for only a moment longer, expression carefully neutral, before giving a small nod. He doesn’t say a thing more, afraid to reveal anything personal with the unexpectedly familiar turn in their conversation, but Barret doesn’t seem to mind. He merely responds with his own larger, much more energetic nod and heads for the door.

“Aight! Follow me, merc, and I might just teach you a thing or two.”

“I doubt it,” Cloud sighs, right on the heels of the other man.

Barret only chuckles in response, and soon they’re enveloped in a thick silence as they head down the streets of Sector 7. It isn’t as uncomfortable as Cloud’s silences with Barret usually are, and he’s almost tempted to speak while the other man’s demeanor is open and accepting. Yet it’s hard to form any words when his mind still feels drowned and uncertain, caught in some sort of hypnotic daze as he tries to figure out what’s going on and why this is happening.

Cloud feels like he’s dreaming.

Nobody has ever had such a reaction to him before. They’ve never been accepting. Even Tifa had been surprised as a kid, reluctant to interact with him normally for weeks afterward. Then when she had come back it had been awkward, avoidant conversation topics and the bumbling use of different pronouns. She’d been stilted and uncomfortable, but she’d tried and she’d cared, and for a long time that had been the best reaction he’d ever thought possible. Tifa had eventually accepted him, after all. Unlike most others who learned the truth: filled with either disgust or mockery or suggestive, degrading leers.

Barret hadn’t been like any of those people, though, and he hadn’t done any of those things. What Cloud initially thought to be rejection had been anger...on Cloud’s behalf.

Maybe.

He’s still not so sure, but Barret has taken everything after the bandage revelation in stride. He’d even reacted positively to discovering what Cloud is, and Cloud just isn’t used to it. He certainly doesn’t know how to react to it or what to say.

He wishes Tifa was here.

At the same time, he’s glad she isn’t. Because he’s never before been alone with the man in a space that wasn’t riddled by the tensions of pure dislike or upcoming battle, and the comfortable air around them right now...it feels nice.

Cloud kind of likes Barret, to be honest. Even if the man is annoying and loud and much bigger than any person has a right to be. This respect and easy camaraderie feels good. This understanding - nobody has ever acted this way around Cloud in the past. It almost feels like the first kindlings of a friendship - or at the least a nicer acquaintanceship - and Cloud wouldn’t be...averse to learning more about Barret and maybe...maybe becoming closer. He’s never had many - or any - friends before.

Cloud doesn’t want Barret to get any ideas, though. He’s still in it for the money.

“Ha! Here we are!” Barret exclaims when they finally come to a stop in front of a small, well lit little shop. He gestures to it widely, as if to encompass all of it’s everything - whatever that may be - and then strides toward the entrance. “The best clothing store in the entire sector! Although, uh...don’t tell Mimi I said that.”

He looks back at Cloud at the words, wincing, but Cloud just shrugs. “We’ll see.”

“Ah, you’re the worst,” Barret grumbles, though it lacks the usual heat. He pushes open the door to a small chime and heads inside. “Come on then, let’s get you suited up.”

“I already have a suit.”

“Just get yo’ ass in here, merc!”

Cloud reluctantly follows after him, slipping through the already closing doorway and stepping lightly to Barret’s side. 

Instantly, he’s met by bright, fluorescent lights and a colorful expanse of clothing. Rack upon rack of skirts and shirts and dresses fill the store, with large, well lit displays of stunning dresses interspersed throughout. There’s a section in the back labelled ‘undergarments’ for men and women both, and that’s where Barret takes them.

Cloud isn’t sure he likes where this is headed.

“What’s going on?” he finally asks, unable to stay silent any longer, “that’s not-I won’t wear a bra.” The words feel heavy on his tongue, but Barret doesn’t even once pause in his approach, completely at ease with the situation.

“Not a bra, no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” It takes an effort to keep his voice deep and chill instead of high and panicked, but Barret must sense something, because he finally slows down and turns to face Cloud.

“I ain’t lettin’ you run around in pain when there’s a nice, comfy alternative right here!” he says, indicating the section of the undergarments labeled ‘chest binding’ with a broad sweep of his gun prosthetic. The expression on his face is excited and expectant, as if he thinks Cloud is going to jump for joy at the sight, but Cloud’s brows merely furrow with even more confusion.

What the hell is going on?

“What…so they’re...modified bras?” Or shirts. All he knows is that they look tight and compact, made of a silken, thick material. Longer than a bra but shorter than a shirt, they almost appear to be a combination of training bras and crop tops. Definitely like nothing he’s ever seen or that he would ever wear, and he wonders for what has to be the hundredth time why Barret has brought him here.

“No!” Barret protests. “They’re binders - for your chest. Here, come get a closer look.”

Cloud approaches, still somewhat stupefied, and lingers in front of the rack of binders until Barret gives in and pushes one into his hands.

“It goes on under your clothes,” the other man finally explains, watching as Cloud runs his hands over the soft fabric. Those words alone help to ease some of Cloud's worries, but he’s still wary. He’s not quite sure where this is going - if it’s even going anywhere at all.

“Why are you showing me this?” 

“Because I think you could use this for your situation.”

Something in him finally gives at that, splintering beneath the confusion and humiliation. Frustration pools rapidly through the cracks, and Cloud barely reigns in his initial burst of anger before he’s speaking in cold, clipped tones. “Use this for what? What is this place and what are these?! Why did you bring me here?”

“Because I know how you feel.”

“You don’t know shit about me!”

“I know enough! I’ve been exactly where you are, Cloud. I’m like you.”

Cloud shakes his head, blinking away the tears. “What?” This isn’t what he’d expected or what he’d planned for and what is going on?! 

There are people like him? 

“No, you...you can’t be. I’m a freak. I’m a- I’m twisted and wrong-” his voice breaks in a humiliating display of weakness, and he stutters through a choked off breath, struggling to breathe as the realization comes crashing down on him.

The only explanation is that Barret doesn’t know. That Cloud’s somehow tricked him into thinking Cloud is someone or something else. Normal like Barret; human like him. Because if Barret did know what Cloud was he wouldn’t be saying these things or thinking they were the same. He wouldn’t be happy about it and he wouldn’t be doing any of this.

Cloud feels like such a fucking fool. Why had he thought Barret accepted him? Why had he assumed Barret knew what was going on when Cloud hadn’t even taken a second to explain the situation to him. 

Gaia what a fool - what a fool - what a damn -

He’d made assumptions and now Barret thinks he understands but he doesn’t.

“It’s not- I’m not-” he tries to keep his tone steady, but the desperation leaks through and even Cloud can hear the tears in his voice because now he has to explain - now he has to lose this and Gaia, he’s so pathetic- he didn’t even like Barret anyway- “You don’t understand. You...you don’t understand, because if you did you wouldn’t-I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I-I tricked you, but I didn’t mean to. I’m not a man and I’m in the wrong body and my brain is messed up but I don’t mean to be a freak. I don’t mean to be a freak I swear.” The last word falls apart on a sob as the panic sets in, and finally Barret snaps.

"Enough!" he bellows, voice loud and hard as iron, “There ain’t nothing freakish about this. Nothing!” 

Cloud's heart stops at the tone - at the fact that there isn't a tinge of disgust to be heard. Hell, there isn’t even horror at the realization of Cloud’s wrongness like he’d thought there would be once Barret learned the truth, and when Cloud risks a glance upward, chest still heaving with each strangled breath, it’s to see nothing but steely resolution in Barret’s eyes. No hatred in sight.

Unconsciously, he tightens his grip on the binder, pulling it closer to his stinging chest. The shudders still wrack his frame, but as the seconds tick by and Barret's firm support doesn't waver for so much as a millisecond, they slowly begin to subside.

“There's nothing wrong with you, for that matter,” Barret goes on after what feels like years. Cloud almost expects a jab about his morals after he says it, but Barret merely stops talking again and gives him an intense, determined look, as if he’s trying to bore the fact into Cloud’s skull.

Cloud can only shake his head. He squeezes his eyes shut to block anymore tears that might try to escape, but they just keep falling despite everything.

“Gaia, kid, they’ve got you real messed up.”

“I’m not-I’m not messed up.” Which is a complete 180 from what he’d been saying five seconds ago, but the words are out before he has the chance to stop them.

Barret sighs. “I know.”

There’s a long stretch of silence after that, and Cloud occupies himself with inspecting the binder in his hands, stomach turning with the agonizing curdle of shame as he begins to calm down and return to his senses.

This isn’t how he’s supposed to be acting. Not in front of civilians and not in front of his employers and especially not in front of Barret, who hates his guts and would probably have killed him ages ago for being a SOLDIER if it wasn’t for Tifa.

What must he think of Cloud now?

“I do know, merc.”

Cloud swallows and doesn’t look up. “Know what?”

“What it’s like. I was born in the wrong body too, but I’m a man and I always have been.”

It’s difficult to wrap his mind around. Other people - people like him - who exist in the same world he does and who mean that he isn’t alone. It doesn’t seem possible - it can’t be - but what Barret’s describing...he wouldn’t be able to say it unless he knows.

Maybe he does understand, after all. 

But Barret, of all people. Cloud just can’t believe it. He’s so...he’s so...he’s everything Cloud wishes he could be. Confident and strong and masculine. There’s no way he’s broken or shameful. No way that he was once...that he’s like-

Cloud.

“The man who runs this store? His name is Damian,” Barret goes on, “he chose that name, same as I did. He’s had experience wearing shit like this, which is why it’s the best I’ve come across and the most accessible. It’s a real tight operation.”

Another person like him. Cloud opens his mouth to speak, a question on the tip of his tongue, but before he can another voice speaks up from behind.

“My ears are burning!” A man’s voice chimes out, “Barret, is that you?”

Cloud blinks in alarm and turns to see a tall, dark skinned man approach. He’s lithe and well muscled, dressed in a tight fitting, sleeveless shirt and long leather pants. The array of tattoos across his skin is impressive, but his demeanor is moreso. Confident yet casual as he comes to a stop beside them both, a massive smile revealing sharp white canines as he pushes his multicolored sunglasses up onto his dark hair.

The chuckle Barret gives the other man is more untroubled than Cloud’s heard since he first arrived at Seventh Heaven and met Marlene. Barret even seems to relax a fraction when Damian’s stormy gray eyes land on him. 

“Yeah,” Barret says, grinning and clapping Damian on the shoulder, “it’s been a while, but I’m back.”

“And with a friend.” Those gray eyes turn to Cloud next, but he doesn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable under the attention as he usually does. Still, he refrains from saying anything, observing the interaction carefully as he works to school his features.

As first impressions go, puffy red eyes and a wet face probably isn’t the best, but it’s certainly better than looking like a miserable mess in somebody else’s store. And...and this man might be like him.

Cloud doesn’t want to scare him off.

“This is Cloud, we’re just here to check out your binders.”

“Ah! The greatest adventure of them all. You’re in for a treat, my dearest newcomer. Binder shopping is always fun, of course, but mine are the absolute best! And let nobody tell you otherwise.” Damian inhales dramatically after he’s finished speaking, finally stopping to take a breath, and then launches right back into it. “If you’ve got your sizes, I can direct you to the ones that will fit, but I can always work off of an old one if that’s more comfortable for you!”

Cloud hesitates, lifting the one he already has in his hands. “I’ve already found one. Isn’t this enough?”

The dead silence in response gives Cloud the impression that it’s not.

Then Damian explodes, gasping as if he’s been struck and whirling to point at Barret accusingly. “Barret! You’ve brought me a baby!”

“Excuse me?!” Cloud immediately puffs up at the words. “I’m not a baby!” Barret laughs at that - the asshole - looking positively pleased with the direction this is going, and Cloud wants to bash his stupid head in.

“You are! My god, is this your first binder? Barret, what have you been doing to this boy? How could you let it get this far?”

“Don’t bring me into this! I only found out he was using bandages to bind about a half hour ago."

“Oh, you can’t be serious. That’s terrible!”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

“Why didn’t you do something sooner?”

“This ain’t my fault, Damian! I didn’t even know he was trans before then.”

“You-”

“...trans?” 

Two heads swivel to face him at that, surprise etched across both, and it takes all of Cloud’s strength to remain composed under the combined force of their intensity.

“Oh my...I see,” Damian breathes, tension melting into something softer as he approaches, his fight with Barret all but forgotten. Not that Cloud had really appreciated the fight to begin with, considering they’d both been talking about him as if he wasn’t right there. “Well you’ve certainly got a lot to learn, but it’s nothing we haven’t covered before.”

“Right.” Cloud glances uneasily at Barret. “I don’t…are you...really like me?” He hates how small he sounds - how stupid. Hates how everything about this makes him feel as if he’s about to burst with joy and drown in confusion.

Hates how he doesn’t just know.

Everything he’d ever thought - about himself as well as the people around him - has been a lie. It was all a lie.

Damian doesn’t react badly, though. He only gives Cloud a warm smile, winking lightly, and says, “were you born in a different body; a body you knew wasn’t your own? Did you struggle your entire childhood with being referred to by the wrong pronouns and being called a girl when you knew in your heart that you weren’t? Did you work every day of your life to change yourself in ways you thought would never happen? Did you ache to be someone else?”

“Yeah,” Cloud says, and his voice cracks again but he doesn’t care because Gaia it’s real. It’s all real. He's not alone.

“That’s called being trans. Transgender, if you want to get technical about it, and there’s a whole slew of different identities out there, but right now we’re just going to focus on yours.”

“...so I’m not broken?”

“No! No. Gaia, no. You aren’t broken or- or a freak or a monster. What you’re feeling - what you are - is completely normal. Thousands of people all over the world feel the same. It’s natural.”

Cloud doesn’t say anything after that, taking a while to process it all. He still has a hard time believing things, but it’s almost harder now to not believe them when he’s got two people here who claim to feel the exact same why.

He’d never thought he would relate so much to Barret, of all people, and he briefly wonders if Barret’s upset about them having this in common. Did he bring Cloud here out of some sense of duty? Or does he really care?

“The binders are meant to be less constrictive,” Barret eventually speaks up, as if summoned by Cloud’s thoughts, and Cloud instantly hones in on the authoritative lilt to his tone. He sounds as if he’s giving a lesson, soothing and gentle and commanding all at once. Like a parent. 

Or a leader, Cloud supposes.

“Bindin’ with the bandages as you were doing is a surefire way to fuck up your ribs and your lungs as well as a shitton of other things. You’re lucky it was caught in time, otherwise your little merc gig would’ve been up before the season’s end.”

That’s daunting, but expected. Cloud had always known the bandages weren’t a good idea, he’d merely never had a better alternative.

He fingers the smooth fabric of the binder again, secretly admiring the bright purple and pink patterns. It’s pretty and he likes the design, but it really isn’t his style. He’s nervous about what Barret would say if it were his style, though.

What if Cloud isn’t trans enough?

“The binder will do a better job of compressing your chest, too,” Damian picks up where Barret left off, “it will be less painful and show less, and it will also be significantly easier to remove and put on.”

“And it isn’t noticeable?” Cloud doesn’t want people to know. He doesn’t want to remind Tifa of his shortcomings anymore than he has to. He just wants it all gone. He wants it to be invisible.

“Not at all! We have some more flamboyant ones if you’re up for that, but a lot of these are meant to blend in with everyday life. Here, how about this!” Damian moves then, pushing closer into Cloud’s personal space and pulling a measuring tape from his pocket like that’s a normal thing for a person to just be carrying around. “I’ll take your measurements, and then you and Barret can go check out the binders. That sound good?”

“I-uh...yeah.” 

“Barret said you’ve been binding with bandages?” Damian asks. He moves forward and starts to work, pausing briefly to skin his fingers over the irregularities on Cloud’s chest.

“Yes.”

“Okay, well I know we’ve said it a dozen times before, but I need to be one hundred percent sure that you know that could seriously damage you. Possibly permanently, if you’re not careful.”

“I know.”

“Okay!” Damian snaps up his measuring tape, stepping back before Cloud can vibrate right out of his bones from the anxiety of someone being so near to him. He waves a dismissive hand and turns away. “I’ll be back soon. Have fun, boys!”

And then he’s gone. Out the door and into the backrooms before Cloud can say a word in response. He turns to give Barret a questioning look, but the man is already heading over to the other end of the binder display, chuckling in amusement.

“That’s Damian for ya,” Barret says, “He moves fast and he has a hard time focusing, but he means well and he cares a lot. World could use more people like him.”

Cloud nods.

The rack extends along the entire length of the far wall, so he puts some distance between him and Barret, skin still tingling from where he’d been touched. He feels tight and trapped, but with his gradual adjustment to the newly acquired space and air around him, the world starts to calm down again.

He gives the massive display of binders a once-over, and an array of blues nearby catches his eye. The darker tones are slightly more comforting than the vibrant purples, so he focuses on examining those instead of the others while Barret speaks beside him.

“I came here a while back. When I was younger and less used to this whole thing. Damian’s work instantly stood out to me. It was more comfortable and more supportive, and the material didn’t chafe or constrict the way bandages do. Don’t think I’d ever actually enjoyed wearing binders before then, but he made it more fun and inclusive - more satisfying. I felt proud to be who I am for the first time in my life after I left his store that day.”

It would be an understatement to say that Cloud is out of his depth, and he has to ask. “You don’t wear them anymore?”

“Don’t need to! Got surgery a couple years back and it was the best decision of my life - well, aside from Marlene, of course. I started on hormones before then, though. Been at it for what feels like decades.”

None of those words mean anything to Cloud. He avoids the mention of surgery with a ten foot pole, feeling nauseous even thinking about it, and runs his fingers along the display. A variety of fabrics catch against his callouses, but there seems to be a recurring theme in regards to what can be used to make the binders at all, because he quickly notices a pattern.

“When did you realize?” he eventually inquires, after Barret keeps silent for too long throughout his musings.

��Ah! When I was real young,” Barret responds. It's almost immediate, and it leaves Cloud wondering if Barret had been waiting for him to speak before he started up again. The thought doesn’t sit right, but Cloud doesn’t know how to voice it, so he simply doesn't. 

“At about seven - maybe eight - my parents talked to me about some of the things I’d been casually saying at the time. Things that I didn’t really know the meaning of. It made me realize that I’d been viewing myself as a man unintentionally, without even realizing I was doing so. That talk and my parents' support allowed me to come to terms with everything.” Barret sighs sadly, going silent for a moment, then, “I had it better than most.”

Cloud can't help but agree. He wonders what his life would have been like if he’d had another parent around. If he’d ever gotten to know his father or had a closer relationship with his mother. She’d tried to be around for him as much as she could, but life was hard and her job was a busy one, and she’d been desperate to put food on the table and pay off the bills. 

He’d never told her who he truly was.

“How long have you known?” Barret asks into the quiet, and Cloud doesn’t really have to think about the answer.

“Always,” he says, and, “I don’t know,” because he doesn’t. There had never been a time when he thought he was anything but a boy, but there had been a time when he refused to acknowledge it.

There’s another silence after that. One that settles Cloud’s nerves and lets him take a closer look at his options. 

Binders; actual clothing just for people like him: more comfortable, better at hiding things, and less dangerous. It seems like a fairytale. Unattainable and inevitably, tragically disappointing. Meant to rip the rug right out from under him - disappearing the moment he truly starts to believe. Yet when Cloud picks out a dark, solid blue binder made of a silken material, it doesn’t disappear in a cloud of fairydust. Instead it falls into his hands and glides through his fingers. Light, thick material and a comforting weight, with no rough edges or sandpaper cotton or suffocating elastic bound around and around like a straightjacket.

Something eases in his chest when he holds it. Something that feels a lot less like dread and self hate and a lot more like hope.

Cloud has never wished more for something to be real.

“See one you like?” Cloud can’t resist jumping this time around, surprised at the volume of the voice behind him. He whirls around to see Damian standing a mere few feet behind him, and Cloud curses himself for not hearing the man's approach. 

“Um...maybe.” At Damian’s quirked brow he clears his throat. “It’s nice,” he offers pitifully.

Damian sighs in exaggerated offense and drops his sunglasses back onto his nose. “You’re a disaster, kid. You’re lucky I like you so much.”

“I’m not a kid.”

Damian doesn’t even reward that with a response. “Is this the only design you want?”

Cloud looks down at the one in his hands again. He really does like it. Hell, he can even imagine wearing it, and the thought alone makes his heart ache in a way he’d never thought possible, but - “how...how much do they cost?”

“The lowest I can go is 500 gil a piece.”

Cloud’s heart drops, hope evaporating in a second. “Oh.” 

He barely even has enough money to buy food at this point, let alone even one of these things. He can't afford it. Gaia, what had he thought was going to happen?

Cloud's face heats with shame, and he feels utterly ridiculous now, thinking about how excited he’d been.

“I don’t…” he tries to get his throat to work, swallowing past the knot that’s formed, “I-”

And then a voice speaks and it's Barret, it's -

“I’ll take care of it.” 

Cloud exhales in a rush, eyes widening, and his body goes so weak that for a second he fears collapsing. “What?” he croaks, voice trapped behind the need to say more but he can’t. He can’t do anything but try to regain control of his mind and his heart and his shaking, fisted hands.

“I’ll pay for the binder. And two more,” Barret says, and he looks at Cloud like he cares, smiling slightly and eyes warm. Cloud shakes his head in denial, but Barret turns and nods to Damian. “Throw in some of those educational booklets, too. For free.”

“Sure thing, my friend.” Damian beams, racing over to the binder rack. He grabs a handful of the same color in a different size before dancing happily back over to the counters to check it all out, and if Cloud wasn’t still reeling from the shock he’d probably think the man needed to calm down.

“I don’t-” Cloud finally manages, “I can’t pay you back.”

“You don’t have to,” Barret tries to reassure, but he’s wrong.

“Is this for the last job?” It’s the only thing that makes a lick of sense, yet when he asks it Barret only hums in the negative.

“No, you’re still getting paid for the last job.”

“I am?” That’s certainly news to Cloud, who’d been sure about a half hour ago that Barret was going to pay him in blood for how badly he’d fucked up.

“Yeah, merc. You did your job. Sure, things went sideways, but it wasn’t just you, and if I punished everybody who fucked up a little on missions then I wouldn’t have any team at all. Hell, I’d say you even did more than most, even with that shitshow at the end. Otherwise we’d’ve been dead before we got there.”

Cloud huffs, clenching at the fabric of the binder again. “That doesn’t make sense!”

“Yes, it does. Now stop arguing! I’m your boss and I consider this a down payment as well as an investment. You’ve done good work and you’re going to keep doing good work on the next mission.”

“The next mission?” 

“You got something in your ears, Strife?”

“No,” Cloud breathes, and it’s probably a testament to the state of his mind right now that he doesn’t have a sarcastic retort on hand, “I just...I thought…”

Barret doesn’t say anything for a while after that, and it gives Cloud some time to breathe. And with the time comes the realization that he has binders now. Actual, real binders that won’t hurt him and that will help him. Chest coverings that he actually likes to look at and feel against his skin and wear.

He doesn’t know whether he wants to laugh or scream, but in the end all he ends up doing is crying. He turns away so Barret won’t see it, and he’s glad when the next topic Barret brings up is completely unrelated, although it doesn’t hit any less close to home.

“So why didn’t you tell me you were flat out broke?”

“It didn’t matter.”

“It does when my team members aren’t taking care of themselves.”

“I’m not a member of your team!” Okay, so maybe Cloud doesn’t like this topic after all. Maybe he thinks this whole situation is ridiculous when this man fucking hates his guts. Maybe he’s tired and he’s tired of being fucking tired all the goddamn time.

“I was wrong.”

The world screeches to a halt. “No- no you weren’t. I’m only in it for the money and I’m an ex-SOLDIER, you said-”

“I said some things that I shouldn’t have. It doesn’t matter what you’re in this for, as long as you work with me, up to and until you leave, you are on my team and deserving of my care.”

Cloud can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Is this because of what I am? Because that doesn’t change anything. I haven’t changed. I’m still…” He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. Cloud is a lot of things, and he hates every single one of them.

Barret’s expression pinches into an emotion Cloud can’t name, his mouth pulling down into a severe frown. “It ain’t because you’re trans, kid. It’s because I fucked up and I let my feelings get the better of me. As your leader and your...employer, I should never have treated you like that.”

Cloud swallows. But I deserved it.

“If it’s any consolation,” Barret says, “I still think you’re an asshole and a selfish bastard.”

Coughing to cover up a laugh probably isn’t the most subtle move, but Cloud’s emotions are too much of a wreck to muster up much else. “And I still think you’re overbearing and annoying,” he huffs.

Barret doesn’t explode like he usually would, only nodding like he’d expected that. “You aren’t getting any special treatment cause you’re trans, okay? I don’t view you any different. I’m payin’ you for the job cause you did the job, and we agreed on a price. I’m paying for this because I know what it’s like and I want to help. And I’m treatin’ you nicer because...well, you ain’t so bad once you get past the...everything else.”

“Thanks,” Cloud deadpans, but he can't deny that he feels lighter at the admission - more at ease.

“Welcome!” Barret begins to head over to the checkout, waving for Cloud to follow until he reluctantly trails behind the other man. “After this you can change into one of the binders if you want. The rooms in the back are there just for that purpose, so don’t worry about causin’ no trouble.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Uh huh. And then after that we can talk books! I don’t want you goin’ home with more questions than answers, so I’m gon’ tell you which ones you should read first, and you’re going to listen.”

Cloud sighs.

“Shut the hell up, merc. And then after that-”

“There’s more?”

“After that, maybe we can talk about some of the other people in the community ‘round here that you can speak to.”

“A community? As in a whole group?” All here in Midgar? That doesn’t seem possible. What are the chances?

“You’re actin’ like we’re a rare breed, kid. Sure, not every trans person is exactly like us, some don’t even feel dysphoria, but they’re all apart of the community. Hell, there’s dozens in Sector 7 alone! The whole of Midgar? Probably hundreds.”

“Hundreds?” Cloud asks faintly.

Barret grins like it’s a challenge. “Oh yeah. Wanna know my guess for the entire world?” 

“No.”

“Thousands. Tens of thousands.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh but it is!” Damian is the one to speak this time around, holding out a bulging bag of supplies as they approach. “I took the opportunity to put some other helpful tools in there as well, Cloud.”

“Uh…” Cloud takes it, peeking inside and getting a facefull of different pamphlets and colorful clothing articles and paper documents. “...thanks.” Then he sucks in a breath and glares back around at Barret. “Your plan is unusually thought out,” he accuses.

Barret shrugs shamelessly. “Yeah, well I gotta be prepared if my darling girl ever decides she needs my guidance! Ain’t no way I’m gonna leave her without the proper tools when I struggled so much as a kid.”

“But you said your parents helped.”

“There was only so much they could do. Small town couples like them never really travel a lot, and I was lucky they knew as much as they did.”

“My parents were like that, too,” Damian offers as he rings them up, “we had to do a lot of guesswork and research to reach the point where we understood. Luckily I had a head up on most in my situation, considering they’re both women.”

Neither of them asks about Cloud’s parents, and he’s glad for it, but he can’t help thinking about his mother’s weary eyes and chilling absences. He wonders what it would be like to have two parents who both care so much. 

He wonders if it would be coziness and sunshine and soft touches, instead of gnawing hunger and the drain of loneliness. He wonders if he wouldn’t be so miserable now, had she been there to hear what he was going through.

Then again, he isn’t so miserable now. A warmth is settling in his chest. It’s a steady, gradual process, but when he thinks about it he can feel it and he can almost taste it. Comfort and protection and guidance. Safety. Freedom.

His chest hurts on the inside. Past the tattered bandages and the bruised ribs. And it’s a good kind of hurt. The kind Tifa gives him in shining, startling bursts when he sees her. The kind that he hasn’t felt in years. Since deciding to leave his only friend and the only place he’d ever known. The kind of hurt he thought he’d never feel again. 

Happiness.

Maybe Cloud will finally be able to fit in somewhere. Maybe he’ll be able to find a team and a family - find acceptance.

And Cloud thinks about everything that's happened today and wonders if maybe...maybe Barret wouldn’t mind him sticking around for just a bit longer, after all.

[purplebenjy]

Forest For The Trees || Part 1

“Dr. Everly?”

Kingsley had convinced him to come out with the promise that he wouldn’t abandon him and as fun as it had been watching his friend grind on different guys, Benjy had decided to set him free.

“Go have fun!”

“Are you sure?” Kings had shouted back, his new dance partner twerking against his crotch.

Benjy gave him a thumbs up and wandered away from the dance floor. Looked like he was on his own for the rest of the night. He could just go home, but Andy was out with Ted, and being alone in his apartment on a Friday night was too pathetic to bare.

He’d been nursing the whiskey soda the bartender had told him was on the house for probably 10 minutes now, and Benjy had spent about 9 of those minutes staring at the cute blond on the other side of the bar, it hitting him around minute 3 that this person looks almost identical to his Art History professor from the semester before. Benjy had liked Dr. Everly; he was articulate and passionate and tough without being an asshole about it. He was also devastatingly handsome, and Benjy had fallen into the cliche of crushing on his impossibly straight Professor.

Though apparently he wasn’t that impossibly straight. Benjy finished his drink, took a breath, and crossed the bar. When Benjy addresses him, Dr. Everly pales, does a double take, and then laughs.

“Benjy? What are you doing here?”

Benjy shrugs, smiling at the sound of his laugh. It’s nice, deep but somehow scratchy. Sexy.

“Being made into a third wheel, apparently. You?”

Dr. Everly sighs and looks over the dance floor.

“I think I got stood up.”

Benjy frowns, empathizing while at the same time celebrating on the inside. Getting stood up meant he was dating which meant he was single. It might be absolutely insane if Benjy to be that presumptuous, or maybe it was the whiskey, but he hadn’t missed the way Dr. Everly’s eyes had traveled down his body, taking in Benjy’s torn jeans and the black mesh tank top he’d borrowed from Kingsley. It was a little loose on him, but it showed off the majority of his tattoos—not to mention his body. Benjy thought he looked good, but most of the guys on the dance floor had given him the cold shoulder. Dr. Everly seemed appreciative of it, at least.

“That’s horrible. And absolutely idiotic of them if I do say so myself.”

Dr. Everly laughs again. “Thank you, Benjy.”

“Let me buy you a drink, it’ll make you feel better.”

Dr. Everly turns his head to look at him as Benjy settles fully on the stool next to him.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate, Benjy.”

“Sure it is, we’re both adults aren’t we? And you’re not my professor anymore.”

He flags the bartender that’s given him a free drink over and gets the “one minute” finger.

“But you’re still a student. And you’re-hang on, how did you even get in here? Aren’t you only 18?”

Benjy turns his head and grins. “I turned 19 a few months ago. And uh, my friend said boys who look like me don’t get carded at places like this, and he was right.”

The bartender, the bouncer, now Dr. Everly. Benjy hadn’t even thought about dating someone older before, but that appears to be the kind of attention he attracts.

“....okay.”

“Okay?”

“Buy me a drink.”

Benjy grins again and pushes his hair back.

“I have one condition though.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t buy drinks for people whose first names I don’t know.”

Benjy puts his head in his hand, propping himself up on the bar with his elbow. When Dr. Everly smiles at him, Benjy feels something inside of himself glow.

“God, you’re adorable.”

“That’s a weird first name.” Benjy says, his eyes drifting down to the professor’s lips when he speaks.

“Forest.”

“Hi Forest, I’m Benjy.”

~

“I’m married.”

They’d talked for over two hours, barely touching their drinks. They discussed Post-Impressionists, performance artists, their mutual distaste for Madonna, watches, Benjy’s tattoos and about everything else. Benjy couldn’t remember connecting with another person like this before. And now, as the bar was close to closing, Forest had offered to wait with Benjy while he hailed a cab. They’d walked out of the bar with their shoulders almost touching; Benjy could feel the tension between them and was hoping for a kiss. Still, Benjy had been confused for a split second when Forest and grabbed his hand and pulled him down an alley between a closed bakery and an abandoned building, but when his professor’s lips found his, everything clicked into place. Benjy had kissed him back with equal passion and that was how they ended up where they were, with Benjy up against the bricks of the bakery, his legs around Forest’s waist as Forest and the wall supported his weight, with hickeys from one of the most brilliant minds Berkley had to offer blooming on his neck.

“What?”

When Forest spoke, it took Benjy a second for the blood to return to his brain. For a fleeting moment, Benjy thought the older man had been proposing, and the scratch of his stubble and sweetness of his kiss felt so good that had it actually been a proposal, Benjy would’ve said “Yes”

“I’m married.” Forest repeats, moving so Benjy is on the ground again. He releases him fully, and Benjy feels strangely cold without his weight and heat pressed against him. Forest scrubs his hand over his face and groans.

“Fuck. I should’ve said something earlier. She has no idea I’m...that I prefer what we were just doing.”

Benjy nods absentmindedly, fixing his hair with a swipe of his hand.

“So we need to go back to my place then? For you to fuck me?”

Forest let’s out a strangled sort of noise before responding.

“What?”

“Well obviously we can’t go to yours if you wife is there. And you wanna fuck me, don’t you Forest?”

Benjy’s hands snake around the other man’s waist as he groans again.

“....yes”

“Good.” Benjy says, peppering kisses along his neck. “Lets go get that taxi then.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“That you’re married? No. That you’re my professor? No. You wanna know what bothers me?”

Forest smiles at him, relaxing slightly into Benjy’s embrace.

“What?”

“The fact that your cock isn’t already buried inside of me.”

Forest let’s out a whine and Benjy smirks against his neck.

“God, you’re incredible. Where’d you come from?”

“Public school.”

~

“Take it all off-“

They’d barely been able to keep their hands off of each other in the taxi, resisting only out of their need to be inconspicuous. Benjy lead the way up the stairs and was relieved to find his apartment still locked. Though he often got angry with Andy for her bad habit of not locking up, in this instance it was a good indication that they would have the place to themselves. He’d been the last one to leave and since it was still locked, she wasn’t home. He’s not sure if Forest hears or cares about this explain because while Benjy was unlocking the door, hands trailed down his back and began squeezing his ass. Benjy smirked to himself, pushed himself back into the touch for a moment and then turned to face Forest when the door opened. The effect was immediate, like the flip of a switch, they came together, teeth knocking against each other as their need grew. Forest’s hands found their way under Benjy’s shirt and his hands felt cool against his hot skin. Benjy broke away for a moment to whip his shirt over his head and when he moved to start kissing Forest again, the older man commanded him to strip.

“I need to see you.” Forest says, his breath broken and heavy as he gazes at Benjy’s chest. “All of you.”

Benjy groans at the lust in his voice, his jeans feel tighter as he feels himself growing harder. He’d always liked being bossed around during sex, but he could already tell that with Forest it was going to be different. Better. Keeping his eyes locked on Forest’s bright blue ones, Benjy slowly undoes his jeans and pushes them to the floor, only looking away to step out of them. He’s standing there, almost fully hard in the green boxer briefs he’d put on before going out just in case something to this effect happened. Though he hadn’t pictured the person admiring how perfectly the underwear fit his ass to be his professor. Benjy smirks when Forest bites his bottom lip, staring openly at Benjy’s erection. He puts his thumb under the waistband of his underwear.

“Past the point of no return?”

“Drop em.” Forest says, his voice so low it’s almost a growl.

“Whatever you say, Professor.”

Forest’s laugh turns into a groan when Benjy unceremoniously drops his underwear and stands fully naked in his own kitchen.

“Come here.”

Benjy barely has time to obey before Forest is covering his body with his own, lifting Benjy again easily and stumble walking them to the kitchen counter. The tiles are cold on his ass and he thinks for a moment that he’s definitely going to have to disinfect in the morning when Forest nips at his bottom lip and pulls him out of his head. Forest’s hands are everywhere, and Benjy gasps when the back of his knuckles brush alongside his shaft, teasing him. Benjy desperately starts undoing the buttons on Forest’s shirt, pushing his button up off of his shoulders to reveal an unsurprisingly sculpted chest. Their kisses grow more intense and for a moment he’s not being touched as he hears the crinkling of some plastic and then the sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Forest pushes on his shoulder so Benjy falls flat on his back and spreads his legs in one easy motion. He hears more crinkling, groaning as he watches Forest lube up his fingers. He enters him without much pretense, the desperation Benjy feels mirrored in Forest’s quick, jerking movements. He adds a second finger too soon, but Benjy moans at the sting, the roughness and dirtiness of what they were doing only turning him on more. When he’s prepped, Forest grabs his shoulders roughly and pulls him up off the counter. His cock presses into Benjy’s stomach as he kisses him ferociously, all teeth and tongue and moaning into each other instead of breathing. The same rough grasp turns Benjy around and pushes his upper half flat onto the counter. His head turns to one side as Benjy pants, his brain barely able to process what’s happening as a large hand rests on the bottom of his neck, the other lifting his hips, spreading his legs and-

“Fuck!”

Forest slams into him, so deep and so hard, that Benjy’s pretty sure he leaves his body. He hits his prostrate again and again, not letting up for a second and before Benjy can even say something, he’s coming all over himself in long hot spurts, the noises leaving him barely human as his vision completely whites out. He’s only slightly aware of the hand on his neck tightening as Forest comes deep inside of him, causing Benjy to cry out with him as he becomes over sensitive.

They stay like that for who knows how long, panting and trying to come back down to Earth. He feels Forest move behind him as he pulls out, his hand lowering his hips and then moving up to tenderly trace the curve of his ass cheek.

“God Benjy. I think I might just wanna keep you.”

Benjy, still beyond words or movement, whines in response. Forest keeps touching him and Benjy closes his eyes, feeling electric in his come down and enjoying the physical admiration.

“I have to go.” Forest says finally. Benjy whines again, which makes Forest chuckle sadly.

“I know, honey. I wish I could stay.”

A regretful hand traces down his spine as Forest finally pulls away. Benjy hears rustling behind him, but can’t really be bothered to look.

“I wrote down my office number. Give me a call tomorrow. I have to see you again.”

Forest comes around the counter to kiss Benjy once, twice, before pulling away and heading out the door without another word. Benjy, left alone and still covered in come on his kitchen counter, wonders what the hell he’d just gotten himself in to.

[lycorogue]

Meet My OCs: Willow (Part 1 - Background)

Sorry this post was delayed a week. Sorry again that it’s 11pm on Sunday, so I almost missed my publication deadline AGAIN! 

I really did aim to get this up for my weekly Sunday updates of this series. However, Willow proved to be a bit more detailed than I gave her credit, resulting in her introductory post taking the better part of a week to write up and edit.

Before I get further into this post, however, have you had a chance to read my intro posts? They're not needed, but they do provide added context.

Part 1: What is this “Meet My OCs” series, and what was my inspiration when creating the worlds these characters live in?

Part 2: What IRL inspiration helped me create my four main OCs for my Gyateara stories?

Part 3a: What is the X-Future play-by-post game, and what inspired the creation of the main characters for Glitches?

Part 3b: What X-Men canonical characters needed to be reworked for Glitches, and how have they changed to become more original creations?

Feel free to check those out, and then come back. Otherwise, links will also be at the end of this post for your convenience.

Now then, let's get into the true meat and potatoes of this series, starting with the character I tend to unintentionally favor. The one who has the most visual presence. The one whose introduction was so massive (over 30pgs long in a Word document) that I had to split it into 6 parts to avoid overwhelming people (this may still overwhelm, though; sorry). These Meet My OCs posts are getting beefy.... I think I’ll have to switch to every OTHER Sunday for the updates.... Anyway, be prepared for a nice 6-post dump onto your dash!

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Willow “Wisp” Driver

I was the one who watermarked that pic, BTW, to make sure Willow can't be swiped by anyone...

And, can we also give another quick shout out to @edendaphne​ for the beautiful commission work on my baby girl?

Anyway, Willow was my second X-Future character, and quickly climbed the ranks to one of my most prominent and vocal characters of all time. Check below for Part 1 of Willow's intro, which includes a broad overview of who Willow is, and some backstory for her. In a few minutes, I'll also have up Part 2, which talks more about Willow's main relationships: her family, her friends, and her romances. Later, I'll post Part 3, which talks about her basic storyline within X-Future, and how it relates to my intended starter arc for her in Glitches. In Part 4, I showcase some more artwork of Willow, followed by some narrative scene examples in Part 5. Finally, I’ll conclude with Part 6: wrestler entrances for Hubby’s WWE13 game.

Overview: 

Willow was 15 when she was first created back in 2012. She is currently 18 in our game. She's about average height at 5'4” (162.56cm), and has a fairly lean body. She's not overtly muscular, but she is sculpted due to her favorite form of exercise: parkour/free-running, an activity she started after school when she was 10 in order to help burn off extra energy. She's playful, flirty, a mischievous prankster, bubbly, and has a bit of a snarky/sarcastic attitude. She's also cunning, a bit manipulative, incredibly passionate, and surprisingly cautious and suspicious. She tends to surprise people by having a different view of life than most expect, making her playful when most might be somber, making her angered when most would be relieved, or making her harsh when most would be sympathetic. (examples of these outlooks will be in Part 5)

Further Physical Description:

Her hair is naturally a silvery-white, but that's too “grandma” and “bland” looking for her, especially with such pale Irish-American skin. So, to accent her aquamarine eye color, she routinely streaks the silver with blue. The shade of blue varies from dye to dye.

Family:

Willow's mother Meryl is a “normal” human. However, Willow's father Jacob Driver is a mutant (glitch). He has the power to “manipulate” any object so it looks like whatever he wants, as long as it's roughly the same shape, size, and weight. For instance, a chunk of cement could appear to be a large, raw ruby. A stack of blank paper can look like a first draft manuscript of a famous novel. A flashlight can look like a stick of dynamite, and children's play money can look like $100 bills. (Yes, Jacob was inspired by Hook Waters and the Shifting ability from the 2009 movie “Push,” and the categories for The GRID are also inspired by “Push”). Now, the objects aren't physically changed in any form. Instead, Jacob drapes the items within the illusionary forms he desires. His targets will 100% believe the objects are what Jacob claims, as long as they are indeed the correct size, shape, and weight; giving the items the tactile features the illusions suggest. Non-targets of Jacob's powers, however, will see the object for what it truly is. So, if someone accepts the “raw ruby” from Jacob, and takes it to a jeweler, said jeweler will simply see the original chunk of cement.

In his youth, Jacob had used his ability to manipulate items in order to swindle his way through life: making his homework appear done, his dissertation seem ingenious, his wallet always look filled with large bills, etc. He was eventually caught, and served some jail time. He was released early on good behavior, and ended up meeting Meryl, who turned him from a life of crime and swindling. (In the Glitches version, Jacob even had a bit of a playful con-artist rivalry with Ryder, and both men went legit after meeting their wives).

Now trying to stay off the radar as much as possible, Jacob resisted using his powers. He also avoided the public visibility of protesting at mutant/glitch rallies, deciding instead to silently protest mutant/glitches injustice from his home via online boards and petitions. Jacob also made a point of following the latest mutant/glitches news reports, even with his children Shawn and Willow within earshot, much to Meryl's disapproval due to the violence usually talked about in the reports. The news affected Shawn and Willow differently than Meryl originally expected, and the two would pretend to have battles using the various superpowers they heard about via the news.

Powers: 

Willow has the power of illusion. To be more technical, she has the telepathic ability to make her target's brain believe an illusion so faithfully that it becomes a seemingly physical manifestation. They actually hear what Willow wants them to hear, see what she wants them to see, taste the flavors she mentally puts into their mouths, and smell the scents she coats her illusions with. Most importantly, through a secondary use of her telekinetic powers, she can have her illusions have a “physical” form to those targeted to experience them. She can lift someone off the ground to make them feel like they're flying, falling, or climbing. She can mentally push down on someone to create the feeling of weight. She can also manipulate parts of the brain so the illusions have texture. The target can feel the cool lick of water splashing against their legs, the sharpness of a needle pricking their skin, the softness of satin, the frigid cold of a snow storm, the rough texture of sandpaper, etc. For all intents and purposes, for Willow's target, the illusions are physical manifestations.

When Willow first started using her powers, she could only concentrate on the two main senses of sight and sound. If she wanted to target more than one person, or if she wanted her illusions to affect more senses, she had to shift to the psychic world of the Astral Plane, causing her to fall unconscious as her consciousness transitioned onto the other level of existence. While on the Astral Plane, she could also use her telepathy to read minds and communicate telepathically. After some practice, she was able to learn to condense the psychic energy of the Astral Plane into a weapon (psy-weapon) she could use while on that plane.

Now that Willow is 18, she has much better control of her powers. She can create fully immersive illusions targeting up to 20 people within a quarter-mile radius (402m). She can use her telepathy for communication and reconnaissance for up to 5 people within the same quarter-mile radius. She can also use telekinesis to lift a collective weight of up to 600lbs (~272kg) within a 30ft (9.14m) radius. All of this without having to shift to the Astral Plane. When she does move to the other plane of existence, her powers increase 10-fold.

One of her favorite illusions, which also truly showcases her base personally, is turning herself into her version of the Cheshire Cat. One can usually tell that Willow has a prank or other mischievous plan in mind when she manifests cat ears, a tail, and a cat-like grin.

Image generated via gen8′s Chibi Maker on deviantart.

Power Manifestation: 

As mentioned above, when they were kids, Shawn and Willow would run around their backyard in San Diego, California, and pretend to use superpowers to battle either each other or an imaginary foe. They would pretend they had telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, wings, pyrokinesis, electrokinesis, accelerated healing, energy blasts, etc. One day, when Willow was 11, she became upset that her nearly 13-year-old brother was refusing to play pretend anymore. While nagging him to play with her, she imagined herself throwing fireballs at Shawn. He then actually saw the fireballs aimed at him, as well as the fire damage the dodged balls created. Understandably, he ran, terrified, and screaming for their parents.

Jacob, still trying to stay as far off-radar as possible, avoided sending Willow to a “Mutant Only” school, and instead tried to train her to control herself and her powers. It was tricky, though, since she showcased different powers on any given day, making it hard to know what her abilities actually were. Her imagination also expanded with her powers, and she soon reveled in the thrill of pulling pranks with her ability, usually resulting in terrorizing Shawn. After two years of Willow “playfully” tormenting her brother – as well as some classmates – Jacob finally caved, and sent Willow to the Colossus Academy; a sister location to the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters. 

It was at the Academy that a telepath was able to finally figure out Willow's power of illusion and manipulation, and helped start Willow's training. While Willow continued to pull pranks, they weren't nearly as mean spirited as they were towards her brother.

In the Glitches rework, Emily’s school on the east coast is the only place Willow is sent. I’m still reworking the timeframe of everything now that I don’t have those 2 extra years between Willow discovering her powers and going to the school. I do know that Willow is sent to Emily’s school because of Jacob’s connection with her husband Ryder.

Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters:

In X-Future, Willow originally went to the west coast branch of the Xavier Institute: Colossus Academy, appropriately run by Piotr “Colossus” Rasputin. Willow stayed at the Academy from age 13 through 15; grades 8 and 9. While at the Academy, she became best friends with her roommate Noelle “Penumbra” Firada. She also became close with Marjory “Lookout” Allodis, the girl tasked to keep her safe whenever Willow went into the Astral Plane, leaving her lifeless body defenseless. A young boy named Winston “Hedge” Michaels became a bit of an unwanted tag-along. He was only two years younger than Willow, but the introverted and awkward boy with virtually no social skills latched onto her as an unwanted and bothersome younger brother figure.

When Willow was 15 and nearing the conclusion of her second year at the Academy, Colossus and his wife Jubilee were needed for a crucial X-Men-related mission. Neither of them returned home. Delegates from the Xavier Institute were sent to the Colossus Academy so the students could finish their school year, as well as figure out where to go next. Then, once summer hit, the Academy was shut down. A lot of the students were sent to the east coast and the Institute. Once there, Willow originally stuck with her core group of Noelle (Penny), Marjory (Marge), and Winston. Willow's a friendly enough person, outgoing and inviting, so it didn't take long for her to make friends with Devon, Chayse, and Lia, as well as create a playful rivalry with a classmate named William.

For more about these relationships, check out Part 2 of Meet Willow.

Willow's Style: 

Her base style started off a bit punk/rocker/scene, similar to the early 2000's fashion Rogue and Boom-Boom wore in X-Men: Evolution. Over the past 7yrs since I created Willow, her style toned down a little bit. She still wears fairly form-fitting outfits and short skirts, though. Her main color scheme trends towards blue and white, to match her hair.

Willow's a borderline exhibitionist, always teetering on that line between showing off enough to excite onlookers, and leaving JUUUUUST enough to the imagination. She has budding curves, and she's perfectly fine showing them off to everyone. In fact, much like Trish, Willow has an unofficial theme song herself: “I Get Off” by Halestorm

Willow doesn’t really care who you are when she flirts and teases. All she cares about is if she's getting your blood pumping, if you end up desiring her, and if she's riling you up somehow. She's just turned on by someone else getting turned on by her. She's much more modest than she lets on, though, and rarely follows through with any sexual acts. Instead, she uses her powers of illusion to create a copy of herself, and lets the copy continue along with the act, should the other person wish to go along still. She's so used to deceit and manipulation, thanks to her powers and how she uses them, that it's actually hard for her to find full trust in others. As much as she teases that sex is all well-and-good fun, deep down she knows she, personally, would regret participating with her own body unless she fully trusted her partner.

Her desire to get others riled up and turned on even extends to using her illusions to try to draw other couples together. Especially with a bunch of “Will they; won't they”, she has fun having an illusion of one trying to seduce the other, just to see where the snag in their “will they” might be. Plus, she loves watching her classmates blush.

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Welp, there’s your broad introduction to Willow. Now to move on to Part 2, where I’ll talk a bit more about her main relationships.

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While waiting for Part 2, you can also check out my introductory posts for this over-all Meet My OCs series.

Quick recap this series thus far, in Part 1 I talked about why I wanted to do this series in a bit more depth than I did above, and I talk about the real world inspiration for creating my two main worlds:

Gyateara – a high fantasy world that will, presumably, house many self-contained series that may or may not interconnect beyond all taking place on the same planet

Glitches – a pseudo-cyberpunk future AU of Earth where mutated humans – known as Glitches – must fight for equality, and even survival, while also dealing with the normal dramas of puberty.

In Part 2 of my series, I explained the real-world inspiration for my four main Gyateara OCs:

Amara Yori

Jolene Crisslebalm

Natalie

Connor

Part 3 of this series went a bit long, so it was broken down into its own two-parter. In Part 3a, I talked about the creation of the four main characters of Glitches:

Chayse

Lia

Willow

Trish

For Part 3b of this series, I explained the canonical character origins of my adult Glitches, and how they've been reworked to create my still-evolving adult support characters for Glitches:

Matteo

Emily

Ryder

Keahi

Cody

Iggy

Alright, this long post is becoming more epic, so I'll catch you guys in Meet Willow Part 2 in a few minutes!

[pitchtocontact]

third eye

im gonna try my hand at a star trek au, because...i love star trek. and misawa. 

i haven’t planned this all out yet, but i want to write it in a few parts, so here’s the first one. it’s more of a preface than an actual chapter, laying out some groundwork. 

--

When all you’re left with is nothing, danger turns into a foreign concept. That’s the kind of attitude you’ll need if you’re thinking of joining the Medical Emergency Evacuation Service. Come hell or high water, they’ll be there when you call.

tw for graphic depictions of major injury.

Eijun is ripped from sleep by the blaring wail of a red alert siren, his sleeping quarters suddenly pulsating red from the warning light above his door. As he sits up, he feels an unfamiliar tremble from the ship, the glass of water he had set on his nightstand rattling for a moment before settling.

Unnerved, he throws his covers off and darts toward the comm unit attached to his wall. The display is awake with the words RED ALERT slowly gliding across it in a loop, the phrase spelled out in several languages following it. He hadn't been paying much attention when he was given the tour of the ship and shown how to use the device by the security officer, too excited about getting to their destination to care all that much, but in this moment he very much wished he had. He taps the screen a few times, but there is no apparent change, the warning message staying put under his finger. Feeling a little foolish, he says “Computer, report,” but this too yields no forthcoming response.

As he stands there willing the device to work, another tremble rocks the ship, this time strong enough to force Eijun to take a steadying step behind himself so he doesn't fall. Directly following the motion comes the unmistakable sound of the ship’s hull moaning under some unknown pressure. Fear sweeps through Eijun like wildfire as the alert switches from a siren to a voice.

“Warning, collision alert. Brace for impact. Collision to occur in: 45 seconds. Warning, collision alert. Brace for impact. Collision to occur in: 40 seconds.”

Suddenly out of breath, Eijun gasps. He whips his head around, trying to locate the place where he is supposed to brace for impact in the deep ominous red light his room is bathed in. Seeing none, he scrambles for his door and bursts into the ship's main hallway as the alert tells him he has 30 seconds to find something to hang onto. What's safe to hold onto? Should he brace himself in a doorway like an earthquake drill? Or is he supposed to stay in the open because he's in spa--

“Eijun!” He hears from behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He turns to find his mother rushing toward him, his father close behind. They look just as disheveled as he probably looks, no doubt woken violently by the alarms as he had been.

25 seconds.

“What's happening? What do we do?” He says in a rush. There's a steady flow of panicked people rushing in both directions as they stand still in the hallway. “Which way do we..”

“Hell if I know,” his father grumbles, pushing Eijun and his mother in the direction they had been going at a slow jog, joining the flow of people deciding to go in the same direction. Eijun hopes it's the right one.

20 seconds.

“Eijun, where is Wakana?” his mother asks.

A jolt of panic shoots down his spine. “I...don't know! I don't remember her room number!” He looks around as though she might appear out of nowhere, but she does not. “Mom we have to find her!” He turns around to go back the way they’d come, but his father grabs him roughly around the shoulders and turns him back around.

“We can't--”

15 seconds.

“--look for her now. Let's hope she's ahead of us,” he says, and it's the first time he's ever heard his father sound so desperate. Wakana is part of their family, his father considers her as close as a daughter. He's just as worried as Eijun, so he obeys his father's order and begins jogging faster.

A countdown begins as the 10 second mark is reached, and the ship is hit with another wave of unsteady trembles. Dead ahead, people are piling into a standard close-range transport shuttle, the kind they had used to travel from Earth to the ship. They run in, jumping the small gap where the shuttle is attached to the ship by some kind of flexible rubber Eijun had commented looked like an accordion when they’d first arrived. A security officer stands at the door, hand braced over the hatch control, waiting until the last moment to shut the compartment door, allowing as many people on as he can.

“Closing in 3, 2, --”

“Wait!” A panicked yell draws everyone’s attention, and Eijun sees Wakana and her parents running with another group of people trailing behind her. They’re further down the hall. Far enough to make Eijun’s stomach turn sour. “Wait for us!” She yells.

The collision countdown reaches 5 seconds, and Eijun whips around, jumping back onto the ship to reach Wakana’s outstretched hand.

“Eijun, no!” He hears his mother cry, and then she screams, because the security officer pulls the door hatch, closing it in an instance and cutting off her anguished pleas.

“Mom!” He turns back around and bangs on the sealed airlock door that closed along with the shuttle. He hears the shuttle detach just as Wakana runs into him, grabbing at him desperately. A moment later, her parents shove them to the ground, covering them. Bracing them.

“2, Brace for immediate impact.”

A moment of stillness and calm washes over them as everyone braces, a collective breath held from all who did not enter the shuttle in time.

Then, chaos. An explosion of sound surrounds them as they’re flung from their prone position and slammed into the nearby wall. Someone’s elbow jabs directly into Eijun’s eye, but before he even has time to scream out in pain, he’s flung again to the ground and a pain he has never experienced rattles through his entire right arm. He takes a gasping breath, but that too hurts in a way he’s never felt. He can do nothing but lay there, being slammed around by whatever they’re colliding with, getting more injured with every passing second. The metal grating on the floor slices every bit of skin it touches as he slides across it over and over, his clothes shredding into strips. He feels it when his ankle breaks, but has no more capacity for pain, he simply acknowledges that it happened.

After what feels like a lifetime of torture, the relentless onslaught of collisions dissipates, and he’s left lying facedown, his nose scraped raw and bleeding from the grating. He can tell he hasn’t lost his vision, but still he cannot see anything. Everything around him is dark and silent. He hears no voices, but he’s not making any sound either, so he doesn’t think about it too much.

Another wave of trembles has him closing his eyes and tensing in a useless attempt at bracing himself again, but they aren’t nearly as violent. Whatever hits them this time only has enough impact to turn Eijun from facing down to facing up so that he’s looking at the ceiling. In an odd moment of awe, he sees that it’s not actually dark in the ship, it’s still running on emergency power, dim yellow lights illuminating the hallways just enough to not be pitch dark. He stares up, blinking lazily, unable to even turn his head. Small tremors keep rocking the ship, and with each small movement, his injuries scream at him, his breath hitches, and his muscles tense involuntarily.

Someone far away from him coughs once, followed by a choking sound, and then silence. He can barely hear it. It’s the only sound he hears for the next hour. He wonders why his body is waiting so long to pass out. He’d love to sleep right about now, but his pain keeps him from doing just that. He decides to simply stare straight up, and count how many times he blinks until something happens.

--

122 blinks later, something happens. A buzzing sound directly above him, or maybe slightly to his left, he can’t be sure. It buzzes for a time. It buzzes for 11 blinks. Then, the awful screeching sound of warping metal.

Voices follow that sound, which is the last thing Eijun expects.

“Could you cut a bigger hole next time, jackass? I can barely squeeze through here,” an exasperated male voice says where the buzzing noise had come from. The voice wasn’t speaking in Standard or Japanese, so Eijun was having trouble understanding. After thinking on the sounds for a moment, he recognized it as English.

“Not my fault you’re getting fat,” replies another male voice in English. “Life signs?”

“Scanning,” says the first. “Shit, right here. Like, right here, Miyuki. This guy.”

A silhouette obscures his view of nothing, and then suddenly the brightest light he’s ever seen assaults his eyes, shooting pain up into his head. He clenches his eyes shut.

“Conscious, responsive to basic stimuli,” the same voice states, presumably to whoever Miyuki is, although he’s still facing Eijun. He hears the beeping of a tricorder roaming over his body, followed by a small gasp. “Damn, he’s critical. We need to beam him out, now.” He feels something being clipped to his shirt.

“Medical, this is Alpha sweep. Crit coming your way, acknowledge,” not-Miyuki says into a communicator, speaking in Standard this time.

“All clear, Alpha sweep, ready to receive, over,” he hears, the tinny voice coming out of both their communicators.

His view fills with a shiny haze, and suddenly he is no longer on the dark ship. He’s vaguely aware that he’s just been transported somewhere, but he still can’t see anywhere but straight up, and straight up is just more lights, so he closes his eyes. A rush of movement around him, and suddenly his body is being moved. He can’t take it. The pain shoots through his body and it feels a million times worse, somehow, like it was all happening at the same time, in this single moment. His head throbs and he feels his body go through huge waves and numbness and unbearable pain over and over.

“He’s seizing!” someone above him shouts. “Brace him down gently, he has a lot of fractures.” Strange strips of cloth are placed over his chest and knees. He hears an alarming number of hypospray hisses, but feels none of them. However, shortly after he hears them, he feels his pain dissipate dramatically. He lets out a deep sigh.

“Good, good. Deep breaths.” More tricorder beeps. “Minor. Convulsions stopped after 10 seconds, responding positively to medication. Alright, let’s get you attached to a drip.” The ceiling above him starts moving, and then stops moving. Someone lifts his left arm and roughly taps into the crook of his elbow a few times before he feels a prick in the same spot. Something gets clamped to his middle and index fingers. “I bet you’d like to sleep right about now, huh? Well my friend, you’re in luck. I’m the sandman,” a happy voice says, before another hypo hits his neck and the world floats away.

[x-dudes]

Can you do a Poe x reader where the reader is a sarcastic mechanic. She and Poe constantly argue like they hate each other but in reality it’s like they’re flirting unknowingly. While arguing, Poe interrupts her by kissing her? If that makes sense

Notes: Totally does!! I gotchu. Also, from the moment I started writing this Han and Leia parallels (without all the toxic tendencies in their relationship) just grabbed at me and I almost couldn’t resist. hope you like it!!! It’s kind of long so you can find it under the cut for convenience sake.

Published: December 28th, 2017

Warnings: Some spoilers for The Last Jedi? Nothing too major. I’d say it kind of spoils the opening scene but it was put under a read more link regardless.

-

The sweltering heat of the main ship’s gas system almost overcame you, causing heavy beads of sweat to drip from the skin of your face, neck, and back as you worked vigorously on your repairs. A little BB unit sat propped up on your workbench, with it’s center panel opened as you examined the mainframe. Moments earlier he had gone through major electrical damage, evident still in the singed appearance of the orange paint and the heat the droid still radiated hours later, and you were assessing the damage from within, hoping silently it wouldn’t be anything that couldn’t be repaired with what you had available.

“How’s he looking?” A voice called, breaking you from your concentration. You flinched slightly, causing your hand to press against the heated metal of the droid’s outer shell and obtain an oblong burn across your forearm. Though recognizing the voice in question, you refused to let yourself appear anything less than snide and disdainful as you finally lifted your head up to lock eyes.

“Don’t talk to me.” You answered, turning your chair back to the little droid and placing your electric wedge between two magnetic plates along the damaged perimeter of his body.

“(Y/N),-”

“Poe, I’m working, and unlike your job, mine consists of serious concentration and deliberate thought.” You scorned, sending an electric shock through the metallic plates of the wedge and effectively rebooting the droid’s motion system.

“Woah, woah, woah, be careful with my droid.” He chuckled.

“His gyrosystem was in permanent motion lock. Y’know that thing that allows him to even move in the first place? Although, I think it might do him some good to do something other than follow you blindly. So did you want a frozen droid? ‘Cause I can always take out one of his chips if tha-

“I think I get it.”

“No, Poe, I don’t think you do get it.” You snapped. “BB-8 almost died out there- I don’t know if you believe that droids can die like that, I know it’s kind of a ‘controversial’ topic.” You placed air quotes around the word controversial. “But I do. I believe that there’s some other part to them that we can’t build or program. You see it in BB-8, don’t you? He sees it in himself. I know he does.- He’s in here kind of frequently you know?” Of course, it couldn’t be some sort of talk with (Y/N) without a snarky comment or sarcastic remark. “And he risked it all, knowing that this could mean everything, to help you be a careless idiot, because he trusts you. He did it because he loves you.” For once, Poe stood before you completely wordless. Any thoughts of what he could say all died down in his throat before they had the chance to surface. The thick silence was cut with the sounds of happy whirring and chirping as the familiar little droid powered back up. Poe only watched as (Y/N) screwed his plate back into place and gave everything a good shake to test for durability. BB let out a series of low whistles, causing you to laugh as you met the droid’s gaze.

“Sorry, sorry. Hey, Beebee, how ya’ feeling?” He whirred in response. “I can imagine…” You replied as you cleaned the sweat and oil from her palms. You stood up to stroke his side, and Poe watched carefully as the little droid leaned into your touch, hearing your words from just moments earlier play on loop in his head. “Well, I think you’re very brave.”

“Oh, but I’m careless?” Poe gloated, nudging your shoulder with his fingers as he pulled closer to your workbench.

“I think you’re certainly something.” You taunted.

“What kind of something?”

“Well, the last time I was as mean to you as I’d like to be, General Organa called me into her quarters to scold me.” You teased in return, a faint smile playing at the corners of your lips just faint enough for BB-8 alone to notice. “…to say the least.”

“Wait, her quarters?”

“Yeah, and I was still really young and real new to the Resistance mech team, too, so I was convinced that I was going to walk out of there wearing my ass as a hat or something because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.” You chuckled.

“Oh, man, I don’t even remember what happened that day. What did you do?”

“I think that was one of many times I would threaten to beat you senseless if you didn’t start taking better care of BB-8.” You quipped. “Poor fella…”

“So what’d she do to you? You know, (Y/N), I think ass hats are going to be the next big fashion trend of the decade.” He taunted, scooting closer to your seat on the workbench. You replied with a tempting ‘hmm?’ which he couldn’t help but smirk at. “Yeah, because you are one.”

“Fuck off, Poe.” You replied, shoving him roughly from his seat with a visible smirk. “Getoutta here, your atrocious face and horrendous personality make my working conditions just about unbearable.”

“And we were getting along so well…” He mocked, wiping an imaginary tear as he lifted BB-8 from the table and placed him on the laminate flooring of the ship.

“Uh uh uh, what do you think you’re doing with h-”

“I’m taking him home? As he is mine and I think I have the right to do so?”

“And what makes you so sure he’s all fixed up? That one flight repair won’t turn him into scrap metal and spare parts?” You countered. He stood silent. “Yeah, thought so.” You crouched to speak one-on-one with BB, hearing him whir conflictedly. “Hey, I never said you couldn’t go. Just go easy on yourself, alright? And check up with me at least once every couple of days until I say otherwise, you got that?” The droid rolled his head to signal he understood. “That means no being reckless for you, either. Promise?” BB-8 extended one of his thin metal arms from his chest in a sort of pinky-promise. Your little finger wrapped around the arm with a grin as you stood up to face Poe once again. “If he ends up back in here, I’ll have you wearing your ass as a hat. Are we clear?”

“I’m sorry, princess.” He sneered, one eyebrow raised in his signature Poe Dameron fashion that you’ve grown to resent. “But I think I can handle him.”

“You fucking better…” You called, though he and the little droid were already stepping away.

BB-8 chirped his concerns through the speaker, trying to keep his voice low until they turned the corner. It came out as more of a question than anything else, though it still made Poe chuckle in disbelief.

“Like her?” He repeated. “Yeah, I guess she’s alright…”

“I told you, I told you if he found himself in there one more time, Poe, I wouldn’t fucki-”

“Yeah, I’m aware, princess, what did you expect me to do? I needed him. We can’t all sit along the edge of the battlefield doing-”

“Call me princess one more time see if I don’t smack you into next year.” You threatened, feeling him grow closer with each insult spewed at each other. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t report to the General that you’re unfit to hold a droid and that BB-8 should essentially be repossessed.” You prompted. He turned his head in serious thought, making you realize only now that you could feel his warm breath fan out against your cheeks.

“Shit- (Y/N), you can’t be seriou-”

“I’m absolutely serious. You and Organa are already kind of on thin ice here, Poe, and for good reason, too. It wouldn’t be very hard at all to report the instances in which-”

“Well then why haven’t ya’, (Y/N)?! Huh?!” Poe snapped slamming his fist on to your workbench with such force, and at such a close proximity that it was second nature to jump.

“Poe,” You began, evening your voice out so were no longer shouting. Fighting wasn’t your goal, you reminded yourself. 

“With such an active effort to call me out on every mistake I make with ‘im, why haven’t you just turned me in already?”

“Poe, I-”

“No, I don’t want anymore bullshit from you, (Y/N)! I wan-”

“Because I didn’t report them, Poe! I DIDN’T REPORT ANY OF BB’S PREVIOUS DAMAGES BECAUSE I KNEW IT WOULD GET YOU INTO A LOAD OF SHIT YOU DIDN’T NEED TO BE IN, EVEN THOUGH IT WAS AGAINST VERY STRICT RESISTANCE CODE THAT I DID, ESPECIALLY WHEN SAID DROID HAS HELD INFORMATION CRITICAL TO THE ENTIRE WELLBEING OF THE RESISTANCE. ALL BECAUSE I WAS TRYING TO KEEP YOU OFF THE BENCH AND AWAY FROM THE SHITTY SIDELINES AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, BECAUSE WITH HOW OFTEN BB-8 IS IN HERE I ACTUALLY KIND OF BEGAN TO BELIEVE IN YOU. A LONG TIME AGO, ACTUALLY. BEFORE FLEEING D’QAR, BEFORE THE BLACK SQUADRON, MAYBE EVEN BEFORE YOU BECAME ‘THE POE DAMERON’ POSTERCHILD PILOT OF THE RESISTANCE WHO EVERYONE BUT LEIA’S AFRAID TO CALL OUT, BECAUSE THEY THINK HE CAN DO NO WRONG.” You stopped to catch your breath in short pants, realizing you had moved yourself even closer as you screamed at him. You spoke again, voice now gravelly and soft from misuse, yet still just strong enough to speak your peace. “God, you’re such an idiot. Although I guess this is partially my fault, because I didn’t realize at the time that you were actually kind of a prick- stop that.”

“Stop what?” Poe replied, stepping closer with his signature eyebrow raised in a taunting look. Although this time it was different, and you couldn’t place why.

“Looking at me like that.” You answered.

“Looking at you like what, princess?”

“Stop calling me that.” You stated softly.

“What, Princess?” You nod bitterly. “Weren’t you a princess?” He recalls, thinking back briefly to a conversation he overheard between yourself and Leia.

“Not exactly. Though this is something you would know if you bothered to pay mind to anybody but yourself f-” Your snide remarks died on your lips as Poe feverishly closed the distance, pressing his own to yours. He pulled away, a smug look marking his features. “What? Do you think that just kissing a woman solves all of your problems? You questioned, sneering angrily, yet placing your hands over his chest and keeping him in place by the lapels of his jacket.

“Not exactly. But the years worth of backed up sexual and romantic tension? That’s another story.” You rolled your eyes in a dramatic display, pushing him away from you with a soft thud. He furrowed his brow, unsure of whether to follow as you walked away.

“My shift ends at seven.” You explained, turning back to meet his confused gaze a few feet behind you with a taunting smile. “You want to wait up for me? We can finish this afterwards.”

[8cetera]

Pity The Child

Pity the child but not forever, not if he stays that way He can get all he ever wanted, if he's prepared to pay

Bland.

Miserably bland.

She dragged the unevenly cut pieces of beef across the plate. The sauce creating streaks against the white ceramic.

The bland sauce, she thought once more.

What purpose did the sauce have, being bland?

Nothing. It only contributed to the burden of the problem. Hell, it was the root course of it.

She eyed the salt shaker situated at arms length, and after a second thought decided to go for it. Rolling the small dispenser in her palm, she sighed deeply before turning it upside down to the direction of her dish.

She needed to get rid of all this blandness.

She watched the grains fall through the small holes with ease; dissolving immediately against the hot food. She shook it roughly a few more times before returning the glass container to its original position.

Stabbing the meat hastily, she was now slightly hopeful that the taste crisis had been lifted. She brought the fork close to her mouth, her lips barely touching the savory piece, and blew gently.

She winced at the initial contact; not only because she had just inadvertently burned her tongue, but also due to the overbearing saltiness that suddenly taken place in her taste buds. She dropped her fork, ignoring the clanging sound it made when it had hit the plate and table. Covering her face with her now shaking hands, she also tried her best to ignore the tears that formed without invitation or warning.

“Let me go with you.”

She relaxed her fingers slightly so she could peek at owner of the voice sitting at the other end of the table. Doing so distracted herself enough that she had managed to stop the tears from falling.

Instead she focused her attention his now empty plate; a sight that pulled a heart string or two. He was indulging her; she would have to thank him at some point tonight.

Her eyes quickly traveled upwards, past his crumpled shirt and loosened tie, and finally onto his face. What she saw, entwined with the face she loved wholeheartedly, was an expression that was both alien and familiar to her.

Alien because she was certain that he had never looked at her that way in the past; familiar because when she was growing up, everyone she knew presented various versions of it. Allowing herself a few more moments to be sure; an overbearing layer of sadness filled her as her own conclusion began to settle.

It was pity.

She wiped her cheeks harshly before getting up suddenly. Determined to not let feelings of frustration take over, she grabbed her plate off the table and she turned towards the sink. But she stopped, then, and looked over her shoulder. She caught a glimpse of the pitied look once more, now mixed in with one of inquisition.

She realized then that he was still waiting for her response. Her heels turned to head over his side of the table to retrieve his plate as well.

“I told you no, Rafael- why are you bringing it up again?”

Instead of replying he held her forearm gently, not keeping her from what she was doing, but just as a form of contact.

The first of the evening, she thought to herself.

“Because I can see that it’s bothering you.”

His thumb drew a small line on her skin, and while she momentarily found comfort in it, she made the choice of cutting it short.

“What gave you that idea? I’m fine-”

She left the sentence hanging behind her, but within seconds they were both by the sink. Hovering over it as though there was something of huge interest.

“You know me better than to believe you.”

She closed her eyes in defeat before setting the dishes and turning the faucet on. She focused on the sound of the water beginning to fill the plates. Knowing full well that he was not going to let go until the conversation rendered, she began to admit to the emotions that clouded her mind.

“Alright, fine-”

She reached for the sponge and squeezed far more than necessary detergent on to it.

“I’m nervous. And scared. And worried-”

She could sense that her voice was getting louder, competing with her scrubbing and the sound of the water that continued to pour out. It was senseless, but it also brought an odd sense of relief.

“And confused- and- and I don’t know what to do.”

She tossed the sponge into the soap filled pan and placed her hands on her hips. The frustration from earlier that she did not want exposed finally drew its way out.

He moved closer, and for a second she thought he was going to hug her. While she debated if she would welcome it or not, it became evident that he was only doing it to take over washing duty.

As he rolled his sleeves up, she took a couple of steps back to give him room.

The two devoted their interest once more to the sink before he broke the silence.  

“You didn’t have to say yes if you felt this way. You can still say no.”

“I told you it’s not that simple. My grandparents- they arranged everything for him to be here. They need this.”

“Is it worth all the torment you’ve been doing to yourself the last few weeks?”

“If you knew anything about it, you would already know that my answer is yes.”

“I may know more than you think.”

She quickly turned to face her partner. Memories of arguments that almost happened resurfaced and she could not help but part her lips a little.

“Rafael, you never want to talk about him.”

He nodded slowly; almost hesitantly.

“That’s true, I don’t- Forgive my sounding defensive, but neither do you.”

She looked away, embarrassed at his words disguised as a harsh truth. When he looked over with hints of apologies painted on his face, she had no doubt in her mind that it mirrored her own.

“I just assumed you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Your assumption was right, and I had made the same one for you. The topic of our fathers has never been relevant until now. There was no reason to bring it up.”

She was quiet.

Not because she didn’t have anything to say. She did. She just didn’t know what to say first; and if she even should say anything.

It occurred to her that she was jealous. She wished she could have regarded the situation as simply as he did. That he could come home, eat her bland cooking, and wash the dishes with barely a care in the world.

While she on the other hand, felt as though the very thought of it was going to break her.

He shook the two plates and lined them on the dish rack.

“I was nine when it started getting bad. It might have even started before that but nine is the age I recall the most clearly- maybe because it was also the age I got ambitious.”

His smirk allowed for some relief of the tension that formed between the two.

“I’d be upstairs and I would hear them fighting for hours on end. Shouting. Things being thrown. Non-stop. There were many instances where I wanted so desperately to go down and do something, if not for the promises I made to my mother that I would never interfere.”

He was laughing, but there was not a single trace of humor in him.

“Looking back, I really was an idiot-” He shook his head disappointingly.

“The amount of bruises I could have prevented.”

At a loss for words at his unexpected revelation, she touched his elbow.

She dropped her hand soon after realizing that he paid no attention to her actions. He suddenly seemed truly adamant on completing the chore at hand.

When he had finished washing the last of the spoons he took the rag and wiped the water that had splattered on his arms. Afterwards he turned around and leaned his back against the counter. Looking at every other direction except hers, he continued speaking softly.  

“I had never seen him so calm than the day he finally left us. I was so sure it was going to be like one of those terrible nights; loud and dangerous.”

She kept her feet planted, resisting the urge to stop him. She wanted to listen.

“I was prepared for it- because that same night I told myself I was going to fight back. I was going to defend the woman that sacrificed everything for us. For me. I knew it was more than too late, but if I had to, I was going to do whatever it took.”

“Rafael-”

“But there was nothing. Not a sound. Nothing. He left with barely a whimper. It felt like a stranger leaving us that night. A stranger that we knew too well.”

No amount of resistance held her back any longer.

A few seconds and steps later her arms held him. She felt his pulse; the fast, harsh beat of his chest and could only hold him tighter.

“Please don’t look at me like that.”

Her eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion, but almost instantly after she felt the heat in her cheeks rise. She was guilty for giving him the same look he had given earlier.

An apology was forming in her mind, but was left unsaid.

“Your father wants to apologize, and I know a part of you does want to hear what he has to say.”

He finally returned her embrace.

“I- I’ve accepted, and honestly quite grateful for the fact that I will never have the same opportunity- but if I did, I couldn’t be completely certain of what I would do either.”

He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Let me go with you.”

It was the same request she had heard time and time again. The difference was that this time, it was a selfless plea. The same words were now associated with a newfound sincerity and tenderness. Her fears and were not lifted, and her worries were far from assuaged.

But she was now gifted with a surer sense of security that she found herself missing until now.

“Come with me.”

[clownsgobeepbeep]

Here comes the Big Bad Clown(Pennywise x Reader)Pt. 1

You go out trick or treating with Pennywise and after stealing candies from kids and scaring others, he decides he wants some "fun" before the night ends.

Words:2125

Warnings: Some cursing,Pennywise playing cat and mouse as always(if you'd like me to add on, don't hesitate in telling me!) 

Pt. 2

  The clock read 4:27 pm when you glanced at it from your desk, making you sigh in irritation thinking of how time felt so slow the entire day. Thankfully, there was only three minutes before you could finally go home and do whatever it is you felt like doing! Or at least, whatever Pennywise felt like doing on this ghastly day.

  Dressed in a simple Alice costume, you adjusted the bow on your head and looked around for your boss who strolled around the room. They turned to you and gave you an annoyed face, knowing that you weren't the only employee trying to leave already. You merely smiled in response before looking back down, secretly looking through your phone and seeing that only a minute was left.

'Ding!'

  The building's bell sounded before you quickly grabbed your bag and shoved your belongings before dashing past your boss with a quick 'goodbye' who barely opened their mouth as you had already exited the place.

  You decreased your pace to take a breath and wait at the stop signs; seeing no cars pass by, you nodded to yourself and crossed the street as you heard nearby teenagers send a few cat calls at you.

"Hey there baby! Can you show me the way to Wonderland?!"One of them shouted before you rolled your eyes in response, but stopped to turn down when you felt something warm and fuzzy rub against your leg. Despite the continuous whistles and comments from the boys, you slightly smiled when you saw a white cat purring against you. Once you squat down to pet its head, the feline's head turned up to you before its small mouth quickly turned into a large, cheshire like one which made your smile grow as well.

  You got back up and saw the cat shake its body, making its collar jingle before it craned its head towards the boys who still had not stopped bothering you. The cat strode over to them before it stopped in front of their feet and looked up at them, making the males turn their attention to it instead.

"The fuck does this pussy want?"Another of the boys exclaimed, thus making the cat's mouth curl up into a large smile again as its eyes grew dark.

"I want your head, wonder boy!" It yelled, causing the teens to back away with shrieks: especially when the cat stood on its hind legs and transformed itself into a certain clown that cackled and shouted at them. "I'll make sure to get it later!"

  Thought it was a bit "rude", you chuckled and shook your head before Pennywise turned and walked over to you to grab your waist. You let out a yelp when he brought his mouth down to your next and bit down before lapping up the blood that leaked out.

"Foolish males...never respecting my property..."he said once he parted from you and you lifted a hand to feel the next mark on you.

"Just don't actually rip their heads off...please."even though you asked him not to, it was most likely going to happen later on whilst you were distracted, but you merely pushed the thought away and grabbed his hand. "How about we go home now?"

  Pennywise's head snapped towards you in a bit of surprise yet anger, so you let go of his hand before he groaned and grabbed your waist again.

"Yes...time to go home..."the clown whispered before reaching behind you and carrying you before holding you close to his chest, making sure that nobody else was around as he started heading to your home.

  Once you had gotten home and Pennywise had thrown you onto your couch, he plopped down next to you before reaching over and pulling you onto him which left you sitting on his lap which each leg on his side.

"Mmm my little Pumpkin...how much I just want to eat you up."Pennywise's hands caressed your sides as his hands slid to your thighs and under your skirt. His lips pressed themselves against your neck before his tongue slipped out, slithering all over the area as you shut your eyes and bit your lip, but you put your hands on his chest to stop him.

"Uh uh uh, I have to go change into my other costume, especially if you want me walking right later."

"And why would I want you walking right, hmm?"

"Because I remember somebody bugging me with demands that we go trick or treating later today."

  The clown frowned for a moment and glared at you as you teasingly smiled, knowing that you had surprisingly won this small debate before he released you and you climbed off of him.

"When you change, you better come out in a costume identical to mine!" Though he was quite serious, you responded with a laugh before going into your room and locking the door so he would at least know not to go inside.

  While you took off your dress and grabbed your other costume, Pennywise had thrown himself onto the floor as he sniffed out your remote control which he still found difficult to use. When his hands finally landed on it, he tried remembering what button turned on the television and which one would help him find his desired channel.

'THUMP!THUMP!THUMP!'

"Y/N!How long does it take to put on your stupid costume?!"the clown banged his fist on the door with his patience lost, especially because he had gotten tired of "Hocus Pocus", though he was intrigued when seeing that the witches favored his same tastes.

"Just give me some time, it's not easy putting on this makeup you know!"

  Pennywise perked up for a moment, thinking of how you could be taking your sweet time to put on some clown makeup and he grinned at the thought, right before he heard the door open and felt the tips of his lips go down.

"What is this?!"he exclaimed as he motioned to your costume.

"It's...Little Red Riding Hood..."you mumbled as you fixed your cape, feeling a bit bad since Pennywise didn't exactly give you a very good reaction. Although, you hadn't realized that after his small outburst, he had quieted down to study your new outfit and felt himself gulp with wide, curious, blue eyes as he knew he loved it.

"Well Pumpkin if you're this Little Red Riding Hood, then you might as well have yourself your Big Bad Wolf, hmm?" He said before getting on all fours and shape shifting into said creature with white fur. "Now, let's go already. I can no longer wait to feast upon fle- the candies you idiotic humans hand out and foolishly accept!"

  Walking through Derry was fun when you weren't being bothered by some ignorant person and thankfully, that was the case with you because you were walking with a "big, white dog" next to you the entire time.

  The atmosphere was even better when you realized how the air was chilly and blew your locks of hair and made your cloak sway with it. With the little sunlight left, you could see a variety of leaves on the ground and stepped on a few, giggling when hearing them 'crunch' as you continued walking with a basket in hand, never realizing that your canine could not keep its eyes off of you.

  The wolf's blue eyes examined your every curve, every bounce your body and hair made, every breath you released in excitement. It licked its lips when it saw you reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, letting out a sigh that made it feel strange. Although, its daze was interrupted when its eyes caught your own and you smiled wider.

"Come on Penny,let's go to this house first!" It heard you say as you lead it to the left and eventually climbed some stairs to then knock on the door before you.

  You knew Pennywise wasn't going to exactly stay with you considering how there would be several candies, and possible victims...So you turned and realized he had already disappeared into the forming crowd of trick or treaters.

"Fuck..."you breathed out, but turned your attention to the door that creaked open before smiling at the person who smirked with a cocked eyebrow.

"Hey there little red, what'cha gotta say?"

"Trick or Treat!"you exclaimed and reached out your basket before the man grabbed a handful of candies and dropped them inside."Thanks!"

  You immediately turned to leave and find Pennywise, but felt yourself get slightly pulled back when something tugged on your cloak. Snapping your head behind you, you saw the male holding on before letting go.

"Wanna have another treat?Or maybe, I could show you a real nice trick?"In an instance you back away with a quick shake of your head.

"Um, no thank you. I'll be on my way now."

  Before the man could say another word and step any closer than he already had, he felt his wrist get roughly grabbed by another hand that belonged to an obviously angry male who was much taller than he was.

"Ey Pumpkin, is this asshole bothering you?"

  That voice sounded very familiar, so you turned your head and saw "Robert" who had a tight grip on the man's wrist as he gave him a deadly glare and let out a low growl.

"Bob,just leave him be." The male kept his hand on the other for a moment before releasing him and seeing him scurry back into his house. Robert walked back towards you as he laughed and wrapped his arm around your waist, beginning to walk away as you noticed that his mouth and his other hand was smeared with blood.

"Please tell me that's not-"

"It's fake,it's part of my disguise, my little pumpkin!"he said before poking your nose with a higher pitched giggle that meant he was turning back into his clown self.

  When he finished and shook himself to make his bells jingle, you giggled as you both continued to walk and realized that when you had reached the crowds again, there was probably a 5 foot radius of avoidance between you and the people because of your clown.

"Where to next, my little Pumpkin?"

  Next thing you know, you were forced to wait in line for a haunted house that had quite the wait time because of its popularity over the past years. Pennywise happened to be intrigued because he had to "judge" how dim witted and poorly made it was, especially judging how he was the top of the "fear chain".

"Penny,can't we come later? When there's less people?"You asked as you asw him drool whilst staring at a group of kids that was in front of you before you lightly slapped his arm. "Or at least less children..."

  You were thankful for the fact that nobody was standing behind you and that there were a few others in front of you.

"Why do that when we can spend the night in this so called haunted house, Y/N?"Pennywise snaked his arms around your waist as he stood behind you and pressed his body against yours. "Or does Little Red want to go and visit her grandmother?"

"Shut up Penny and just eat your candy."You shushed him by grabbing a handful of candies and throwing them into the air before Pennywise's eyes widened and he ran towards the candies' soon to be falling location before widening his mouth and catching them all. He swallowed them all and licked his lips before he returned to his spot behind you. His arms went up to your shoulders before he sniffed your hair.

  A silent gasp escaped your lips when the clown leaned down to nibble at your ear, taking his tongue out to lick it before his tongue slid down to your jaw and then-

"Next!" You heard right before you pulled yourself away to see that Pennywise had disappeared and one of the house's owners was standing in front of the door and motioning for you to go inside. You looked around once more and decided that it would probably be best to leave, considering how there was no knowing what the clown was up to, but you stopped yourself when you heard the wind whisper to you.

"Go inside the house little one...I'll find you inside..."

  You slightly gulped but kept up a smile for the person inviting you in right before you nodded and stepped through the doorway, waiting for whatever it is your clown had planned for you.

[inhabitantsoftheglasscastle]

1. Brandon | Scars of Old and New

The limestone of the temple gouges out soft light from the moon rays. It was endowed with statues of victory and the two guardian angels of the Empire of Dawn, Eztec. They are meant to be boasts to friends and threats to enemies, but all he sees is arrogance in powerful people that don’t care for the desires of others.  

That was what Bran used to think when he first came here as a child only of eight years, in pain and amongst cries. He had lost his parents, which he would later find out to be caused by their captain’s selfishness, to the last remanent of the Century War. They had been fighting with a pack of orcs, the ugly creation of the Darken Lord, flat nosed, foul smelling and bow legged. Though most of his army had retreated or vanquished at that point, they resisted. 

He was a feisty kid; he ran away from the shelter to follow his parents into the battlefield. His small stature allowed him to slip from the notice of tired soldiers. It wasn’t his parents that he would find.

He wanders back to the day they took him, as if it is a vacuum, sucking him away if he isn’t occupied. As much as possible, he did. But there would be instances where he is lying in bed, not tired enough to pass out immediately. And he would remember.

One of them ghoulish creatures roughly strapped him into a chair. His ankles, wrists and neck were bound by sharp metal that cut into his flesh if he dare move. Eight years after, the scars are still on his fawn skin, dotted and pinkish.

But he would trade all the scars for what they did to his right hand. He keeps it bandaged, unable to face it whether on the battlefield or alone. Out of sight, out of mind, and that was how he wanted to keep his memories, because whenever he remembers, he drowns in the echo of the pain.

Aurielian's Thousand Legs is a breed of centipede that resided in the darkness of the cave systems in Ensburn. Its resilience showed in the fact that it had survived away from its home for at least a few months, most likely more. The orcs kept it in a dirty jar. It wasn’t a coincidence that they let him have a good look at every detail of its being. He remembers it so viscerally. Each pair of leg is longer than the pair before it, its many body segments totalling up to  He can still feel it on his neck, lips and the spiral of his ears. Perhaps he should be thankful that its fangs only dug into his arm. The piercing of his skin stung, but what broke him into sobs and begs were when the poison started spreading.

It bloated his vessels and turned them charcoal black. The smell of pus, shit and stale air mixed until it induced vomit into the pile. The first two days, the orcs fed him a rotten brown paste, but beggars couldn't be choosers. From the third day on, they stopped coming down. Even creatures that ate and slept in caves didn't want to be near that smell. Or perhaps they were too scared to face what the centipede had created. Maybe they could feel their own arm swell in pain where every step of the insect felt like a stab.

It only lasted a few days, far better than the stories he had heard from other survivors, but for a kid, it felt like years. He still remembers that moment clearly. From the pain, he was bordering on unconsciousness when he heard loud thuds and shouts from above. A routine occurrence from a group of savages. But he couldn't help thinking that the screams were louder and more agitated. They lasted much shorter than the usual conflict, though he had no energy to spare in questioning the oddities around him, until the cellar door was kicked open. 

He jumped slightly at the thought that perhaps those bastards had simply forgotten and they came back to feed him. But the silhouette’s stature wasn't of the brute and sluggish orcs, rather a human, slim, only slightly taller than himself. They reached his side of the room in an alarming pace, faster than anything or anyone he had ever seen. With a quick jab, the centipede that had grown fat from feasting on his bloods and flesh was left squirming. They flung its fat body to the ground. 

The angels had granted him a miracle.

His saviour carried him to a river and washed off what body fluids she could. He couldn't even imagine the stains that would stay on her white clothes nor the overpowering stench she had to endure, even it is a merely a portion of what he had been marinating in for days. It hurt when his arm touched the cold water, but out of sheer happiness and hope, he clenched his teeth to hide the pain. She comforted him in soft and hushed tones that juxtaposed the battle prowess she displayed before.

Till the sun set and the moon came out, she ran with his limp body on her back. He wants to say something, but he can’t find words strong enough to express how much he really feels.

"Are you just going to stand there, my boy?"

Bran steps out from the pillar into the moonlight, "Can I really not stop you?"

Vic finishes tying her laces. She doesn’t answer him, and doesn’t move either. Uncomfortable with the static exchange, he starts again, "Vic-"

"Come here, my boy."

It isn't the answer he wants, but he does as she says. When they are face to face, Vic smiles, “You’re almost as tall as me now.” 

“Vic...”

Instead of replying, she cups his hand and places her clutched palm onto his. He feels something cold and heavy. When he unfurls his hand, her charm is in his hands. He knows what it means, but he doesn’t understand why. With confusion and desperation, he looks up at her. He doesn’t need to voice his thoughts. Their bond tells her everything she needs to know.

Vic brushes his cheeks gently with her knuckles, "I can’t tell you, Bran. Just know that I have to. I can’t live a fulfilling life if I don’t do this."

He realises this is the most he is getting out of her, so instead of prodding, comes all his emotions. "Vic," the syllable is anguished on his tongue, an emotion he sworn never to feel again. She had given him strength and power so he would never have to be that dying boy in that cellar ever again. Yet he is here.

She takes him into her embrace, "You are strong without me." Her deep voice is so certain he believes her. "Take care of the angel Rafael for me.”

“I will.”

They release and Bran’s tears have left pitiful tracks on his face. Vic smiles, “I’m proud of you Bran.”

She takes a step backwards and pulls her hood over her head. He takes one last look at her. Her style mirrors her pale self, milky skin, silver hair and grey eyes. Fingerless gloves, a strip of fabric around her waist that tightens the sleeveless jacket. They are all in white, apart from her black pants and leather boots. 

She jumps onto the mare already readied and rides off. Bran watches her figure get smaller and smaller. He can still go after her, a tiny part of him says, but he doesn’t listen to it. He stands, rooted in spot, until she has completely disappeared from view.

[justjen523]

Teaching You A Lesson (Part 2)

Zyglavis x MC

(Rating E 18+)

Okay I tooootally lied. This cannot be a two piece because I am SO NOT DONE!!!! Dammit this Zyglavis is too fucking sexy not to continue writing about. So, while unfortunately that means this is not the conclusion piece I had intended to write, it also means there will be even more dirty hot sex with the god of Libra so stay tuned!

     Never having seen him with his hair down or even shirtless for that matter his flawless and very beautiful body has you captivated. You find it hard to believe that you are looking at the same god who stood before you just moments ago and you are truly hating yourself for not even trying to deny to yourself how fucking sexy he actually is. 

     “How absolutely precious. You cannot even help yourself can you? Is my body that beautiful to you?” His words snap you back to reality and once again your cheeks feel as though they are on fire. What he is saying is absolutely true. His perfection of a body has you nearly hypnotized and strange thoughts and desires to touch him and be touched by him begin to cloud your mind making everything feel hazy at best. You’re determined not to let it show anymore than you already have and take a deep breath to center yourself.

     “It’s alright, if you really want to touch me then go ahead and do so.” That confident arrogant smirk makes your blood boil but once that glorious figure is standing so close that his naked skin is brushing against your body, all of your previous confidence dissipates in an instance. His alluring scent is even stronger without his clothes on.

     “D-Don’t s-stand so close to me!” You shout. 

      “And why would you assume that I, a god, would take orders from a lowly human like yourself hmm? Or rather, is it because the closer I am the more you desire me?” His eyebrow arches in genuine curiosity but that smirk remains fully intact. A long elegant finger traces your lips as he bites his own narrowing his eyes in a way that makes you hot all over. 

     “Perhaps you wish for me to touch you instead hmm? Would you like that little one?” The tone in his voice is deep and sensual causing a tingling sensation between your thighs as he circles to your back embracing you from behind.

     “Z-Zyglavis...” You barely sigh his name in response to the sensation of his soft lips on your neck gliding down to your shoulder as he unzips the back of your summer dress. You want to stop him but his touch is so gentle and sensual clouding your mind that all you can do is give in. Your dress falls to the floor pooling at your feet leaving you in nothing more than your bra and panties. His hands traverse your body causing breathy wanton noises to escape your parted lips. 

     Without his lips ever leaving your skin you feel his fingers unhook your bra before slowly letting your bare breasts spill out exposing your chest to every god in the room. The moment his fingers graze your soft pink nipple you press your rear tightly against his front grinding against him needily. He laughs softly in your ear at your helplessness but at this point you think that if this is the result of a gods power who are you to go against his divine will? Does it really matter who is winning when he is making you feel THIS good?

     “Mmm Zyglavis....”

     “That’s my good little girl. Now, show us all just how wet that pretty little pussy is.” His hand slips below the elastic tugging it down just enough to run his fingers along your sopping slit. You cry out pleased to have your sweet spot finally touched after so much desperation had pooled there. After just one pass he holds his fingers out for the others to see.

     “Such fascinating creatures these humans are would you not all agree? So much fear and hatred drove her to insult a divine being yet look at her now? The desire consuming her has temporarily blinded her from her true feelings toward me. She will do anything I ask of her in this current state, is that not so ___?” The hand that had brought you a mere morsel of pleasure a moment ago is now back cupping your sex and massaging it slowly driving you wild with desperate need. His other hand tilts your chin to the side guiding your vision to his face drawing nearer. Tortuously slowly, he leans in as though he is going to at last claim your trembling lips but stops letting his warm breath trail across your mouth. When you whimper in disappointment the hand that had guided your face to his gently caresses the side of your flushed cheek.

     “Are you aware of your surroundings and what it is that is happening to you little girl? Have you forgotten that you are in the arms of your enemy simply because my hand is between your legs pleasuring you?” As he says this his pressure increases satisfyingly making you whimper in approval. You are unable to answer him for a moment and you don’t actually care what game he is playing anymore.

     “You are not my enemy Zyglavis. You never were.” You admit honestly not exactly sure why you have done so in the first place. His gorgeous eyes staring deeply into yours suddenly change and though you clearly register it he continues to pleasure you leaving you little room to consider it’s meaning. Your honestly is rewarded with an extremely long, sensual and passionate kiss. Every time his tongue brushes along yours you feel yourself more and more at his mercy. There’s an unspeakable hunger that has grown inside of you and all you can think about is how you want more. More of everything from this god you once detested and so greatly feared. 

     When your lips part his smoldering eyes gaze lustfully into yours making you realize you are not the only one caught up in this game. Feeling quite confident that you understand him much better at this moment than you ever had before, you decide to ask him for something you actually really want and are pretty sure he will agree to.

     “You were right Minister. What I said to you is unforgivable so please, I want you to punish me for my sins.” Hitting the nail on the head you see the tiny embers erupt into a raging inferno in his eyes. You meant every word of it too. 

     “Are you sure you are prepared for my divine justice?” 

     “Oh god yes, please make me pay for what I have done.” Squeezing your cheeks roughly in his hand that delicious wicked smile is back making you even wetter.

     “Very well. Then let us begin. You may start by removing my belt.” You do as you are told without hesitation placing it into his open waiting hand.

     “Good girl. Now, remove your panties and show me your pussy.” They drop so quickly joining the other articles you shed earlier leaving you in nothing but your full birthday suit. Zyglavis snaps his fingers and a dining chair appears just behind you letting you know he means for you to sit and you obey.

     “That’s right now show me.” You spread your legs wide for him revealing the entirety of your womanhood. 

     “Touch yourself, slowly.” Your hand reaches between your thighs and you expertly pleasure yourself as he quietly observes each movement. The lewd sounds of your wetness fill the otherwise silent room as you continue to masturbate yourself for the Minister of Punishments. Slowly, he closes in on you and gets to his knees simply to observe much closer up.

     “Tell me ___, does that feel good? Do you enjoy touching your pussy?” His words are quickly driving you closer and closer not to mention the way he is staring at you hungrily. Unable to form coherent words you settle for nodding as the wetness seeps down your thighs. 

     “That’s good, now, go ahead and add a finger but do it slowly.” Once again you do as commanded and slowly insert your middle finger deep inside. Your eyes close and your head tilts back as you bring it in and out.

     “Another.” You add your index finger and bite your lip at the satisfying sensation. As your climax begins to grow and you approach the precipice Zyglavis stops you.

     “No, not yet. I did not give you permission to cum. If you really wish to do so, beg.” Frustrated at how close you had been and now have lost that amazing build up you feel disappointed but more desperate than ever.

     “Please Minister, pretty please may I cum? Though, I would give anything for you to be the one to make that happen. Have mercy on me please and fuck me with your divine fingers. Oh please my lord Zyglavis, teach me what it feels like to be fingered by a god.” 

     “Well now, it seems you are capable of humility after all. Very well. Stand and turn around.” You practically jump to your feet eager to feel a part of him inside you.

     “Bend forward and place your hands on the chair.” Once you do you feel his warm smooth hand travel along your rump as though he were inspecting a prized mare. 

     “There is something I must explain before I can oblige your request. Asking for your cunt to be filled with any part of a divine being requires complete submission. Do you admit now that you are mine and obey me only? Will you do whatever it is I may ask of you?” 

     “Y-Yes Minister. I am yours. Do to me whatever pleases you.” Though he says nothing in return you feel his long locks suddenly drape across your back as his hands fasten something around your neck. When he is finished adjusting it you realize it is the item he asked you for earlier making your entire body stiffen a moment.

     “Fear not little one. I do not wish to kill you. However, there is something you should understand about me. I like pain. I like what it does to people and I like what it makes people do. It’s application can easily fit into any given situation. Yes, even sexual pleasure. Once I begin you are forbidden to cum until I give you permission to do so. If at any time you disobey me the pressure around your neck will tighten. Once it tightens I will not loosen it so make sure you do nothing to displease me. Your body now belongs to me and I will do with it as I please. You would do well to remember that little girl.” He gives a slight tug pulling your head up but not hard enough to restrict your airflow. 

     “Let’s begin shall we?”

TBC