#and hear comes pearlie with thE STEEL CHAIR

[toriliashine]

Was playing JFA and this is so fucking funny to me

because isn't Phoenix 3 or so feet taller than her??? Did this girl run to a chair and launch herself off it just to slap him? Can she just jump that high??? Whatt

[softshuji]

𝟐𝟑:𝟏𝟕𝐏𝐌 | 𝐈𝐙𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐀𝐖𝐀

Title: Maybe I love you

Summary: Izana finds that he comes to you every night, but it doesn't mean he wouldn't kill anyone who knew that though. Link to main masterlist here!

cw: fem! reader, semi-suggestive, possessiveness, brief kissing, nightmares, izana and reader are a bit dense, reader calls him sir, pet names (good girl) mentions of sex (nothing explicit) praise, marking. Reblogs appreciated!

Izana doesn’t know if he has the capacity to appreciate beautiful things, he doesn’t know if he knows how, at least not in any way that doesn’t involve destroying them. The stars for example, bright and cold and so close he can skim them with his lithe fingers as he sleeps beneath a moonlit night, the velvet blanket of dark dotted by a sheen of glitter and he thinks he can feel the chill of the more distant ones as the breeze blows in through the open window.

The netting flutters, catches on the exposed wood, the single strip of the torn windowpane, a not-so-subtle reminder of his earlier outburst and he wants to ruin it again, wants to rip away the memory and feel the blood on his knuckles, the callouses torn open, flesh peeling back to remind him of something, to feel something.

His gaze drops from the moon, pearly, opalescent and milky white in the sky, to the upturned guitar on the chair, strings pulled loose, curled with the force by which he’d smashed it against the ground in his grief, loose splinters of varnished wood now beige against the dark carpet. And he thinks this when the regret sets in, an unfamiliar feeling for him, because he is Izana Kurokawa and he has not gotten this far by constantly looking back. Has he?

But it feels foreign to some extent. The lash of pain in his chest, the tightening of his ribs, the sting in his throat, in his eyes when he remembers how he’d slammed it against the ground and all the anger had seemed so trivial when he heard the string snap, a chord that burned at somewhere he thinks a heart might be. 

Just like all those things he has lost to something or another, some divine providence that keeps taking from him. He glares at it, as if the splinters of wood and varnish are themselves responsible, as if they can sate his anger, assuage his rage against the world.

You’re in the room next door, and you hear the soft pad of his feet hitting the carpet, the shuffle of sheets and a clunk or two as he picks up the two broken halves of the guitar, of his heart. He frowns, now that the clarity has descended and the moon has shifted behind the clouds and tries to piece it together, joining them back, something lurching inside when they crash against his cut palms again, all varnished wood and strings loose with force.

It’s a shame that his hands are only for breaking, isn't it?

He has an ear trained on your room, and in truth he isn’t sure what drives him to drop the guitar onto the unmade bed, sheets twisted, the imprint that remembers him as clearly as you always do. 

The hallway light flickers on, pale yellow spilling through the slice at the bottom of your door. It always happens like this. He comes to you as midnight approaches and you reach for him and he latches onto you till morning pours over the sky and then he pulls away again and again and the cold indifference slams down on you, a metal sheet of steel and frost.

And you let him. Every night, your arms open, skin warm, him practically folding into you, his mouth warm against your neck, teeth grazing the juncture of your shoulder. 

It’s predictable. Izana Kurokawa finds himself in your bed every night.

He knocks. ‘Y/N.’ A command as usual, the edge of his voice a little higher, a little more desperate, the inflection of a question, of a plea all the same, because despite himself, he’s determined to keep up the act and pretend like he’s just using you to warm himself.

‘Come in, it’s open,’ you say, muffled by the sheets, your hair spilling ink across the pillows, your back to the door and watching the light seep across the carpet as he shuffles in.

He looks smaller like that, dwarfed by the light, pyjama pants rolled up to the knees, the messy hair framing his face and haggard eyes that still reflect the moonlight falling in eaves across the painted wall. 

You turn over, your cheek pressed to the soft Egyptian cotton, fatigued eyes squinting against his shadow. 

There is a second of recognition, understanding even, as his gaze drops to you huddled under soft throws and a heavy duvet in his shirt that just about reaches your thighs. It sends the blood rushing in waves to his head seeing you like that. In the bed he owns, the shirt he wears that kisses your skin in all the right places, with the hallway light glinting off the mahogany headboard. 

You look at him, dishevelled and beautiful, cold and distant. He is spring frost clinging to Winter’s chill, to what he knows, and you are the late spring blossom that thaws the mildew in the morning.

‘Izana?’ Your vision hazy, dotted with the black spots of exhaustion, but forthcoming all the same, the softness of your eyes, your upturned mouth a balm for his anxiety. 

‘Y/N.’ He says your name like a command, like a request. You like the way it sounds from him, the power that curls along it, as if you are more than you are, as if he can make you more. His prized possession to mould and touch, the fire that warms him. 

You open out your arms, still on your side and he all but crawls into your embrace, slotting himself against you, his breath warm against your neck. You shuffle forward, your arms around the small of his back and pull, not all together gently, till his pelvis bumps against yours. Your thigh lifts against his, weighs him down and your hands come up to tug at the hair at the base of his neck and all the while, he is softly sighing, dry and slightly dehydrated lips grazing the column of your throat and all of it elicits a slight shiver from you, needy and tenuous all at once. 

‘You okay?’ You start, your voice low and undulated by the whistle of the breeze through the draught, the silence that’s almost weightless and heavy, thick with tension.

‘I’m fine.’ His chest against yours, cheek laying flat against the dip under your collarbones. A lie, because he’s used to it, because he has a facade to keep up and he’ll be damned if he allows himself to look weak, even in front of you. Especially in front of you.

‘I heard you. Couldn’t sleep?’ If he hears you swallow against the tide in your throat, he makes no mention of it. 

‘I was… having trouble.’

‘Me too. Are you going to stay?’ And maybe you crave him as much as he does you, maybe it is nice to be needed, to be owned in such a way by someone like him, who could easily break you if he chose, who moulds you to wrap yourself around him, buries himself in you till there is him, and only him. 

He blinks, pulls you closer, tighter, his hands resting against the dip in your hips, the familiar ache of you tightening in his stomach when your breath fans his ear.  

‘I’ll stay,’ he says, as if you had thought he’d say any different, as if he has not made a pattern of silently begging for warmth. ‘Why aren’t you asleep?’

You sigh, your tongue darting out to lick at chapped lips. ‘Nightmares, as usual. Thinking about things.’ It is a silent understanding, the weight of a shared and perhaps understood experience. Is that not what it means to be human?

‘Mhm.’ His voice is rough, the low cadence of it is a rumble in his chest, a thrum against yours.  He nestles further into your touch, his lips meeting the plane of your chest and your heart jumps under his breath. ‘What was the nightmare about?’ 

‘You’re sure you want to know? They’re all the same.’

He shrugs, feigning nonchalance as his lips press a soft and hesitant kiss against the slope of your collarbone. He pretends, but he is not half as good a liar as he assumes he is. Or maybe it is that this corrugated wall of concrete and metal and roughness is chipped away when he is alone with you.

‘I dreamt about you, about you dying.’ And it happens so often that the sharp and jagged edges of that paralysing fear have wilted away and left only numbness there, despite the fact that you know that nightmare could come any day now, a day where maybe you search for him as he lies in the snow. 

He pauses, his breath tickling your clavicle. ‘I see.’ And he sighs and tucks an arm around your back, a kiss here and there and always so chaste, as if he is holding back. ‘It was just a dream, not real.’

Perhaps that’s why this works, why you come back, why you let him shape you. A shared fear, a need for each other, the push and pull of a puppeteer and a puppet on a string. Maybe for once, letting go isn’t so hard, letting yourself be moulded by his rough hands seems almost blissful when his breath tingles at the hollow of your throat.

Today is worth a little more though. Today the tension in his bones is rigid, sharp and you can tell by the way his grip tightens on your hips, keeps you pulled flush against him, that the incident is still weighing heavily on his mind. 

You test the words out on your tongue, search the spiderwebs for courage. ‘Don't worry about the guitar,’ you say and a hand winds into his hair lightly scratching at his scalp.

‘I'm not.’ A lie, he knows that. You do too. It’s easy to see in the violet of his eyes, flecked through with iridescent lavender, the white lashes that kiss the apple of his cheeks, soft and cold as frost. 

‘We can always get it fixed, I'll fix it for you tomorrow.’ You’ve no idea how, the technicalities of it all, the weight of its significance but it hardly matters. Your delicate touch, the unflinching embrace and willingness to run towards him is enough.

‘Why?’

The answer is obvious. ‘Because it means a lot to you, because I want to hear you play, remember?’ You’re smiling, he can sense as much by the curve of your mouth against the soft shell of his ear, the slow and easy exhale of breath that lifts his platinum hair. It had been a flippant request made in a more vulnerable moment, when he had been craving your touch, and you were happy to be wanted by him after spending so long vying for his approval. You had it, you just didn’t know you had it.

‘I don't remember promising that.’ With more mirth this time, a soft sigh that has the tension easing from his bones, seeping through his skin and into yours. 

‘So? No take backs. Consider it a gift for fixing it.’

He almost smiles. And maybe you can’t fix what’s been lost, but you can do this, you can give him yourself to pour his frustration into.You love him, you’ve never said it, never thought it, too scared to approach the sleeping lion, as if by giving it that space you will have brought to life. You wonder if he can love you back in any way that does not hurt so much, if perhaps he can love something that does not end with it broken and lying dead at his feet. You know he can, but you wonder if he knows it.

‘I see. In that case I should reward you.’ 

‘With what? It’s not that big of a deal.’

‘Are you disagreeing with me y/n?’ An eyebrow lifts and his grip on the small of your back tightens in warning, a thrum of energy pulsing underneath the cool of his touch against your warm skin. His hand moves to the back of your neck, squeezing lightly, his thumb and forefinger amping up the pressure before softly skimming over the skin with a featherlight touch.

‘No sir,’ you say, your breath now caught in the confines of your drying throat, your lips sliding along the curve of his smooth neck and tugging on the fine frost of his hair between your fingers. 

‘Good girl.’ His thumb presses on the hollow of your throat and the sigh that escapes your parted lips is instinctual when your forehead drops to the juncture of his shoulder, the praise rolling over your skin in a wave. He tips your head, uses a thumb to tilt it to face him, drinking in your fluttering eyes, the sleep that’s only a moment away, the dilated pupils in which he sees his own reflection exactly how he prefers it. He likes it like this, to be the only one who sees you in this way, who gets to pull the breath from your lungs when his hand tightens around your throat, the power of your life so readily given to him by your own eager hands.

‘Y/N,’ he says, a domineering command, the delicious power of it curling to the base of your spine as his free hand traces the bones under his shirt. 

Your eyes flit to his, wide with both lust and adoration, your neck tingling from his telltale bite marks, the grazing of his teeth along the sensitive skin.

‘Yes sir?’ A whisper. You rock your hips against him subconsciously, a thigh moving to trap him between your legs and you hate how your body betrays you in moments like this, how much you want him to give into the weakness of you, have him carving his name into your skin with the sharpness of his teeth.

His eyes darken, his lips a firm line as he watches you swallow from where his hand is clasped around your throat. It sets something off in him to see you like this, to touch you as if you were made to shape as he sees fit, the willingness of you to run into the lion’s den.

A knuckle brushes your chin, your head tilted up to face him and he waits for your lips to part instinctively before he presses his mouth to yours. 

It’s warm, feverish, desperate even, a muted sigh that he pulls from your lips as his hand strokes the hollow of your throat and when you gasp, his tongue slides along yours in tandem. It’s messy, the saliva breaking in a string when you part for air, only to slot your lips against his again and again, needy and with warmth pooling between your legs every time he bites down and pulls on your lip.

And Izana would kill anyone who knew this was happening, who knew that he came to you every night and begged for your warmth, his arms tightening around you as he whispers your name into the dark. 

You are his secret, his Doll and you know the level of power you hold to mould yourself to him like this, that you are perhaps the only person who has not flinched from his touch. 

He doesn’t know if it’s love, if it’s lust that has him marking the expanse of your chest, his name a choked and breathy whisper that he thinks sounds better to his ears than anything else could, your fingers tangled in his hair as he makes his way down, his tongue expertly gliding over the marks blooming in his wake. Maybe it should matter to you, that come morning, once he wakes up having driven you over the edge and released inside you once more, his mouth warm on your neck,  he’ll pretend as if he has not, as if he does not murmur truths into your skin every night, crawl to your bed like a starving man in the desert and let your name churn in his perfect mouth till the early hours.

It does not. You think you just love the way your name sounds from him, the way the praise comes that much easier when he is between your thighs. 

Or maybe you love him. 

a/n: I have no comments to make this time, only just to say happy birthday to my pretty king !!!!

taglist: @reiners-milkbiddies @mxnjiros @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @nafarsiti @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @the-travelling-witch @orchid3a @rottingreveries @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @sinfulseashell @welcome-to-the-internet-it-sucks @obitohno @sweet-seishu @burnishedcrown @saintokkotsu @nikokopuffs @sin-and-punishment @derk4iserr @mochimiyaas @bertholdts--butt @theaonlax

[nuri148]

WIP Wednesday!

Sneak peak of chapter five!

Out of the corner of Mikasa's eye, someone sat on her desk, only inches from her elbow. She didn’t need to look up to guess who the tall figure hovering over her personal space was. She dropped her quill, steeling herself. 

“What do you want, Ashcroft?” She pushed her rolling chair away to put some healthy distance between them. He puckered his lips flirtily, as he produced an envelope. 

“I am offering you” (Mikasa swatted the finger he pointed her with) “the chance to go to ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ with yours truly.” 

Mikasa rubbed her face, stared at Ashcroft’s pearly white smile in utter bafflement. It took her a few seconds to come up with a word other than “Unbelievable”.  

“I have my own invitation, so that’s a no.” She waved the envelope for emphasis. The man faked a pout, pressing his to his chest as though wounded by the rejection. 

“It has nothing to do, though, has it? You can still be my plus one. Imagine how great we'd look going into ▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓ together.”  

“HA!” Several heads did turn, on hearing Mikasa’s cackle. “You mean you would look great going in with a decorated war hero as myself. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she got up, quickly put the quill away, “I don’t want to be late to my lunch with the Queen. Goodbye.”

[gopeachllama]

Cuban Cigars and Cardinal Kisses

a.n/: ... ok in my defense, its still nessian month somewhere....

This fic was inspired by the mv of suit & tie by justin timberlake (the source of this AMAZING gif). its honestly one of my favourite mvs of all time. i watched again recently and it just screamed nessian to me so i wrote this. if you wanna get into the vibesTM of the fic then i highly recommend watching the mv before you read it!

reblogs and comment are highly appreciated!

Fandom: A Court Thorns and Rose by Sarah J Maas

Relationship: Nesta Archeron & Cassain

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word Count: 5500

Ao3

~~~

Like most other nights at Velaris Lounge, there was already a drink waiting for the man at his arrival. Picked from their finest, and most expensive collection; a finger of Lagavulin’s sixteen years-old single malt scotch whiskey in a crystal tumbler, as so directed by the gentleman. Cassian Khan, six feet and two inches of fine grooming and tailored suit, strode inside through the exclusive entrance way. Liquor in hand, he stood for a moment, lazily scanning the scene before him with deep inhale. He welcomed the soft ambience lighting, the sharp scent of spiced tobacco smoke and the quiet chatter of wealthy men and women overlayed by the sensual drawl of jazz instruments. Cassian’s blood thrummed in time with the low rhythmic thump of the bass. Day light did not reach this place. The place where night – its sole ruler – became something wholly living, pulsating, breathing. This was Cassian’s home. His fucking castle. Sending a roguish smile and a wink to the waitress still standing-by, he headed for his preferred seat by the foot of the stage.

He spotted Rhysand before he sat down. His childhood friend was draped elegantly over his throne of cushioned velvet, one leg crossed over the other, and taking long drags from the joint between his lips. Wicked delight glinted in Rhys’ dark eyes as he watched his friend unbutton his jacket and drop into his own lounge chair across from him. There were no strobe lights directly over the area where they sat; the darkness surrounding Rhys wore him just as finely as his thousand-dollar suit.

Rhys picked up his own, amber-coloured drink and tipped it in Cassian’s direction, “brother,” He greeted. Opaque slivers of smoke curled out and around his teeth and dissolved into the air as he spoke. “Just in time.”

So, it seemed. Their other friend, Azriel, was nowhere to be seen. Cassian’s gestures mirrored Rhys’ as he toasted his friend and took sip from his drink. The liquor ran down his throat, smooth as honey, and he sprawled against the back of his seat. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and fished out two slim packages, handing one to Rhys and working on the other. Once the plastic wrapping was removed, he brought it to his faced and dragged the length of it under his nose as he inhaled. The aroma of spice and rich wood flooded his senses and he let out a low, satisfied hum. With an eager smirk, Cassian prepared the crisp Cuban Montecristo No.2 with sturdy, brown fingers. When he was done, he raised the lit cigar to his mouth and took a deep breath. Coating his tongue, expanding his lungs, and coursing through his veins, he allowed the heady fumes to fill him. And he came alive.

Cassian scrutinised his companion through the tendrils of smoke as he exhaled, “looking a little eager tonight, Rhys. A special night?”

“Isn’t it always?” Rhys drawled as he watched the sinuous bodies on stage from the corner of his eye.

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. Nights at Velaris Lounge seemed to exist in an entirely different space and time.

Cassian and Rhys’ continued talking, and there was no shortage of subject matters, with Cassian being the head of security for Rhys’ company. They usually avoided mixing work and pleasure, though Rhys’ often proclaimed that both could be the same thing under the right circumstances. Cassian was inclined to agree.

Soon, the conversation was swallowed up by a lull in the music and a dim of the lights. Cassian readied himself by settling further into his chair. The music quickened in tempo, and anticipation charged through air as trumpets beckoned the start of the performance. His arrival was announced through the speakers, in a sweeping, grandiose declaration.

His best friend since childhood, and the remaining member of their trio; Azriel glided onto centre-stage with hard forged confidence. A lit joint in one hand, and a crystal tumbler in the other, Azriel sang. Smoothing, melodic sounds as he moved around the mic stand with loose limbs and an easy smile on his face. It always warmed Cassian, seeing his friend like that. Seeing how he changed when he was on his stage. So different to the man he was outside of this place. To how he used to be. It was a gentle, endearing reminder to Cassian, of their struggles, their triumphs. Of how far they’ve come – how far he’scome and never looked back.

The bass thrummed, trumpets shrilled, and drums pounded. The timbre of Azriel’s voice streamed effortlessly alongside the various overlaying pitches of the backup singers. The song was all jazzy and funky at the same time, that had Cassian idly tapping his foot in time with the beat. This performance was unfamiliar to his ears. Usually, Azriel made the effort to rehearse his potential performances with his brothers present. And though this wasn’t the first time, it still occurred rarely enough that it had him slightly arching his eyebrows up in surprise.

Before he could think anything more of it, the tempo of the music changed, lowering in pitch and slowing to a steady beat, the rhythmic thump of the bass vibrated the ground at his very feet. The lights flashed before going out completely, blanketing everything under darkness. There was a charge of bated breath in the air, but Cassian was never afraid of the dark. Blood thrummed through his veins in anticipation.

A single spotlight turned on and landed on centre stage. Revealing Azriel’s silent retreat, as if he had melted into the very shadows. But she stood there, in his place. Cassian’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar figure. Burnished gold hair spilling down her back, long legs clad in thigh-high stockings and stiletto heels. And black laced lingerie, covering across her generous breasts, her perky ass, and a garter belt strung around her at the dips of her waist. Piercing steel-grey eyes.

She stood for a breath. One, two, three. And then shemoved.

Cassian catalogued it all. Every flick of her fingers, every sway of her hips, every arch of her back. The gleam of her pearly-white teeth anytime she smiled just wide enough. And Cassian knew, that even when this was all over, she would continue to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

The pale strobe light casted over her in black and white. Highlighting the curves of her body, with shadows mingling in every dip. The valley of her breast, the ridge down the middle of her toned, flat stomach, the notches of her spine. Cassian felt the phantom press of marble on the tips of his fingers, and they flexed uselessly on the arm of his chair. He wondered if it would feel just as cold if he caressed her unblemished skin. Every now and then, her skin would shimmer; it was beads of moisture that got caught under the spotlight. Perhaps it was droplets of her perfume, that he could smell the barest hints of this close to the stage. Or maybe it was her sweat. Cassian couldn’t tell the difference with the scent. Not that he cared one single bit.

He blinked, and in the next moment, she was on the ground, hands and knees on either side of the turned over mic stand. She dipped low, her cleavage only a breath away from the cool surface of the stage. Then, she reached down her body, and thrusted the mic stand through her splayed open legs. Cassian bit down on an audible groan. She was steel forged in fire and melded under the steady beat of a synth bass drum. It was a brutal, devastating kind of beauty. Cassian may have been a little bit in love. And undeniably rock-fucking-hard in his pants.

In on final turn, she was on her back and propped up on an elbow. Then, so slowly, in time with the bass, much like his own thundering heartbeat, she raised one leg. It stopped for a beat when it was perpendicular to the ground. And she waited, like she knew there was not a single breath being drawn in the room. Like she knew all eyes were latched onto her. The movement was slower, again, when it continued. She stretched herself, and Cassian lost the battle to look away from the thin strip of black lace nestled between her thighs. Her leg eventually rested on her shoulder, held there with a single finger twirled around the heel of her stiletto. The music dropped out completely, and silence consumed the Lounge. The air went heavy, a tangible taste in Cassian’s mouth. And then she tipped her head back, hair flowing to the floor in golden waves, and basking the length of her neck to the single spotlight above. The corners of her mouth curled, oh so slowly. Her cardinal red lips standing out on her pale skin, like blood spilt on pristine marble. She smiled, shamelessly, secretly. The sight of her wide open to the patrons of the Lounge and filthy promise stained on her lips; so debauched, Cassian could hear Rhys shifting in his seat breaking through the silence. He felt the burn in his lungs from the lack of air, but he didn’t dare to move in the slightest. Afraid he would shatter the moment completely. But before Cassian could think to greedily take in every inch of her, the stages plunged into darkness once again. And when light returned, she was gone, and Azriel was there. The mic stand up righted, and a casting knowing smirk. At him.

The music went back to its previous tempo, as strobe lights flashed and soft chatter resumed within the audience. But it was all a dull noise in his ears.

“Who is she?” Cassian sounded a little breathless.

Rhys continued to watch the space she had just vacated. “She showed up a week ago, asking for a job. We told her that we weren’t looking for any new dancers… And she just stripped right there, down to her under-things and started moving. She didn’t even wait for the band,” He turned back to Cassian, and that wicked smile was back in full force, “Az hired her before she even finished her piece.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” There was a slight edge in his voice, but Cassian never got his answer. The music ebbed, cueing the end of Azriel’s performance. As usual, He didn’t linger for the moderate applause. Grabbing a glass of liquor off a tray waiting for him at the base of the stage, he stepped off, and headed straight for his two friends.

“Spectacular as always, Az,” Rhys remarked as Azriel loosened his tie and dropped into the remaining empty seat. Cassian saluted the arrival his friend with a tip of his drink in his direction before upending in one swig and signalling for another one. He pulled out a fresh, new Cuban from his pocket and passed it to Azriel. The latter knowingly took his time. Getting it ready with deft, scarred fingers before finally bringing it up to his lips before, again, taking a slow drag from it. Cassian’s whole body thrummed with question; the words mingled on his tongue along with the sharp aftertaste of expensive whiskey. But Azriel beat him to it.

“So, Cass. How do you like your birthday present?” flicking an eyebrow upwards, he smirked around the cigar propped in the corner of his mouth.

Cassian tensed and waited a moment, carefully choosing his words. “My birthday is in July, jackass.” But Cassian was never the careful type.

Rhys gave a short laughed before replying, “we’ll take that as a thank you.”

“Hello, boys,” A sweet voice came from behind Cassian’s ear. It was once of their long-time waitstaff-turned-dancers. A gorgeous, lithe, little thing. Dressed in sleek, black slacks and a sheer-laced bralette. And even though they smiled politely at both Cassian and Azriel, and placed a new drink in front of the former, Cassian knew the real reason for their appearance.

“Doll,” strobe lights glittered in Rhys’ eyes as he reached for their hand and pressed a kiss onto delicate fingers, “you were absolutely exquisite tonight.”

The dancer melted as they dropped into the space under the man’s arm. And even Cassian marvelled at the way the ambient light made their black skin glow like obsidian.

Azriel sent a soft smile in their direction, “Tarquin,” he greeted with a slight nod. They went to answer, but words were all for naught when Rhys began ghosting his lips along the crook of their neck and shoulder.

Cassian went back to the important matter at hand, “her name?”

Toying with the lace at the edge of Tarquin’s bralette, Rhys didn’t bother to look Cassian’s way as his smile turned feline, “Narcissus.”

He waited for more but when his friend didn’t go to elaborate – more interested with tracing his tongue in the hollow of Tarquin’s collarbone – Azriel did it for him. “It’s an alias, of course. But she had that look in her eyes, you know? Like she was one of us. It didn’t matter to me what her name was.”

Narcissus. The word struck a chord deep within Cassian. And even though he didn’t know her real name, he had to have her. He may go mad if he didn’t. Perhaps he already had. One of the staff girls melted from the shadows and spoked into Azriel’s ear. His gaze shifted to behind Rhys’ head and Cassian followed it with his own to a couple sitting a few tables down from them. She was halfway on her partner’s lap, rubbing idle circles into his splayed thigh and giggling at whatever he was whispering into her hair, while he met Azriel’s stare from the corner of his eye with wicked promise. Azriel’s lips tipped up lazily from one corner when he returned his heavy gaze back to his friends.

“The couple over there would like to express their praises,” He just said.

Cassian scoffed and Rhys waved an idle hand, “I’ll see you in the morning then, brother.”

Azriel stood and drained the rest of his drink before meeting Cassian eye with a slight tug of his mouth and flicking his chin in the general direction of the bar behind him. Cassian jerked his head over his shoulder and scanned the length of the bar. His attention snagged on a familiar small back, and stockings and stiletto clad legs hooked around the leg of a bar stool. He almost lurched from his seat as he looked back to the two men with him. But Azriel was gone. Already at the other table, one hand placed on the man’s shoulder and pressing a kiss onto the woman’s cheek. Tarquin was straddling Rhys. His friend lightly caressed a single finger up and down their spine while his other hand remained draped across the back of the lounge as the pair traded deep kisses that would have been inappropriate in any other public setting. Cassian and his two closest and longest friends; well, they never made the habit of saying goodbye to each other. He left the sitting area and headed for the bar.

Cassian stepped up to the bar just in time to hear a low voice ask the bartender, “scotch. Neat.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “From the finest bottle for the lady. And make it a double.”

The lady did not move to face the newcomer. Only with a slight tip of her chin, she watched him with piercing, unreadable eyes as he watched her. All of her: loose golden hair, long neck, straight back, legs crossed, one hand on her knee. She sat on that bar stool like it was her throne. She wore a slim black dress now, hiding nothing Cassian hadn’t already seen for himself when she was on that stage. He flexed his hand at his side and sent her a cool, suave smile.

“On the house,” he said as he settled into the stool next to the dancer. “For your captivating opening performance at the Lounge.”

When both drinks were handed to them, Cassian tipped his toward the woman and took a generous swig. “I’m-”

“I know who you are. Mister Khan,” she cut him off, luscious lips in a straight line and manicured nails rapping on the bar surface.

Cassian was thankful that he had already sat down, for he would have been rendered to his knees at the mere sound of her voice had he not. It was the slight curl of her tongue, and a curve of her lips, that gave it a breathy, raspy sound. She had a faint accent. French. If Cassian hadn’t already decided to take her to his bed, he most certainly did now. He wanted to know how his name would sound from those sinful lips. He wanted to know what her moans sounded like. Her cries of extasy. Her laugh.

“You are my boss, no?” She asked, peering over the rim of the crystal glass at her mouth.

I am if you want me to be. “Technically.” Along with Rhysand and Azriel, they all own equal shares of Velaris Lounge. “But I prefer the term benefactor.”

There it finally was. A small tug at the corner of her mouth. And Cassian relaxed, satisfied at the sight of it. She eyed the Cuban cigar that was still between Cassian’s fingers. Without any further prompt, he offered the unlit end to her. She took hold of it between two lithe fingers and brought it to her mouth. And Cassian watched in utter reverence. As if the scene unfolded before him in slow motion. Her lips wrapped around the thick end of the cigar. And Cassian’s hand curled hard around the edge of the table. shadows swarmed into the hollow of her cheeks, as she inhaled. And Cassian stopped breathing entirely. Her eyes flashed as she watched him the whole time. As if she could see. Somehow, in the dim, ambient lighting. The cinch in his jaw. The sudden, unbearable tightness in his pants. As if she could hear. Somehow, over the entrancing melody of jazz instruments. The depraved thoughts going through his mind. Of the way he ached to know what her lipstick would look like smudge all over his cock. And then, as if she knew. She curled her lips slightly around the cigar, before removing it from her mouth. Leaving behind a perfect imprint of her cardinal stained lips. Teeth grinding together, Cassian had to physically force down a groan.

Doing anything at all to wade through the thick haze of arousal clouding his mind, he rasped, “so how has the lounge been treating you so far.”

“This place is called the city of dreams, no?” she said, “I never believed that, until I came here. That it could be this simple.”

Cassian couldn’t help the pride that bloomed in his chest. One of us. Azriel had said. “What do you dream of?”

Her eyes wandered behind them to the stage, remained there for a heartbeat, then returned to him. Resolve glinted in them. “To have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

A dangerous smile overtook his features, “well, Velaris is the kind of place where getting everything you want is just the beginning.”

She turned in her seat to fully face him. The slit of her dress shifted in the process, exposing the entire length of her thigh and the laced hem of her thigh-high stockings around it. Cassian’s eyes dropped to it instantly. And like some compulsion, his idle hand went to ghost a single finger over it. She didn’t move away.

“And what is it that you want, mister Khan?” those words ran smooth from her lips, like the expensive scotch she held in her hand.

Cassian wanted to be set ablaze by the heat in her ember eyes.

“I want to know your real name, sweetheart.”

The woman blinked slowly. “Why should I tell you?” she breathed. Her voice now barely over a whisper. The casual glances to his lips occurred far more frequently.

“Because,” Cassian’s words turned heavy as the atmosphere became sharp, like a kindle before a flame, “I need to be able to remind you what it is when I’m fucking you so hard that you won’t remember it.”

If she was flustered at his crude language, she hadn’t shown it. Cassian had no doubt that a woman such as herself was used to receiving such propositions from all kinds of people. She only regarded him; one second, two seconds. Then, her eyelids fluttered, and her lips curved slowly. She smiled; that same secret smile she had given earlier. To no one in particular, on that stage where no one could take their eyes off her. She brought the cigar back to her mouth and took a long drag. The glowing end that illuminated the space between them was nothing compared to the inferno of desire raging within Cassian. Pinning him with an unwavering glaze, she leaned forward, as delicate tendrils of smoke curled around her blood-red lips like silver flames. The last of it danced along Cassian’s cheek when she drew close enough to whisper his damnation.

“Nesta.”

***

The first time he fucked her that night, they barely made it to the couch just beyond the foyer of his penthouse apartment. Cassian took Nesta as she was when he first laid eyes on her. Midnight laced lingerie, garter belt, thigh-high stockings, stilettos, and all. Her dress and coat, and his tie and suit jacket were promptly discarded somewhere by the front door, as he pushed her down on knees and elbows, and pressed her face firmly into the soft, cool surface. Cassian was enthralled, possessed, savaged. And he barely had half the mind to rip open a condom and roll it onto his cock, as he moved aside the damp slit of her panties to reveal a swollen, throbbing cunt. Nesta was ready for him. He had made sure of that when he spent the better part of the drive home with his hand up her dress, as cunning fingers rubbed at her clit over the rough material of her panties. He was pretty sure there would soon be a speeding ticket with his name on it. But he couldn’t bring his self to give a fuck. He only hoped that the image taken by the speeding camera; of Nesta moaning and writhing in the passenger seat of his European sports car, would dissuade the cops from sending it. Cassian wound his hand around the back of Nesta’s garter belt and fisted the other into her hair, as he fucked her in ruthless, powerful thrusts. He came, harder than he ever had in his life. Spilling into the condom inside of her with bruising fingertips and clenched teeth. And Nesta followed not seconds later, with Cassian groaning and uttering filthy fucking promises into her skin.

He fulfilled those promises, just moments later. When Nesta was barely over the throws of her earth-shattering orgasm. Her ruined panties and stilettoes were gone, and her lace bra was push down beneath the curve of her breasts. Her sensitive nipples puckered from the earlier onslaught of Cassian’s tongue and teeth. She mewled at the feeling of the heated skin of her ass pressing onto the cool granite surface when Cassian lifted her onto his dining table. Anticipation pooled in her eyes like molten silver when two rough hands spread her knees wide apart. Cassian never considered himself a religious man. But there was something so unequivocally holy in that moment; Nesta’s gasping and moaning her pleas in abandon, while Cassian knelt and worshipped her flesh. Fingers and tongue worked in expert harmony, as he tasted every inch of her sopping cunt.

When they finally made it to the bed, Nesta was bare down to only her stockings – at Cassian’s adamant insistence. Her soaked panties were left with his thousand-dollar suit; crumpled on the dining area floor. Her bra and garter belt were practically torn off and dumped along the way of their frantic journey to his bedroom. Her long, burnished gold hair was spread generously over his charcoal bed sheets, like golden silk on molten rock. Briefly, Cassian wondered if those lavish strands were long enough to brush against the plush carpet on the floor, while her head was tipped over the edge of his bed, and his hard length plunged deep into her awaiting mouth. Cassian banished the thought instantly, lest their latest coupling end far too soon for his liking. One stocking clad leg was thrown over his shoulder. While the other, was pressed into the memory foam mattress, held down hard by a large, muscled hand. Cassian was drunk on the sight of Nesta like this. She was wholly stretched out by him; beyond anything he has ever attempted before with anyone else. And he silently thanked whatever depraved God watching over them, for her lithe, dancer’s body that could take it, and then some.

The blush that began at her cheeks, slowly made its way down her neck and to her chest. Mascara was smudged around her glazed eyes; faint tracks of it running down her face and into her hairline. The sleek lines of her dark red lipstick were nothing but whispers of what it once was on those beautiful, luscious lips. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. No doubt Cassian would find the rest of it imprinted on his plush, Italian leather couch. At that point in the night, Nesta’s mouth was open in a constant ‘O’ shape. Her pink, wet tongue periodically coming out to tangle with his. She was a sight of pure debauchery. And it was nothing short of a masterpiece. With each powerful thrust, Nesta body jerked with the force of it, her supple breasts bouncing in tandem. And Cassian was hypnotised by the rhythmic movement of her hardened nipples.

Cassian had taken many women to his Californian king-size bed. Beautiful women. Exquisite women. Some of them shy, some of them playful. And most were downright sinful. But Nesta. Nesta, Nesta. Cassian Khan felt like one of the greats. Like fucking Michelangelo, like Sandro Botticelli. Seeing how he was making her writhe beneath him like that; manicured fingers twisted in the bed sheets, arched back, neck bared, skin painted in the soft glow of the spectrum of city lights glittering through the floor to ceiling windows. Seeing how she was open completely, and unyieldingly to him. Taunt flesh rippling under the pearly skin of her flat stomach. Her soddened, swollen cunt, stretched deliciously around his considerable girth. She was priceless renaissance painting that belonged in a museum for the world to see. The Dance of Narcissus, he would call it.

With a guttered groan, Cassian broke through the moans, the pants, and the slick sounds of rock-hard flesh rubbing against soft, wet flesh. “Sweetheart, your pussy is perfect. Like it was made for me.” He couldn’t look away. At Nesta stretched out before him. A precious oasis to a dying, dehydrated man. He would do anything. Give anything – his cock, his time, his money – to keep her coming back to his bed.

“One day, I’m going to fuck you raw. Would you like that, sweetheart?” Nesta could only whimper in response. Which spurred Cassian to go faster, deeper. Harder. “I’ll fuck you so hard. Stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t walk properly for a week.”

Cassian snaked his free hand up her body, fingers caressing over her sensitive skin along the way. He drove it into her hair and gripped harshly onto the strands at the back of her head. “You’ll get up on that stage, and dance for all those filthy-minded men. But it’ll be me dripping out of your tight, little pussy and down your gorgeous legs.”

“Cass!” Nesta cried out. Desperate to touch him, she reached out, digging her sharp nails into his tensed bicep. Cassian welcomed the pain.

“Fuck Nesta. So, fucking perfect for me.” He knew he was close to his release, but he wanted her clenching around him before that. With hard tug of her hair, he made Nesta look him in the eye. Cassian felt the muscles of her thigh trembling at her impending climax beneath the hand that held down her leg to the mattress. “One more time, sweetheart. Come for me, I know you can.”

Nesta shattered around him, just like that. Never taking her eyes from him the entire time, as she gasped and thrashed beneath him. Incoherent words spilt in between each heaved breath. Cassian could only comprehend a word here and there; it was mostly in French. And he didn’t stop. Even as she cried out, begging for reprieve. Begging for more. Cassian pushed her legs even further apart, driving deeper into her limp, pliant body, brushing against places that had never been touched. A bead of sweat rolled down the length of his forehead and nose, before landing in the valley of Nesta’s breasts. Cassian breath stuttered as his cock tightened. And there were barely seconds for him to pull out completely from her over-sensitive flesh. Nesta choked at the sudden loss, but Cassian ignored her muffled protests. In one swift motion, he ripped the condom from his throbbing cock, and pumped the exposed length, once, twice, thrice. And Cassian came undone. He shouted Nesta’s name as ribbons of cum painted her breasts and stomach. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. He chanted her name over and, and over again. Until he was nothing. Until her name was but an imprint forever in his memory. A promise.

***

They had fucked one more time. Hours later, in the watery, grey light of dawn. Cassian awoke to soft mounds pressed against his back. To tongue and teeth dragging along the stubble on his jawline, and a delicate hand wrapped firmly around his erection. There was nothing separating their skin from head to toe. Nesta’s stocking were nowhere in sight. Not that Cassian cared to look anywhere beyond what was right in front of him at that moment. They shifted in unison, and she straddled him. Somehow, in all their lazy moments, Nesta had already rolled a condom it onto his shaft, while his eyelids were still heavy with sleep. And before he had the chance to touch her, she wordlessly sank onto him, teeth embedded into her bottom lip. Nesta waited, impaled on Cassian’s cock. Adjusting to his sheer size despite already having him twice before. Her flush was gone, but her skin was littered with the evidence of their carnal frenzy from merely hours ago. The first light of day, lit hair up like a golden vail spilling over her shoulders. She was breathtaking, so he told her. But she had not paid attention to his adorations. No, for the first time since they met the previous night. Nesta drank the entirely bare, magnificent sight of him. Her eyes ran over his rich brown skin. Every mountain and valley of muscle in his arms and abdomen. The notch of his throat. The sharp, brutal planes of his face. His molten, hazel eyes. The intricate black lines of ink that spanned his pectorals and biceps.

“Homme exquis.” Nesta murmured softly, as she lifted her hips.

Bodies, supple and hard, moved together. Deeply, and slowly with the rising sun. Chasing any lingering tastes of Cuban cigars and single-malt scotch. Once more. Cassian would want to have her once more, to match the frantic, carnal passion from the previous night. But he restrained himself. Being too content with that moment in the silence of an early morning. With Nesta tracing his tattoo with fingertips and tongue, and Cassian’s nosed buried into her damp hair. She must have showered while he slept. And he was consumed with the scent of him on her. He thought of her using his shampoo, his soap, his towel, and something small and warm burrowed deep within his chest.

They found their releases with each other, Nesta right after Cassian. And when Cassian emerged from his bathroom fifteen minutes later. A towel wrapped low around his sore hips, and tendrils of steam following his steps. Nesta was gone with the final shades of night. But promises of her remained, littered all over his apartment. Stockings draped over the bathroom rack next to a damp towel. A lace bra, hanging off his bedroom doorknob. Black panties laid out on his granite dining table. A garter belt slung over the back of the leather couch stained with cardinal lipstick kisses. Cassian kept them all with a secret smile on his face. Later, when the night would return in all its magnificent beauty. He would put on a fresh, expensive suit. And He would return to his castle. To his friends. To Nesta. And he would do it all over again.

[bus-stop-to-kpop]

Laboratory of the Naturally Gifted [Subject 035 - Jung Yunoh]

A/N: Trigger Warning!!: Jaehyun is the bad guy, kinda sexual (mentions of Reader being a virgin)

Read the [Prologue] first please :)

Subject 035 Name: Jung Yunoh Alias: Jaehyun Gender: Male D.o.B.: February 14, 1997 Nationality: Korean Gift: Mind Control -Can speak English -uses his power for his advantage -can seduce anyone, gender does not matter

~*~ "I have to warn you about him. He's not a good person. He used his power to become the head of a criminal gang, even the police couldn't catch him because he manipulated them." She explained. "Then how did he end up here?" You questioned. "We were able to make other Subjects infiltrate his gang and hold his power off for long enough so he could be arrested." The woman sounded like she had told that story a hundred times before. You nodded, honestly you didn't understand all of it, but you were too scared to ask for more details. The woman handed you a small remote with a big white button in the middle, "If you feel like he's getting too much for you, just press this button and someone will come get you." "OK." "Here is some more information on him." She handed you a file. Quickly you scanned over the information and what was written there didn't exactly make you feel less nervous. It was your first day and they really wanted you to work with a criminal? A big steel door was opened for you and you walked inside with a heavy heart. in the room you found a single desk with two chairs. It kinda looked like one of those interrogation rooms you would see in crime movies, it certainly felt that way.  Since Jaehyun had already occupied one of the chairs you sat down on the opposite one. You didn't dare to look into his face, too scared that he would use his gift on you.It made you feel a bit safer to see that his hands were chained to the table. Now you were sure this was definitely an interrogation room, after all the man in front of you was a criminal. "How lucky am I to get the new pretty staff?" The man in front of you broke the silence. You didn't react to his flirting, knowing that this was just him playing tricks on you, trying to get into your head. He sighed, "How I wish I could hear your voice. I bet it will fit your pretty face." You think so?" Trying to challenge him, but you were sure he picked up the nervousness in your voice and you wanted to slap yourself for that. You shouldn't present yourself "Are you single?" He tried to keep flirting. "Why would it matter to you?" He huffed. "You know it's rude to not look at the person who is talking to you." You started holding onto the remote a little tighter, but you had gained some confidence through your talks, deciding a short glance couldn't hurt. However, as soon as you looked up you got lost in his beauty. He really had a perfect face. No wonder he was able to seduce everyone. He smiled at you with his perfect pearly white teeth and then there were his beautiful brown eyes. Losing yourself in his eyes, Jaehyun didn't look away either. "So are you single?" You found yourself nodding to answer his question even though you didn't want to. "That's great!" He whispered with a sweet smile. "What? Why?" "Because now I don't have to worry about doing this." Before you could even question what he was talking about, his lips were pressed to yours. Deep down you knew it was wrong, but you instantly responded to the kiss. Jaehyun started to deepen the kiss and when you felt his hand in your hair you realized something was wrong. There was no way he could have gotten the handcuffs off. He was just tricking you, so as fast as possible you pulled away. When your eyes opened you felt the world spinning, it took a few seconds to get rid of the dizziness. Slightly shaking your head, you tried to make it go away faster. That's when Jaehyun started laughing at your reaction. You felt a bit embarrassed so your hand wrapper tighter around the remote once more. "Took you quite some time to realize." The male taunted and heat started rising to your cheeks. "It's a shame though. I would have loved to see how far I could have gone with you. We could have had some fun." A dirty smirk was present on his face, or at least that was what you imagined after not daring to look at him again. "If you don't have a significant other it's probably been some time since you got action, huh?"Jaehyun sneered. You didn't react to his mocking. "Or..." You could feel his gaze on you, "maybe you're a virgin!" He pretended to be shocked, but this was definitely going too far for you. Not even hesitating a second more, you pressed the white button and only a few seconds later the door was ripped open by a buff man. "Don't worry! I will keep your secret safe!" Were the last words Jaehyun shouted after you as you exited the room in a hurry. "I'm really sorry you have been assigned to him. He sure is really annoying." The buff man told you as he escorted you. "It's going to be okay!" Honestly you were just trying to convince yourself.

[what-the-fic-khr]

is this really an Among Us AU?? fucking maybe

character/s: gokudera hayato and sawada tsunayoshi (lambo, sasagawa ryohei and yamamoto takeshi make an appearance in the bonus bit)

word count: 1,214 (main: 923, bonus: 291)

warnings: death, blood, weapons, violence, mentions of a possibly deformed human ish, yeah. bonus part is not any of that and points out that it was just a game lol

prompt: Tsuna was so, so nice. He was their kind captain. (it’s an Among Us AU y’all I’m so sorry lol)

“Stupid fucking wires, stupid fucking suit...”

Hayato let out a soft grumble, eyes narrowing when he felt wires slip out of his hands again.

“God, I can’t see fucking shit...! Fucking...”

Wearing a suit for his safety on the ship was naturally understandable; anything could happen and if he didn’t have it on he’d be in danger. But, that meant he couldn’t wear his glasses and he couldn’t see through the thick glass shielding his eyes on his helmet.

It was bullshit.

“Fuck this!”

It meant things like connecting messed up wires became ten times harder than it had to be, and he was tempted to remove the dumb helmet and gloves just so he could do it properly. The ugly colours didn’t help him at all.

His scowl deepened when he heard a soft meow, but he didn’t bother looking down at his feet knowing well his helmet gave him limited vision. Uri could rub against his legs impatiently as much as she wished, but it didn’t get the job done any faster.

“Oh, Gokudera-kun!”

He jumped a little at the sound of a voice, but relaxed when he recognised it as Tsuna’s.

“Are you doing the wires?”

He nodded once, eyes narrowing as he strained to see the colour. It had to be blue. They were definitely blue.

Tsuna shuffled around behind him quietly, blinking his big brown eyes slowly. He wasn’t really fond of the wires, either.

“Do you need help?”

Hayato huffed loudly, and Tsuna couldn’t help his small laugh at his frustration.

“I’m fine, Tenth... It’s just being difficult.”

They’re wires, Gokudera-kun, Tsuna thought in amusement. He wouldn’t bother upsetting him further, though.

He took a step closer, humming when he heard the pattering feet of Natsu running in after him.

He watched Hayato continue to struggle, wondering if he should even talk. He was trying to focus, after all.

“You shouldn’t do tasks alone, you know,” he spoke up softly.

The imposter hadn’t escaped Hayato’s mind; not for a second. He would’ve heard anyone else walking up behind him. However, Tsuna has been surprisingly light on his feet.

Huh.

“Don’t worry, Tenth. I’d be fine if the bastard showed his face to me, anyway.”

His gaze shot to the side for a moment when he heard Natsu and Uri run off, his sight catching up a second after. They were always running around; they were awful at staying still.

At least Roll stayed still.

“Ehh, but still... They’re an imposter for a reason, aren’t they?” Tsuna asked. “They could be anywhere. It’s awful. Hah, it gets me nervous doing anything...”

“Oh, if you’re worried, you can stay with me!” He waved his momentarily free hand before carefully picking up the last wire. “Then we can move on to the next task together.”

Tsuna smiled widely at this, shoulders slumping in relief. “That’s good! Being alone is kind of scary, so I wouldn’t want you to be on your own, either.”

Tsuna was so kind. Hayato smiled a little at this, nodding in agreement. He was always so wonderful to everyone; he’d become the captain of the crew for a reason. He was so warm, and welcoming. He was lovely, with such a soft heart—

Cold. Cold.

Olive eyes widened for a moment before his gaze started to blur, a harsh breath tearing from his lungs.

“Hah...?”

His gaze moved around frantically, and he shifted his foot when the item in his back was removed– it was so cold, so sharp, sharp, sharp.

His voice was muffled by blood when he hit the wall of the ship, feeling the blade get shoved in harder the second time, the third, fourth, fifth.

It hurt. It hurt, it hurt, so bad.

He slid down the wall with a croaky gasp for air, and vaguely felt hands lower him onto his back and then remove his helmet.

Olive met chestnut, although it was all so blurry.

“T... Tenth...?”

Tsuna blinked slowly, so very slowly as he watched Hayato’s expression blank.

“Sorry, Gokudera-kun,” the brunet murmured softly. He spun his knife around before wiping the blood off of steel and onto a red uniform.

“W-Why?”

“Ah? I just... really don’t want to be a captain, you know?”

Tsuna cracked a grin so wide that it could’ve split his face in half, and with teeth so sharp that they could crush bone if he tried.

“I also don’t really feel like playing with humans, either.”

His eyes had shut when he grinned, and Hayato wished he had never reopened them, watching slitted amber stare down at him.

“For what it’s worth, Gokudera-kun, you were a pretty good friend while it lasted,” Tsuna cooed, petting his head gently with his clean hand.

Hayato couldn’t make out much at this point, but he did see the glint of silver lifting above him.

“Please... Don’t...”

He was so kind. He was meant to be so, so kind. Had he been the one who had killed the others? In cold blood, while shedding fake tears at the meeting table?

They were fake. Why?

It hurt.

Tsuna’s tongue pressed against his cheek to stop himself from laughing, a sharp point hidden by pearly white.

“Sorry.”

Hayato felt steel for barely a second in his chest before a searing pain burst up into his throat, trying to come out in a cry but only croaks and gasps took its place. He couldn’t breathe. It was cold. What was cold?

He couldn’t feel anything, he couldn’t see anything.

It hurt.

———

“H... Huh?”

Hayato stared at his computer screen blankly for a few moments, taking in his little character, sliced in half, dead on the floor and a pet mulling about.

What the hell?

‘Defeated’.

Oh. He’d been the deciding kill.

Suddenly he could hear everyone over his headset, and his eyes narrowed. It was just everyone yelling about the imposter.

“Tenth, it was you?!”

Light laughter echoed into his ears, and he slumped back into his chair as they all returned to the waiting room.

“Sorry, Gokudera-kun!”

“I didn’t suspect you for a second! Are you serious?!”

Tsuna had played the imposter -they’d decided on one so the newbies could get a grasp of the game at first- and he’d played them all like fools.

“You’re so good at this, Tsuna!” Takeshi chimed. “I believed every lie you told us!”

“Ehh, I don’t feel good about lying, but...” Tsuna would get yelled at by Lambo, of whom was watching, if he messed up while the imposter. Lambo was pretty picky about games.

Hayato was quiet, listening to the others praising his apparent skill at the game that Lambo had taught him about. He tapped a knuckle against his thigh, pursing his lips.

Tsuna was a very, very good liar.

God, he was so glad Tsuna was actually a good person, and they were on the same side. He wouldn’t know what he’d do if they weren’t.

“Oh, Lambo wants two imposters...?” Tsuna spoke up. “Is that okay? He’s on my phone so he can join.”

Ryohei snorted lowly. “Sure! It’ll be way better with teams!”

“Feh, as long as we aren’t imposters together,” Hayato grumbled. “Anything is fine, Tenth!”

“Ah, okay! Let’s play, then!”

Tsuna was very, very good at lying.

[secret-engima]

I feel like a fun time travel concept would be someone getting sent back and becoming a Messenger in the process.

I have a bunny like that! But it’s kinda stuck so I guess I could yeet some vague HCs for a new one along that vein.

-Ignis goes back in time because He Promised To Protect Noctis and He Will.

-The others only stay behind because they never wore the ring and Ignis did, which is what allows him to exploit a loophole and go back.

-Problem. The loophole comes with some fine print and now Ignis isn’t really ... human anymore.

-Everyone basically just picture a white-scaled Au Ra Ignis who is still all scarred up and blind because we’re going with dragon man who can turn into an Actual Dragon. XD

-Ignis is not amused. It takes him some time to learn how to deal with his new abilities, and yes Gentiana does come to personally “welcome” him as the new member of the Messengers (read: laugh at the stupid human who thought he could exploit a time-travel loophole without consequences).

-He bears with it because Anything for Noct and then goes to hunt down said boy in question once he has some grasp of his new existence and powers. Finds bby Noct in his crib, just a few months old, and Ignis sets up camp right there in the nursery, cooing and singing softly and generally wizarding his way into bby Noctis’s heart before any of the guards check to think inside the nursery on why the prince has been so Quiet for hours past the usual time babies start crying for attention (why the nurse didn't check sooner is a question Ignis would very much like answered thank you, so would Regis later when he’s calmed down).

-Guards open the door to find a scarred up DRAGON MAN holding the royal heir and flip out, Ignis evacuates with Noct in his arms to keep the baby away from the pointy swords.

-Two hours, some internal lectures, and MUCH PANIC on Regis’s part, Ignis shows up with a snoozing baby in his arms in Regis’s suite, suitably apologetic but also Not because This Is His Prince.

-Regis is Not Amused to discover that this entire thing was the result of an overprotective Messenger, and is also very alarmed because why are the Messengers (and by extension the Astrals) taking interest in his son at such a young age?

-Ignis refuses to tell him, but he also refuses to leave.

-The Citadel just kinda learns to Deal with the blind dragon man Messenger who spends basically all his time doting on the prince, growling warningly at the nurses and guards and harassing Regis to take a break from politics to come hold his son (Clarus is the only one to really appreciate the dragon man, because dragon man is a Team Mom and can appear in any room of the Citadel he wishes and he is fully down for lending Clarus a hand when Regis needs to be dragged away from his desk to eat and drink and sleep).

-By the time Noct is 4, all the Citadel has adapted to “Ignatius” (the first thing Iggy thought of as a fake name) being the little boy’s ever faithful shadow.

-Regis storms into Noctis’s rooms one evening, haggard and broken inside and asks very quietly so as not to wake Noctis up, “Did you know? That he was the Chosen King?”

-Ignatius turns his head toward the sound of the broken father and answers in a tone just as heartsick, “That is the reason I am here.”

-He can hear Regis sag into a chair, defeated before he’s even started, and something in Ignatius burns as Regis whispers, “So that is his fate then. To die so the world may know peace.”

-“If you intend to sit there and take it,” Ignatius growls in clipped tones, “then go mope somewhere else and let me go back to plotting to overthrow the prophecy.”

- “...You intend to fight the prophecy.”

-Ignatius pulls off his glasses, his scars on full display, and opens his sightless eyes and in their glazed reflection Regis sees fire, “Your Majesty,” he says in a voice as soft as the grave and as hard as steel, “I did not walk through time and death, I did not forgo my humanity, just so I could watch him die a second time.”

-Regis gapes, though Ignatius cannot see it and wouldn’t care if he could. He just turns back to the sleeping prince and runs gentle fingers through downy black hair while Regis sits and ... processes.

-“Ignis Scientia.”

-Ignatius stills, Regis takes it as a sign and pushes, “The boy I was considering as Noctis’s advisor, the young Ward here in the Citadel that’s-.”

-“Not me. Not anymore.” Ignatius touches his scars with a hand, “The man that boy became died a long time ago.”

-He hears Regis swallow hard, “If he died ... was the prophecy not fulfilled? Is that why you-.”

-“Let the Prophecy BURN,” Ignatius snarls, soft but fierce, “There are other ways to cure the Scourge and I will see them found. There are other ways Noctis can be the Chosen King without dying on the throne with a sword in his heart,” Regis makes an agonized noise at the mere thought, “and I am not here to stand by and let it happen again. Now.” Ignatius turns his head toward the king and bares inhuman pearly dragon teeth, “Are you with me or not, Your Majesty?”

-There is silence, then fabric moving and footsteps on carpet. Ignatius doesn’t flinch from the gentle touch on his facial scars, the hand cupping his cheek, “For my son? Anything.”

-Ignatius smiles.

[theonceoverthinker]

When Will My Life Begin? (Fair Game, 16/?)

Summary: Tangled AU. Clover Callows has been confined to a tower for all of his life, and given the threat that his Uncle Tyrian says his semblance poses to his safety, he accepts that fate. It’s the only life he’s ever known, after all. But when he’s offered the opportunity to fulfill his greatest dream after a chance encounter with a thief -- or bandit, as Qrow Branwen insists there’s a difference between the two -- both Clover and Qrow will discover joys that they never knew life could offer them before.

AO3

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A/N: I am SO sorry for the late upload! This chapter was REALLY hard for me, but I wanted to make sure it delivered well enough, so thank you so much for your patience! I hope you enjoy!  ()()()()()()()()()()()()()() After years of shenanigans resulting from his banditry, Qrow Branwen had started to believe that he’d seen just about everything the world had to offer.

After finding himself tied up in a metallic fishing line by a barefoot, awkward, muscle-y man, Qrow figured that now he’d seen just about everything the world had to offer.

However, while he’d had shudder-inducing daydreams about them, one thing that he supposed he hadn’t seen yet was the insides of a prison cell.

Now though, as he struggled helplessly in the clutches of Robyn Hill’s team at Lil’ Miss Malachite’s with guards due to arrive at his location any minute now, Qrow suspected he was about to finally, definitively, see everything the world had to offer him.

Somehow, between the grunts and protests for his freedom, he was able to contain his excitement.

He felt like he was going to be sick, and not just as a result of the tightness of his limbs in the ladies’ clutches.

This couldn’t be happening -- not now, not when he was so close to getting everything he’d ever wanted, or at least the money needed to do so.

But the royal guard -- likely even the Ace Ops themselves -- were on their way here, and trapped, there was nothing he could do about that.

Well, at least he’d probably seen everything a free life had to offer…maybe...

Qrow looked over at Lil’ Miss Malachite as she sat on the other end of the tavern, content to watch him hopelessly struggle against his captors. She was getting such a kick out of this, a pearly white smirk plastered onto her face like ale to the insides of a keg.

Maybe that’s not what he should’ve been thinking about at that moment, but with the stench of ale covering every surface of Lil' Miss Malachite’s, it was almost instinctual.

He had to get out of here, preferably with his freedom intact.

“Look!” Qrow tried to call out to Lil’ Miss Malachite. “I can pay you back -- with interest, even! I just need a few more days to get the money together!” However, Qrow knew his words were either drowned out by the rest of the tavern’s occupants or devoid of any reason to believe them, slipped off her ears like water down a roof.

Well...it was worth a shot.

Qrow attempted to find Clover in the crowd again, but to no luck. With the front door secured behind Sun, the poor guy was probably in some corner of the tavern hiding. In truth, Qrow felt bad about that. If he’d known how badly this was going to turn out...well, of course, he wouldn’t have gone in to save his own skin, but he wouldn’t have gone in either to save Clover the pain of having to witness this either.

Looks like this day wasn’t going to work out for either of them.

At least Clover had that bird of his to keep him company. Raven may have been a stubborn pigeon, but at least she would look out for him.

Suddenly, Qrow, pulled from his thoughts, noticed a flash of ginger hair quickly approaching Lil’ Miss Malachite.

It didn’t take long for Qrow to tell that it was Nora who was going to speak with her. Nora was a presence hard to forget, despite Qrow’s occasional attempts to do so when she and her friends were too annoying. Once she got over to Lil’ Miss Malachite, she started waving her arms around, yelling all the while about some commotion outside the tavern. Her hands pointed in the direction of the back of the restaurant, and though Lil’ Miss Malachite clearly wasn’t at all thrilled to hear whatever it was Nora had to say, she soon sighed, apparently relenting to whatever it was Nora wanted her to do.

“Robyn!” she called out. “I need to go out back for a moment. Don’t let Branwen out of your sight until the guards show up and that gold’s in your hands and counted! You understand?”

“Yes, boss,” Robyn mumbled as Lil’ Miss Malachite rose from her chair and followed Nora. 

Qrow turned to Robyn, who while still looking at his form just to make sure he couldn’t escape, couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “Sorry, Qrow.”

At his current situation and her apology, Qrow found himself at an utter loss as to what to say. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t get that she had to do what she had to do...but Gods, why did it have to come at his expense?

That was just the way the world worked, he supposed. 

Feeling that his struggling was getting him nowhere, Qrow started to relax his body. 

Who knew what prison had in store for him, especially with Mercury all but guaranteed to be there with him, hotheaded and angry after Qrow’s betrayal? It was probably for the best that he started saving his energy for that reunion.

To best divert his thoughts from that line of thinking, he let his eyes scan the surface of the tavern again for any sign of Clover. He was unsure of whether or not he did so because he wanted to apologize or to just so he could see one more person who wasn’t actively trying to arrest him before he was carted off back to the capital. 

Maybe he could have the best of both worlds and tell Clover to just follow the guards back there.

At least then Clover would get to see the lanterns, and one of them would leave this arrangement happily.

Much to his surprise, he not only found Clover still relatively okay, but found him climbing on top of one of the tavern’s abandoned tables. Clover was shaking slightly, absolutely uneasy with his surroundings, but he balled his fists, appearing to steel his resolve enough to do...whatever it was that he was about to do.

What the hell was he planning?

Clover looked to Raven, said something to her, winked at her, and plugged his ears. 

Oh, Gods no!

If he had to listen to any sound with his last few moments of freedom, he begged for it not to be that one.

But that’s exactly what he heard as Raven let loose one of her now famous-to-him squawks.

He swore to the Gods was going to go deaf from those eventually.

At least then he wouldn’t have to hear them anymore.

As Raven squawked, the entire tavern went quiet as to look for the source of the noise.

When they found it, the bar’s occupants -- even Robyn -- all turned to the very nervous Clover, a mix of annoyance and curiosity on their collective faces. Qrow could relate to the sentiment after dealing with the exact thing for the better part of the day thus far.

What was he up to?

“Hi,” Clover said, so shyly awkwardly, and yet somehow casually that it almost hurt to watch. “So,” he continued, “you have my guide captured over there,” he continued, pointing to Qrow, “and I need him back.” 

Qrow’s jaw hurt from falling as hard as it did.

He couldn’t be trying to talk this out with his captors, could he?

Clover was aware of the crowd he was dealing with, right -- the very same crowd that currently had his arms, legs and surroundings completely covered?

Wasn’t he afraid of miscreants and crooks and the like last time he checked?

Did he get hit over the head by one of them?

Seemingly at everyone in the tavern’s silence, Clover then took a deep breath. 

“Look,” he kept going, “I know your boss wants him for that reward money, and Qrow definitely needs to make things right, but it shouldn’t happen like this, and I need him to guide me to the capital so I can see the lanterns tomorrow. I’m sorry I’m making a big deal about this, but I’ve been dreaming about seeing these lanterns my entire life, and I’m only going to have one chance to ever see them in person. Dreaming of them makes my life worth living, even when it feels like I have no purpose. Those dreams in their own way raised me and let me see the world in a new light. I know I’m just a stranger, and you’re all far more...worldly than I am, but I have to ask, can’t you find your humanity and help us?”

Gods, Clover was really trying to free Qrow like this...

He was done for. 

In the space between Qrow and Clover, Robyn sighed. 

“Look,” she said, “you’re not wrong. I’d rather not capture Qrow like this. At the very least, there are better things my friends and I could do with our time than keep Qrow prisoner, but I’ve got a job to keep, and like the method or not, Qrow’s got to pay for...whatever it was he stole this time. I get that passion about dreams -- how they’re hope incarnate when you feel like you have none -- and I wish I could do something for you, but I can’t help you fulfil your dreams. I can’t even manage to fulfil my own.”

Qrow expected Clover to lose heart, and step down from the table in quiet defeat. He did his best, and he should’ve considered himself lucky that Robyn was in a patient mood with him.

However, Clover didn’t climb down from the table.

“Well, what is your dream?” Clover asked instead.

Robyn’s eyes widened, and Qrow’s followed suit quickly afterwards. 

Oh Gods. In all the time Qrow had known Robyn, she hadn’t talked that much about herself.

And Clover, having known her for ten seconds, expected her to talk about her most personal dreams?

Outside of an abstract sense that everyone had them on some level, Qrow couldn’t even believe that she had dreams at all!

Clover was going to die. That was what was going to happen. He was going to be arrested, and Clover was going to die.

Robyn took a step towards Clover, and then another and another, her gaze as steely as ever. 

“You want to know about my dreams?”

Clover seemed to freeze just a bit. Qrow tried to gesture for him to run with his eyes, but he couldn’t catch his gaze.

“Y-yes,” he answered after a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, I do.”

She then took another step towards him, her expression unchanged. 

Then something happened that Qrow hadn’t expected. 

In hindsight, when it came to Clover, he should’ve known better than to not expect that by now.

A sigh came from Robyn, but it was one that sounded like she was about to relent.

And as her expression softened, relent was exactly what she did.

“I want to own a restaurant,” she confessed.

Qrow couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. His eyes and ears had to have been replaced at some point during the countless instances of manhandling -- as well as birdhandling -- he’d been subjected to today.

However, as he heard and saw Robyn’s dream announced out loud, he knew none of that was the case.

Words didn’t leave Qrow’s mouth after Robyn’s confession. 

Words didn’t leave Robyn’s mouth after her confession. 

Words didn’t leave anyone’s mouth after her confession -- well, they almost didn’t.

“That’s fantastic!” Clover said. “I love cooking, too. And of course baking is nice, and who can resist hearing about how others feel about your food? To do that every day? It’s a nice way to make a living.”

With the silence broken with Clover’s comment, many of the tavern’s patrons gave the notion of a Robyn-owned restaurant intrigued hums. Qrow couldn’t help but be one of them. She was a good cook, and she practically ran Lil’ Miss Malachite’s already. A version of the place under her management would be at the very least interesting.

It would certainly give Qrow more of an excuse to come by, and once he had the money from that satchel, pay off his tab.

Robyn’s eyes widened, though she looked to try to refocus herself. 

 “Guys, I think we all know that dreams don’t get to come true around here a lot,” she reminded all of them.

“I bet you could make this one come true,” Clover casually shot back. “Look -- until three hours ago, I lived my whole life in a tower, just dreaming about what seeing the lanterns would be like! And now here I am with all of you...energetic people, about to live my dream...provided I have my guide with me.” Robyn shot Clover a deadpan look. “What I’m saying is that if I can fight for a dream, then you can too, right? And people seem to like the idea of you having a restaurant.”

“He’s got a point there,” the guy who stood in front of the door, though now only loosely, said. “Trust me, Robyn. I’ve been bussing tables here for years now. People don’t come to this place to see Malachite, and it’s not even the closest or even cheapest place around.”

“Gods know it’s not about the price!” another man interjected.

“See what I mean? They come here for you. You’re the one who looks out for us, hears our problems, offers solutions, mixes the best drinks, memorizes our tabs, makes great appetizers, and so much other stuff. Besides, you’d make a way better boss than she is.”

“Sun’s right,” May added. “And if you owned the place, we could make more money for our village.” 

“Not to mention, have them over for a hot meal every once in a while,” Joanna added.

“And host events!” Fiona chimed in.

Robyn’s mouth moved, but no sounds came out, especially as more of the tavern’s patrons joined in, all adding comments about how much better the bar would be if she was in charge, how the name would be less of a mouthful if it was named after Robyn instead of Lil’ Miss Malachite, and how they’d love to see it converted into a proper restaurant.

Even Qrow, who was still unable to believe that Clover was actually revealing this side of Robyn and not getting killed for trying, found no reason to doubt her. If she wanted to open a restaurant -- and apparently, she really did want to -- she absolutely could.

“G-guys,” Robyn protested. “I’m grateful for the support -- I really am -- and it’s a sweet sentiment, but I can’t pay for a restaurant.”

“Well,” Clover said, “if so many people dislike Lil’ Miss Malachite, why not take over this one?”

“Because it doesn’t belong to m-!”

“Oh, please,” Sun interrupted. “It doesn’t even belong to Malachite. She stole it off of the Violette family years ago. Stealing it back from her would be one hell of a way of advertising the place! I could see it now -- your reputation as a hero who overthrew Lil’ Miss Malachite herself! Ooh! I could do that for you -- run around the capital, telling everyone your story and to visit your restaurant. I’m pretty endearing!”

“I could be your sous chef!” May offered. 

“Dibs on being the hostess!” Fiona called. 

“I’ll handle the interior design!” Joanna said.

Suddenly, the back door flung open. 

“And the Juniper Jaggers would like to offer up our help with security!” Jaune announced. 

Ren and Pyrrha pushed in a chair which held the now bound and gagged Lil’ Miss Malachite. 

“Consider this our team’s resume,” Nora added.

Robyn looked around the tavern, seemingly to check if anyone had any sensible objection to this move. Eventually, her eyes locked with the eyes of the still bound-by-her-teammates Qrow.

Qrow, admittedly incredulously, shrugged. “Seems like you’ve got the demand for it.”

She turned back to Clover, who was grinning brightly. “You have so many people who believe in you. Embrace that and follow your dream!” Robyn stayed silent for a moment, but even with the back of her head now to his face, Qrow could tell that a smile was forming. “I can provide you with good recipes for bread rolls,” Clover cheekily supplied. 

Robyn nodded. “I might just have to take you up on that.” She turned to her teammates and gestured towards Qrow. “Let him go, ladies. We’ve got a mutiny to prepare for and a restaurant to take charge of.”

And just like that, Qrow was lowered to the ground, finally set free.

It felt odd to stand up again, but he’d never felt so grateful to be able to freely.

Clover approached Qrow, with both he and Raven smugly smiling. 

Show offs.

“Great idea for lunch!” Clover said, nudging him with his elbow.

Qrow rolled his eyes jokingly. “Yeah, yeah. It was wrong of me to try to trick you,” he confessed teasingly. “But hey -- at least I got you to face your fears, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did,” Clover replied in a similar manner. “And now we’re one step closer to fulfilling my dream!”

“Which reminds me,” Robyn said, “Qrow, out of curiosity, what’s your dream?”

“No way. I don’t wax poetically about my dreams like you two apparently do.”

Robyn smirked at him and tilted her head backwards. 

“Joanna! May! Fiona!” Robyn called out in a singsong fashion. “Maybe we should capture Qrow again. He’s got that tab he hasn’t paid back yet, plus, the reward will get us some great startup go-!”

“Okay, okay!” Qrow grunted. Robyn, Clover, and Raven immediately started laughing. “I hate you all,” he sneered, albeit only half heartedly. “You really wanna know what my dream is? It’s not all that interesting.”

“Yes, I do, and why don’t we make this a bit more fun, in that case?” Robyn extended her hand to Qrow. “My semblance is raring to go, just to keep you honest.”

“Always one to trust, aren’t you, Robyn?”

“When I’m around someone I can trust,” Robyn answered.

Snorting, Qrow grabbed Robyn’s hand and smirked.

So much of today had been hard, but this? 

No. This was going to be nice and easy.

“Money,” he said. “Enough so I never have to want for anything for the rest of my life.”

Immediately, Robyn, Clover, and Raven shot him unimpressed looks, especially as his hand began to glow green, signifying that he was indeed being truthful with his claim. Qrow expected Clover to comment on her semblance, especially since he likely hasn’t seen many in his life, and he seemed like he wanted to, but he instead said nothing, keeping whatever thoughts he had about it to himself.

What was up with that?

In fact, Clover hadn’t said a word about semblances since they met at all.

Given his unique circumstances, did he even know what semblances were?

Perhaps those were questions that warranted asking. After all, it was now abundantly clear that whether Qrow liked it or not, they were going to spend the next three days together. There was plenty of time to find out about matters like that.

Clover was turning out to be quite the interesting mystery to solve after all, and now, was one that he actually wanted to discover a bit more about.

Robyn turned to Clover. “Clover,” Robyn said, “you’re something special. Qrow...you’re something else. Not something bad...just something else.”

It looked like Robyn was going to say more, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, Jaune, now looking out the front window, interrupted them. 

“Um, guys?” he said. “Cardin’s back on his way.”

“And he’s got company,” Pyrrha added.

“We’ve got to get you two out of here,” Joanna said.

“What are we going to do?” Sun asked. “The guards are coming from the front entrance, and there’s no way they won’t see them leaving through the back entrance. There’s no way out!”

Qrow and Clover turned to Robyn for help coming up with an escape plan.

Fortunately, she seemed to already be one step ahead of them all.

“Well,” Robyn said, “that’s not entirely true. There is another way out.” Robyn looked to Fiona. “Fiona, I don’t feel like ruining the setup of my lovely establishment, so would you do the honors? Personally, I think our bar could stand to be a little...dryer.”

Fiona grinned. “With pleasure, Robyn!” She then jumped up to the bar and waved her hand over the collection of ales and liquors at the back of it. 

Suddenly, the contents she’d waved at all turned transparent just before disappearing all together. From beside him, Qrow could feel Clover’s eyes widen, shocked. 

Robyn and Fiona released a pleased snort, especially as they all heard Lil’ Miss Malachite’s muffled angry protests in the background.

“Fiona’s got one hell of a semblance,” Qrow said, attempting to explain it, “can practically hide away a circus with it.”

“It’s impressive,” Clover said. However, once more, he left it at that.

Robyn was certainly right about Clover -- he was indeed something special.

They looked to where the tavern’s alcohol collection was, only to now see just a door on the floor.

“Even the boss -- or rather, former boss -- doesn’t know about this one,” Robyn bragged. “Follow this all the way through and you should be in the clear, provided you can stay out of trouble.”

Qrow shrugged, smirking as he climbed down the small ladder below the door. “No promises.”

Robyn rolled her eyes. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“I’ll try to keep him out of trouble,” Clover promised for him as he followed Qrow’s lead.

Jeez, how did he end up traveling with such a good goody two shoes?

Or rather, a goody goody no shoes?

Qrow had to try that nickname out on Clover at some point. He’d certainly get a kick out of it.

Robyn hummed, looking at Clover. “ It’s a good thing he’ll have you then. Hell, maybe you’ll be just what he needs to shape up.”

Clover smiled appreciatively at the comment. 

Qrow snorted.

“I think you know me well enough by now to know that’s not happening,” he said.

Smirking at the two of them, Robyn shrugged.

“We’ll see about that.”

Robyn’s eyes traveled over to Clover before shooting back to Qrow with a knowing, suggestive smirk. She’d done that in the past when trying to set him up with other patrons that she thought would be good for him, but she’d never done it while the target of her set up stood so close to him. 

Gods, she was so embarrassing!

Qrow, having no idea how to respond to that, simply blushed. He prayed Clover hadn’t seen either the look Robyn gave Qrow or his reaction to it, and thankfully, Clover seemed too preoccupied waving at and sending well wishes to his new friends to notice.

“Okay, you guys, this is it,” Robyn said, gesturing for them to go deeper down the tavern’s secret passageway. “Clover, go get your dreams. Qrow...get better dreams.”

Qrow groaned. “Ughh. Can we get on with this? I don’t feel like getting arrested today.”

Robyn waved them off, closing the door behind them. Seconds after the door closed, Qrow could hear a thumping noise, signifying that the tavern’s concealed entrance had been covered once more.

Right beside them, there was a small lantern with a match inside it. Qrow lit it and started walking deeper into the tunnel, with Clover following closely behind.

Well, an entire bar won over by a conversation about dreams and a trek down a secret passageway weren’t things Qrow expected to see today, or ever for that matter.

Then again, Qrow was starting to suspect that, especially with his new traveling companion, there were a lot of things in life that he hadn’t seen yet, and maybe that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs “Noctus”

Been surprisingly busy lately, but wanted to write something for you guys, and something for Sunny and Vir since I’ve been focusing so much on Krill lately. 

I think that was a pretty fun little action sequence if you are into that. Hope you enjoy. 

Noctopolis The second largest moon on the outer ring, one of the furthest worlds from the galactic assembly, while many of the other worlds are cradled by the interstellar hand of peace, Noctopolis hangs by the thread of uncertainty over the vast voids of unexplored space.

Besides, you can hardly have an intergalactic community without a criminal element.

Noctopolis was actually established as a mining community, specifically for its rich deposits of iron, and titanium. Over time vast canyons and valleys were cut through the ground, and once the land had been bled dry of its resources, the builders consigned to work there had made themselves a vast urban forest, stretching miles underground and miles into the sky. Though much of the planet is still used for mining, the rest of it remains a vast urban landscape, serving as a sky port for distant travelers, and a haven for those wishing to remain only on the outskirts of GA influence.

In recent months it had become the unofficial capital of LFIL community. Seeing that interspecies were banned in the GA, Noctopolis was the next best option.

The catwalk below their feet clattered and squealed as the two figures made their way through the darkness, one large and hulking while the other was slight in comparison. The unknown voice of thousands rushed up from the descending depths of the cavernous rift in which the cityscape was set. The sky was a continuous shade of deep purple, verging on twilight, barely visible above their heads through the towering cityscape which clawed its way from the planets bowls and towards the sky reaching upwards with spires like grasping fingers.

They cut across catwalks spanning the great descending chasm before hugging tight against the buildings again. Aliens of all shapes and sizes peered from the darkness cast into an eerie hellish glow by hundreds of red bulbs haphazardly bolted into the rock walls of the chasm. A distant blue-purple mist cast the bottom most depths of the crevice into shadow. Heads turned in curiosity as they passed taking in the two shapes keeping so close together.

The smaller figure cut across a thin steel beam before dropping onto a metal platform attached to a rickety pulley. The platform swayed dangerously as the figure steadied himself against the cables. Behind him, a large silhouette waited until the platform was secure to step into place.

Both figures were engulfed in shadow as they were lowered into darkness.

***

The club bounced and thudded with a pounding beat. Lights flashed in all colors of neon red and blue as strange bodies gyrated and spun in place to the pleasure of watching eyes. Circular couches, set into the floor, stood like small islands of neon light, around their individual stages, against a backdrop of darkness. At the back of this room, sitting atop a raised platform and additional couch, sat a single occupant. His fur was a light tawny yellow, with beady black eyes, and large, bat like, swiveling ears. He wore at least three glow sticks about his slim neck and many ostentatious metal rings across his eight fingers.

He looked up in anticipation as the beaded curtains across the room were thrown open, and a bouncer stepped into the room escorting two figures, one of them clearly human. He was a rather dirty looking thing, regaled in long, brown, scuffed leather jacket tied about the forearms, and hands with dirty scraps of cloth. The boots he wore were covered in mining coal, and one of his legs was braced by a rickety exoskeleton that must have squealed something horribly when he moved. The harness he wore under the jacket would have been used by a mining vessel, holding the human in place for the most dangerous of jobs. From here, his eyes were mostly cast into shadow, but even from this distance, he could see glowing orange ring that surrounded the fake aperture. Even despite the injuries, the human could potentially fetch a nice price, some people were into missing parts.

His companion on the other hand was a might bit taller. She, for he guessed it was a she due to her size, was covered from head to toe in crude steel-plate armor, the mark of a Drev mercenary, but even despite that, he could see the rich metallic blue of her carapace beneath. Perhaps her height would be a turnoff for some, but he was under the impression her coloring would more than make up for it.

The bouncer pointed them towards the end of the room, and they approached quickly. He watched closely as the human marched his way up. For someone with a busted leg, he walked with surprising surety, chin raised high eyes turned to face him.

That’s probably what gave him away.

Ever other man he had met of this human’s caliber didn’t waste an opportunity to take a look. These humans were of good stock, the most beautiful of both of their genders, and even if he wasn’t into that there were plenty of other alien specimens for him to choose from. The human and his Drev companion paused before the table. The man lifted his chin, and the Drev just stared forward eyes unmoving.

“Is there something wrong with my selection?” The tesraki wondered eyes fixed on the young man and his mechanical eye.

This seemed to nonplus him and he tilted his head slightly, “Sorry?”

He motioned out towards the floor, “My selection, surely there is something here you would like…. Male, female, alien.”

The young man glanced towards the floor eyes pausing momentarily on one of the stations before quickly looing away, “I am not here for that, sir.”

The Tesraki laughed, “Sir, HA, no one has called me that before.” He glanced over at the Drev again, she really would fetch a nice price, with those golden eyes of hers. Quite pretty, “You can call me Noctus, after my beautiful city. Now back to my earlier question, who are you working for the GA or the UNSC.”

The young man blinked in confusion and stepped back, “Working for…. What do you mean?”

“I mean what gourmet agency are you working for?” He waved a hand, “Oh don’t look so surprised, please. No one walks into your club, doesn’t ogle the eye candy, and THEN call you sir. That’s some human military shit right there if I ever heard it, so question is UNSC or GA.”

The human tilted his head, “You think I’m working for the government just because I’m not interested in your strippers?”

“Look kid, you a miner, human miners that come here come in only one type of stock, the hard working, low income type with nothing to live for. You don’t fit the bill,”

The human opened his mouth to protest, but the Drev female stepped in, “That’s because he’s with me.” She rested an arm about the human’s shoulders and pulled him close, “He used to work for the GA until they banned interspecies relationships, he gave up everything to come be with me. Had to become a miner in order to live.” She leaned down affectionately rubbing her beaklike muzzle against the shock of fuzz atop the human’s head.

The human halted for a second and then nodded sheepishly, “I wasn’t prepared for how hard the life would be. She’s all I have left.”

“Hmm.” Noctus thought leaning back in his chair. A large shadow passed over him from behind coming at his call. The large Drev female was around nine feet tall with pearly white carapace polished to a shine, quite genetically rare for a Drev. She wore a pale rose-gold collar around her neck which glittered as she squatted to offer him a drink. He took the offering and then shooed her away, “Alright then, let’s hear it, what do you want?”

“A second chance sir…. I…. I thought perhaps I could boost my income at the black nines tables, but….”

“But you lost it all and are now looking for a loan.” The young man looked away as if in shame. The Drev female hugged him closer placing another comforting arm around him.

“Follow me then.” With a soft clatter of excessive and ostentatious jewelry Noctus clattered to the floor and waddled towards a small unassuming door behind his couch. The Drev and the young man followed after holding hands now that they had been given permission to do so.

With an agile hand, Noctus slipped a keycard from the sleeve of his expensive custom blazer and opened the door into a large dark room, “Stay here for a moment, I don’t like letting my guests know where I keep my assets.” He scuttled across the room quickly scampering up a hidden staircase. A the center of the room the human and the Drev stood holding hands unsuspecting as they were suddenly bathed from above by two cutting beams of white light. The lights continued to flip on from all angles, and a shout like rolling thunder rose up as lights of blue and red flashed on above an elevated, and hungry crowd.

“WELCOME ONE WELCOME ALL TO THE NOCTUS NIGHT OF MAYHEM.” The tesraki stood now silhouetted against a grand white spotlight beaming down with them as the rings glittered atop his fingers.

“Do you really think I’m that STUPID.” At the center of the room, the human and the Drev had dropped hands and shuffled back to back staring upwards at the roaring crowd, “That I wouldn’t guess who you are COMMANDER VIR, and his loyal lieutenant SUNNY Cosmasdaughter. The two of you have been tracking my business practices for MONTHS. I was beginning to wonder if there was any way I was going to get rid of you, perhaps finally the GA had caught up, but, here you are on the perfect night to disappear. Such poor timing.” On the floor, the human looked up at him with cold calculating eyes as he pulled off the squeaky metal brace tossing it to the side.

“You caught us then Noctus, what now?”

“Oh now, you FIGHT!”

***

Egnar weren’t particularly known for their brains, but they did know how to make an entrance. Riled by the screaming crowd, the massive, troll-like creature smashed its way through the half open doors and out into the arena its massive ten foot height dwarfing both the human and the Drev as it charged outwards already swinging its massive club in a wild arc bellowing at the top of its lungs in a terrifying display of power and strength.

To their credit, neither the human nor the Drev froze, the human sprinting and leaping onto the Drev’s back even as she began her preeminent charge towards the creature. There was no way that was going to end well. Above, the crowd roared as the Drev female ducked under another wide swinging throw closing so she was inside the swing of the massive club. She cut low throwing her weight against the creature’s knees and upper thighs well below its center of gravity.

It seemed almost surprised as it tipped over and onto the ground. Dropping from the Drev,s  back, the human fell onto the creature’s chest and struck forward sharp object spraying bright orange sludge into the air as it struck. The cut was a good one, and would have been lethal if the creature hadn’t bellowed and bucked the human from its chest at the last moment. The small figure went tumbling across the ground before somehow bracing his foot against the floor shedding sparks as he skidded to a stop in a low crouch.

The Drev and the human were opposite each other now with the Egnar between them. Seeing it’s two opponents, the massive beast keyed in on the smaller figure sure that he would be easier to take out. He broke into a charge swinging his club high above his head and then around. The human turned, and instead of running away he raced towards the beast. The crowd screamed as he skidded under the flailing club, and below the creature’s leg’s through the narrow window between its heels.

He jumped to his feet at the last second sprinting towards the Drev Female who broke into a run. They were sprinting towards each other now at top speed as if they were about to barrel into each other, but at the last moment, the human kicked off the ground leaping into the air impossibly high for a human. The Drev raced forward opening her arms wide.

The human’s foot struck the Drev’s chest dead center deflecting and then springing backwards. The combined momentum of the Drev’s forward run and the human’s powerful push sent the human rocketing in one direction and the Drev forcibly onto the ground. Airborne for only a few seconds, the human turned in a tight spiral orienting his metal foot right into the Egnar’s unprotected face.

The splintering noise was almost sickening, audible even over the roaring of the crowd. Both human and Egnar went to the ground hard, one to its back the other sent tumbling across the floor to crash into the wall where it lay still.

Noctus was surprised, they fought like any good Drev battle pair that he had seen. Perhaps that part of their little story hadn’t been a lie after all.

The Egnar stumbled to its feet clawing at its face and bellowing in pain as orange sludge squirted from between its hands. It was angrier than ever, but didn’t get the chance to do much as a blue metallic shape roared form nowhere and body shoulder checked it back onto the floor grabbing an arm and wrenching it brutally from the socket. The creature screamed at the brutal dislocation as the Drev slid around its back, locked her legs around its shoulders and began to squeeze. The Egnar fought feebly for a moment though its body began to grow sluggish before growing limp.

Above, in his place of honor Noctus frowned, “Well… that was not what I expected. No matter, I have more where that came from.”

“I don’t think so.” He glanced towards the voice as the crowd began to quiet, and saw the human limp from the shadows. His metallic leg was showing now, the same color as the Drev female. Red leaked down from a cut on his temple.

“Oh you don’t think so? And why is that.”

The human stopped next to his Drev companion, “Noctus, by order of the Galactic assembly, you are hereby under arrest on the charges of racketeering, slave trafficking, exploitation, money laundering, extortion, blackmail, and tax evasion.”

Noctus laughed, “Oh really huh, and who is going to arrest me, you?”

A small smile flickered over the human’s face, “No, they are.” The room was suddenly awash with a wave of sound as UNSC and GA soldiers erupted into the room. At last five red dots trained themselves on Noctus cutting through the crowd as the soldiers moved through the room backdropped by the flashing red and blue lights. The crowd screamed and rocked to its feet as the people attempted to escape, but were foiled as the large overhead light flashed on bathing them all in bright white light.

They were all ordered against the wall as more officers poured into the room.

“YOU KNOW NOTHING. WHERE IS YOUR PROOF! YOU CAN’T PROVE ANYTHING.” The tesraki screamed

“Even if that is true, Mr. Noctus, we do have one charge for you.” The head officer said stepping through the crowd to stand before the struggling Tesraki.

“Oh, and what is that.”

“The kidnapping, assault, imprisonment, and endangerment of a GA affiliated UNSC officer, and crewmember.”  The crowd noise drowned out any more words the man would have said, but not the screaming of the Tesraki as he was dragged away.

***

Outside, in the now empty club, Captain Vir leaned against Sunny shoulder as they waited for the other officers. Lights still flickered in red and blue and they waited wounds wrapped, a little less than expertly without their Vrul medic.

“You made quick work of that troll thing in there, nice job.” He said playfully nudging Sunny’s large armor plated shoulder.

“Not so bad yourself, for a puny human.” She commented wryly turning her head to fix one golden eye on him.

He laughed, “Yeah, not so bad for a puny human….. think he bought it?”

“Bought what? You don’t mean the story that he totally wasn’t intended to buy? Probably not.”

“No, not that. I mean that story you made up on the fly…. pretty quick witted for a big lug.” He teased

She waved a hand, “Nah probably not. I mean, could you imagine. Ha he’d have to be a real idiot to believe that.”

“Ha, you’re probably right… A real idiot.”

[shreddedparchment]

Man and Wife Pt.05

The Two Lives

04/14/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader          Word Count: 11,536

*Masterpost in Notes     Warnings: angst, smut, language, jealousy, love triangles

A/N: I’m not going to make this long. I hope you enjoy this one. Things kinda blow up. Also, this story is becoming much longer than I anticipated. Damn. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

“You want some help?” Henry sidles up beside you, staring down at the box of manuscripts. There has to be at least thirty to forty stories, all of them riding on the hope that you might like one of them and then the process will commence.

Only one of the authors in this box will be picked for next year’s Spring publishing cycle and though normally this weight would be heavy on your shoulders, a different sort of worry weighs you down.

In this moment, standing in the small two-story office in town in front of your very plain wooden desk, the only thing you can think about is whether Bucky has gone back to the apartment yet.

Had he shown up and seen you gone? Would he have waited for you? Is he still waiting if he’d decided to? It’s a Saturday but you’d come in knowing that Henry would be here. He’s always here, working too hard.

You’d asked him once if he didn’t have a girlfriend or wife at home angry at him for coming into work on a day he could be spending with her, but he’d assured you that he was very single.

Although you and Henry have been coworkers—technically he's your boss—for a long time, the two of you have always avoided conversations about each other's love lives. For good reason.

However, today…today, you can't seem to control your mouth.

“If you were married…would you be here? At work?” You wonder, staring at the loaded box with dazed eyes.

“Me?” Henry reaches up and scratches the coarse hair on his scruffy chin. He shoves his left hand into the pocket of his gray slacks, the sleeves of his white button up rolled up around his muscular forearms, the dark blue vest stretched taut with very little wiggle room along his sculpted body. “Well, first off, it would take an amazing woman to get me to walk down the aisle.”

He lets that sit in the air between you. You’re not sure why, as out of it as you are. When you don’t respond to the comment, he turns around to semi-sit and lean against the edge of your desk. He reaches out towards you and wraps his hand around your wrist to get your attention.

“Y/N? Did something happen at home?” Of course, Henry knows all about Bucky. The fact that you have a husband is no secret.

Your phone flashes—almost as if on cue—with a new text alert and the picture of you kissing Bucky’s cheek is nice and visible for a second across the shattered glass.

Proof of your marriage is not only on your phone’s lock screen, but there’s a framed picture of you and Bucky at your wedding on your desk, and you’d also sent in a change of name email to Sana—who by herself represents the entirety of the HR department—so that everyone would know to call you Mrs. Barnes if they were going to refer to you by name. Your desk plaque was changed too and the Y/N Barnes, etched in steel, glints up at you as the sun from the open window hits it.

Of course, calling you Mrs. Barnes doesn't apply to Henry. He’s your boss. He can call you whatever he wants, within reason.

You look at him, away from the box and force a small smile. It's tight, disingenuous, and it makes the worried pucker between Henry's eyes more pronounced.

“When you get married, don’t leave your wife alone often. It’s important to make her feel like she matters.” You nod, agreeing with yourself.

“Did Bucky leave again?” Henry asks.

You give him a real smile this time, and shake your head. “I don’t know. He usually wakes me up when he has to go for a few days. I think he just went to work out with Steve. He wouldn’t leave on mission without telling me.”

Of this you are certain.

You reach for the box’s lid, pulling your arm out of Henry’s gentle grip and slide it onto the box.

You look up at Henry and see his eyes flit to your left hand. Your smile vanishes and with a small ache in your chest you pull that left hand up towards your chest where you place it and then cover it with your right hand.

“He still hasn’t bought your wedding bands?” Henry wonders.

“He’s been so busy.” The wedding had been so hastily planned that wedding rings, which should have been your first priority when planning, had slipped your mind.

You should have just gone out and bought the rings yourself but you've been wanting to go with Bucky to choose them.

“Too busy to go out and get your rings?”

“Henry, he was gone for a week. He just got back and-”

“And he’s already left you alone to go work out with his friends? People he just spent seven days with?”

Henry criticizing Bucky is pissing you off. You know that he’s right because you’ve been telling yourself these exact things since you and Bucky had that first discussion about calling when he got home so you wouldn’t worry.

“They’re more than just friends, Henry. They’re like brothers.” You protest, defending Bucky fiercely.

Silence fills the large space, but Henry doesn’t stop staring at you.

“No.” He says.

You’re so confused by the word that you look up to find his dark eyes. “What?”

“If I were married…No. I wouldn’t be here. I’d be taking my wife to the beach since this is probably the last we’ll see of some good warm sun. Cold front’s supposed to roll in the next couple days.”

Oh, that’s what he’s talking about. You'd already forgotten you asked him that. You shouldn't have asked him that question.

“The beach sounds nice.” You reply, suddenly distracted.

You smile, picturing Bucky and yourself having a picnic on the beach, the loud soothing roar of the ever crashing waves lulling you into a nap as you sit with your head on Bucky's stomach. He’s stroking your hair and you’re in heaven. He’s laying back, his metal hand under his head as he stares up at the sky and you stare out towards the ocean.

Your smile slowly shifts into a sad frown because while the daydream is nice, it fades and you’re pulled back to reality.

“So…let’s go? Right now.” Henry offers and he sounds serious, almost wistful.

You look up at him and can see the hope in his eyes.

So much has changed for you in so little time. As he searches your eyes, his brow still puckered and his gaze intense, you flash back to the day after your wedding when you’d come back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~

You'd left work a single woman. Having chosen to take two weeks paid time off for a long overdue staycation. When you returned, you were Mrs. Y/N Barnes.

The first thing you do when you sit down at your desk is power on your computer, sign in to your work email, and quickly shoot Sana a letter explaining how you are now a married woman and will be going by Y/N Barnes from now on.

As expected, because Sana tells Kim everything and Kim tells everyone everything, the word of your marriage spreads quickly.

Happy flutters fill your tummy all day as you receive well wishes and congratulations from your coworkers. Almost all of them seem genuinely happy for you.

Only Lyla, a fellow editor, seems almost smug and sarcastic in her congratulations. She walks up to your desk and drops a large marked up manuscript so that it falls with a loud heavy thud.

You jump, wrapped up in your own work, and when she speaks she speaks loudly. Everyone in the large room will be able to hear her.

How does she do that? How does she speak loud enough for everyone to hear but not make it a shout? Weirdo.

Maybe it's only weird because you can be so soft spoken? You should learn to project.

“So, I hear you got married? Congratulations, Y/N. I’m surprised you found someone who-" Suddenly Lyla stops in the middle of her insult as she spots the photo on your desk.

A beautiful silver frame, a picture of you and Bucky looking at the camera within. Bucky looks dapper in his black formal wear, his hair pulled back into a loose bun but carefully styled. His blue eyes are so bright that they aren’t steel blue but aquamarine, small flecks of green towards the center. Made more prominent thanks to the flash of the camera. His full beard, excited pearly white smile, and nervously flushed cheeks complete the breathtaking beauty that is James Buchanan Barnes.

You aren’t so bad either in your white, shiny satin dress, the lace on the bodice handmade according to Tony. However, Lyla doesn’t have eyes for you. She's looking at the handsome man beside you.

She grabs the frame and holds it closer to get a better look. She's going to smudge it!

“This is him? This is your husband?” You can see the disbelief in her eyes as she can’t fathom how anyone who looks like Bucky could want you.

You reach out and take the frame back, yanking it rudely out of her hands. You don’t care for the judgment and sheer shock on her face.

Bucky loves you! Although, you’re still kind of confused as to why.

“Yes.” You snap.

“How? Isn't he an Avenger? I’ve seen him before. On the news.”

“Can I help you with anything, Lyla? I really need to get back to work.”

Lyla opens her mouth to retort but just as she places her perfectly manicured left hand on your desk and leans in close enough to spit vile venom at you, Henry moves into his doorway. A large imposing figure with a scowl that contorts his usually bright expression.

“Y/N? In my office.”

You turn your chair, swiveling to look at Henry while Lyla shoots up, standing straight and at attention. She fiddles with her dark hair nervously and adjusts her pants.

“Lyla, don't you have work to do?” He's curt and hard with his words, focusing most of his scowl on Lyla but at the last second, as he turns to disappear back into his office, he turns it on you.

“Y-Yes, Henry. Sorry.” Lyla sputters, her disappointment is clear in the careful downturn of her lips.

You’re not sure what look she gives you as she turns to head back to her desk because you’re staring at the now empty doorway to Henry's office.

Had you fucked up already? You just got back. You hadn’t done much work yet. What could you have possibly ruined that he's mad at you? Damn. So much for a good first day back.

Afraid you’ve ruined something for a client you get to your feet.

With a shaking hand you carefully put the picture of you and Bucky back in its spot. You run your finger along the curve of his jaw as you sigh, terrified of a reprimand, and silently plead with him for courage.

You grab your little brown leather book, a journal where you keep notes during meetings, and proceed into Henry's office holding the journal against the black fabric of your pencil skirt on your lap.

Henry's office is sparsely decorated. There’s a large ficus by the window where the sun streams in, a picture frame of his favorite book, American Gods on the wall behind his desk, and two large red leather arm chairs in front of his modern maple wood desk provide one of the only splashes of color in the office.

Aside from those small touches, there's a computer on his desk. The wall beside his window is covered in filing cabinets, and there's a set of weights and a weight bench behind you.

You swallow hard, watching as Henry keeps his back to you, both hands in his pockets. He stares at the framed poster.

“Shut the door, please.”

Shit. You definitely fucked something up.

You do as he says.

“Have a seat.”

You do, choosing the red chair on the right as you worry your lower lip. You don’t dare look away from Henry. There’s a slump of disappointment in his shoulders and as he moves around his desk, his eyes dart to your hands. You’re still clutching your journal to your lap but now sitting, you realize how nervous it makes you look to hold it so tightly.

Trying to relax, you release a breath you weren't aware you’d been holding.

“You’re not in trouble.” Henry assures you and you wonder how he knows that's what you’re thinking.

He stops at the exact center of his desk then seems to change his mind about something. He turns towards the other red chair to your left and angles it to face you. He sits on the edge, then reaches out and takes hold of the arms of your own chair and turns it until you’re facing him too.

It surprises you but you keep your mouth shut and observe.

Henry is leaning forward, his shoulders still hunched so that he's right at eye level. He's still scowling but there's something else to his expression. Something like sadness.

There’s a question in his eyes but you can’t read what it is. In your alert curiosity, you sit up straighter.

“If I’m not in trouble then why the intrigue?” Four years of working with Henry come crashing down. Four years of late nights. Four years of laughter and long conversations about books and movies and anything and everything.

You smile, still nervous but relaxed.

“You’re kinda scaring me.”

“Is it true?” He asks, his hands still resting on the top edge of your seat's arms.

“What?” You ask, your smile vanishing in your befuddlement.

His eyes flit to your left hand on your lap then back up to your eyes and the same moment he speaks, you understand what he's asking.

“Are you really married? Did-did you get married while you were on vacation?”

He's breathless and your heart is hammering in your chest. Your mind isn’t sure why but your body is already panicking, clammy hands, shortness of breath, and a turmoil of tumbles in your stomach.

“Um…yeah.” You say, unsure.

Henry's hands grip the arms of your seat more tightly as he drops his head and looks down at his feet.

“Sorry I didn’t invite you. It was all short notice.” You laugh once. “It all happened so quickly I-"

“No.” He groans.

“Henry?”

“No. No. This-this can’t be happening. You weren’t even dating anyone before you left!” He looks back at you and you’re startled by the intensity of his eyes. You know that look because over the last two weeks, you’ve seen Bucky give you that look.

Fuck. You weren’t expecting this. Not after four years. Why now? Four years! Shit, Henry!

“You can’t be married yet, Y/N. I haven't even had a chance to-to tell you yet.” His voice is strained, pained, but there are no tears in his voice. It's more of a lamentation than a sobbing.

It still hurts to hear. Henry's your friend. Why does he choose to do this now when he had so much time before?

You don’t ask what he wants to tell you. You know very well what he's referring to so you turn your eyes down to his knees to hopefully deter what's coming.

“Y/N?” He's leaning down more, trying to catch your eyes to read you, to see you.

“Henry, please don’t do this.”

“I love you. I-I have for a long time. You can’t be married before I’ve even had the chance to try.”

You look up to meet his gaze, feeling upset now that he's said the words. Those words. Those three stupid words that mean everything when Bucky says them and now mean pain when Henry does.

There’s a small hint of pining in your chest as you consider Henry's confession.

Once upon a time, during your second year working here, Henry had caught your eye. You'd been like all the other girls in the office. Completely smitten by the six foot-one tall man, his dark skin supple against his tight muscles, his laugh easy and free.

In some ways, if you think about it, Bucky reminds you of Henry. Bucky's more serious but when it's just the two of you, he's like Henry. He makes you laugh and he's free with his smiles.

His beautiful smiles, only meant for you.

At the time, when Henry had been all you wanted, he'd been dating a beautiful model.

A literal model. He'd met her at a photoshoot for one of the raunchy romance books the company had published. What chance had you had against a perfect body and an endearingly demanding personality?

When she'd cheated on him and they'd broken up, you comforted him, as any good friend would. Secretly hoping that maybe now that he was single he might see you.

He never did. Or if what he says now is true and he has loved you for a long time, he let you torture yourself. He said nothing then so he shouldn’t get to do this.

No. He doesn’t get to do this to you now that you’re happy.

“Henry, I don’t want to hear that right now.” You assure him. “Why would you do this right now?”

“Y/N…?”

“No, Henry.”

“Please?” He reaches out and places his hand over yours.

“No!” You reply loudly, yanking your hand away from him and getting to your feet. “How dare you do this to me now.”

You drop your voice so that the gossips that linger by doors to listen can’t hear you.

“After all this time? Years! I have known you for years and not once have you even indicated that you wanted to see me outside of work.

“Bucky knew me for only two hours and he asked me to marry him." Okay, that sounded more romantic in your head. “You’ve known me for four years and you have said nothing!”

Henry stands, hands clenched into tight fists.

“What did you just say? Two hours?! You married someone who asked you to marry him after two hours?!”

“Yes!” You turn your chin up defiantly because although your voice is full of strength and passion, it’s still on the softer side. You don’t raise your voice often if ever. “Bucky is my husband now. And I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy and I will not let you ruin it for me. I love him-"

“Love him? How can you love him? You barely know him!”

“Keep your voice down.” You growl quietly, looking towards the door.

“You know me and I know you. I know how we work, Y/N. Us. We'd be great together! I know everything about you. Does Bucky know about how you say you don't have a favorite ice cream flavor but you always seem to go back to vanilla?”

You turn away from him, reaching up to press your hand to your mouth as you try to contain the sorrow and anger all at once.

“Stop.” You whisper. You had yearned for this man. You'd imagined what it would be like to kiss him, to have him hold you, to have him get down on one knee and ask you to marry him. It hurts.

“Does he know how you like your coffee? Your favorite pizza toppings? How old you were when you lost your parents and your grandpa?”

You shake your head, your anger growing. “Stop, Henry.”

“What about when you lost your virginity? Does he know you held out for so long?”

Fuck! “That's enough, Henry. Stop it!”

You turn to look at him, fuming because the ache in your chest has no right to be there. You'd given up this hope. The stern quality of your voice prompts Henry to listen and he stops talking, his mouth open as he breathes hard with emotion.

“You don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to throw our friendship in my face and use it as justification for you thinking I shouldn’t have married Bucky. I love him.”

Henry begins to open his mouth to argue.

“I said, I love him, Henry. And nothing you say is going to change that. I…”

You see the sorrow in his eyes and guilt begins to gnaw at your chest.

“I'm sorry that this hurts you but you never said anything. If you really loved me, anywhere close to how I love Bucky then you would not have been able to stand being quiet.”

“I was waiting for the right time.” Henry explains, sadly.

“And when would that be? After I got back from vacation? Six months after that? Next summer? Fall? Winter? I waited for two years. You never said or did anything. How long was I supposed to wait for you to finally notice me? I liked you so much but I knew that you could never-”

Henry's eyes flash with hope. “You like me?”

“Liked. Two years ago after you and Iko broke up. Past tense, Henry. I liked you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He takes a step towards you and you take a step back, on the defensive.

“Why didn't you?! Why am I the one that has to put myself out there to be broken and trampled on? Why do I need to take that first step? You should have said something. You.” You shake your head, recalling your anger. “Look, I…I don’t want to fight. What's done is done and I’m happy. I love my husband and I’m sorry that hurts you and that you don’t understand that I feel closer to Bucky after knowing him only two weeks than I have to anyone else I’ve ever met—save for Casey. And if you’re my friend, then you’ll tell me congratulations and never bring this up again.”

Cruel? You feel like it a little. Henry is trying so desperately to understand what went wrong for him.

He's quiet for so long, staring at your face as you fix him with a determined gaze.

“Henry?”

He seems to snap out of his daze but his sorrow doesn’t relent.

After a moment of consideration and knowing you need to get out of this office, you offer him your left hand. “Congratulate me, Henry, and wish me good luck.”

He looks down at your hand and then takes it. He turns it over so that he can look at the back of it, searching.

“No ring?”

You yank your hand away angrily. “Ugh, I’m going back home for a few days. Paid. I don’t think my vacation was long enough.”

You march around him and the chairs, then move back towards the door. A few more days away from the office will be perfect. After today's shocking confessions, you need distance.

“Y/N?” You stop and look back at him, feeling worse. “Congratulations.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Henry,” You chastise him, and he caves immediately, relaxing his shoulders and turning that pleading gaze normal again.

As you shift uncomfortably, he sighs. “Sorry.”

You don’t want to deal with this on top of how shitty you’re already feeling at how Bucky left you alone again.

“I should go.” You make to lift the box but it's heavy and although you lift it well enough, you’re struggling.

Henry hurries forward, placing his hands on the handles of the cardboard box over yours.

“I’ll help you carry it home.”

“No, I’m alright. It's only two blocks.” A short walk and you’re home. A short walk and you’re at work.

It was one of the reasons Bucky chose this neighborhood. For you.

“It's heavy. Let me help.”

“No, I said I’ve got it.” You insist, trying to pull the box out of his grip. His hands are really hot over yours.

“Y/N,” The firm way he says your name halts your resistance. “I know you’re refusing to let it show how upset you are, for his benefit. I can see you're hurt. I don’t know what he did but, I can’t let you walk home alone while you have that look on your face.”

Startled by your inability to hide how you feel, you drop your hands and he easily takes up the weight.

“Besides, this box is heavy. Are you gonna let me feel like a douche? Or can I walk you home?”

You worry your bottom lip, hating the temptation of having him help you. You don’t see anything in the escort but Henry? He might think it means more than one friend helping another.

“I don’t know…”

He tilts his head, frowning at you as if to say, Come on. Stop being stubborn. You give in.

“Okay.” You still feel weird about it, but Henry walks you home, holding your box casually.

He walks you into your building. Up the stairs. And all the way to your door. You stop there, staring at the wood, wondering if Bucky is inside.

What are you gonna say? You really don’t want to fight but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep letting him think that leaving you alone as he has is alright. Because it isn’t. And it’s piling up into a mountainous problem. What if one of these days it gets so big that you can’t get over it?

“Y/N?” Henry gently urges.

You swallow hard then fish out your keys and unlock the door. He’s still not home. It wouldn’t have been locked if he were home. He never locks the door.

Your heart drops as you open the door into the empty apartment. Moving inside you move past the kitchen, into the large open room that makes up your living room and your dining room. You gesture Henry towards the large table with six chairs behind the sofa.

“Just drop it there.”

“Wow.” Henry moves in admiring the architecture of your home. “This place is nice.”

It really is beautiful. Art Deco curves and angles, swift sharp edges and then softly curved accents. The furniture is equally beautiful, and the only modern touches came from the items that you bought. The yellow throw pillows on the couch, the blue dishes sitting dirty in the sink.

Shit…you need to wash those. Bucky hates that.

As you’re caught up staring at the dirty dishes, you reach up and scratch the back of your neck.

“Thanks.” You say absentmindedly.

Suddenly, your attention is pulled to Henry, his large imposing form beside you. He’s not looking at the dirty dishes though. You find him looking at the large wedding photo of you and Bucky hung on the other side of the dining table.

“You looked beautiful, Y/N.” He says softly.

You don’t like the way his compliment makes your stomach shift.

There are more photos of you and Bucky on the end tables by the couch, on the empty shelves of the bookcase by the TV, there’s even one of you two cooking in the kitchen.

There is your life laid bare for Henry to see. You could show him your bedroom. There’s more in there. And then maybe if he saw the bed where Bucky fucks you, he might finally abandon his apparent love for you. You don’t need the reminder of it every time you go to work.

“You looked happy in those pictures.” Henry gestures only at the one in the kitchen sitting between two cabinets underneath the smoke detector and over the coffee maker.

Looked happy. You caught that.

“I am happy.” You insist.

“Right.”

“You should go.” You tell him and move towards the front door to open it up for him again.

He follows and stops just outside the doorway as you occupy the space in front of him, arms wrapped over your chest as you lean against the jamb.

Henry turns, shoving his hands into his pockets where he must be clenching them because you can see the strain of his veins on his forearms as he looks at you.

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Henry sighs.

“Henry…please don’t.” You beg, you don’t want these words in your head when things are already so difficult.

“I need to say this.” He moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. “I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here. I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

The hopeful tone in his voice as he finishes what had begun as a comforting notion of having someone less aggressive than Casey to talk to, drives all the pleasantness of his words away.

You pull your arms away and he drops his hold on you.

“Thanks.” You tell him. “But I’m fine.”

Henry watches you for so long, you begin to feel exposed. He can see through you and you don’t like that or the ache that renews in your chest.

You’re slightly startled when you feel a warm flutter on your cheek as he presses a soft kiss to your skin. You freeze.

“I mean it. I’m here.” He pulls back and leaves.

You don’t watch him go. You stare at the spot he’d just been in, confusion washing over you in waves as you go back inside and shut the door. As if you’re on autopilot you wander into the kitchen, pull on your apron—a gag gift from Steve that looks like his Captain America uniform—and settle in front of the sink to wash the dishes.

You’re only at it for a few minutes. Enough time to get three plates washed, before the front door opens and shuts.

Your hands freeze for a moment, but you go back to washing when you feel eyes on you. You scrub hard. Too hard. You don’t care. You’re not really seeing the dishes. You’re gauging the room. You’re listening for his feet. You’re waiting for his words. Instead you smell soft soap and blue water musk as a warmth curls around your back.

He’s so fucking silent sometimes!

Shining metal reaches out and shuts off the sink leaving your hands soapy and wet. The hand retreats to the edge of the sink and holds the counter firmly.

“Where’d you go?” He asks and you see red. You’re so angry at him!

“Where did you?!” Not a shout. Never a shout. You don’t scream often. But your soft voice is stern. Hurt.

A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I…I’m an idiot.”

“You keep telling me that, Bucky but it doesn’t seem to change anything.” You turn to look at him, but he doesn’t adjust his distance. He keeps you there in the tight circle of his arms as you meet his eyes.

There’s guilt in his expression. Good. At least he really means it.

“Why did you leave this morning?”

“I didn’t think.”

“I waited for you last night, Bucky. I-I cancelled plans with Casey and Jess because I wanted to see you. Because I was worried about you. And then I wake up this morning and you’re gone?” Now that you’ve let it all tumble out, it’s flowing quickly.

You’re not afraid of him getting angry because you’re so upset that you don’t care.

“I wasn’t thinking.” He admits, dropping his eyes to your neck and away from the hurt in your eyes. “I-I don’t even know what else to say. I’m an idiot.”

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You ask him, more hurt than anything else now.

“Of course! Of course, I do, Y/N. How could you think that I don’t-?”

“Because you’re never here!” Okay, this time you’re loud. You push him away and move towards the cabinets with the picture of you and Bucky cooking. You glare at the picture for a second then turn to look at him again, accusation and uncertainty flooding towards him. “You leave and you come back, and you don’t come home. I know that your job is demanding. I get that. That’s what you do, and I don’t want you to stop doing it because it’s who you are but when you’re not working at least for one day after you get back why can’t you just stay here? With me? I wake up and you’re gone. Sometimes I go to bed and you’re still not home. We go out and then we come back home, you leave again. You say that you want to be with me but everything that you do tells me that you don’t.”

He’s silent, staring at you with a wrinkled brow, that adorable pucker between his eyes not so adorable as you rage at him because of how you’ve been feeling. You need him to understand. Can you just say it? Maybe you should just say it?

“Sometimes…” You hesitate. You shake your head and convince yourself to not say it.

“What?” Bucky asks, closing the space between you again, and wraps his arms around your waist.

“No.” You pull away, but he tightens his hold and he keeps you facing him.

“Tell me. Please?”

“I-”

He pulls you closer and his body reminds you of what you’ve been missing and unfortunately what you’ve also been suspecting.

“Sometimes I think that maybe all I am to you is a guaranteed lay.” Your voice is almost dead as you say the words aloud. You never wanted to speak these words out and much less to Bucky himself. What if he confirms them? “You go away, and you come home, and you sleep with me and then you leave. Maybe I’m stupid for thinking it could be anything more than that since that’s how we started? Right? Sex in public before you even knew my name.

“That must be all I am. Spread legs whenever you need them and complacent silence when you leave?”

“No.” Bucky growls, suddenly pulling you into a crushing embrace. He reaches up and holds your head tenderly with his right hand while his left pulls you tight against his chest. “No, never think that, Y/N.”

The quiet that fills the apartment is deafening and you don’t wrap your arms around him. He holds you tighter, maybe feeling the distance you’re feeling because he’s almost desperate in how he clings to you.

“You’re more than a lay. Shit, Y/N, you’re all I think about when I’m gone.” He assures you and pulls back to cradle your face in his hands.

You look for the lie in his eyes but don’t find one. It brings you back to the pain you’ve been feeling, shoving the numbness away.

“Then, why?” You reach up and grab hold of his wrists as he holds your face. “Why do you always leave me? We could have done so much today. We could have gone to the park. Or the movies? Or the beach?”

A slight sting of guilt cuts you as you remember Henry’s offer but that memory sprinkles through your mind and vanishes quickly because Bucky is here, right in front of you, desperately clinging to what he thinks is a wife slipping through his fingers.

“I-I don’t know.” Bucky admits. “Yesterday I just…I-”

“You forgot about me?”

“No!” He says loud, deep booming voice starling you into jumping slightly. “I did not forget you, Y/N, I just forgot to look at the time. And last night you were so upset with me that when I woke up, I thought maybe you might not want to see me?”

“I always want to see you, Bucky. I don’t see you enough. Even when I’m angry at you I need to see you.” You sigh, frustrated with him. “Don’t you understand that when you aren’t with me all I can do is worry about you? I miss you. I want to be with you. You’re all I think about and for you to just leave me by myself especially when you’re here and you can choose to be with me but you don’t-?”

“Fuck, Y/N, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else I can say except that I’m so, so sorry. I’m not setting out to make you feel like you’re not important. You are so important to me. Ask Steve! I’m day dreaming about being back here with you-”

“But you keep leaving!”

“I know!”

Now you’re both shouting.

You push his hands away and move around him, but he catches your wrist and pulls you back into the circle of his arms. You try to push him away, but he doesn’t let you go.

“My job-” He begins quietly.

“It’s not your job I’m talking about, Bucky.” You pull away from him and he lets you this time because you’re still shouting. “I already told you that I know your work is going to take you away from me. I’m not complaining about your work, I’m trying to understand why it is that when you aren’t on mission, you don’t seem to include me in your life? Maybe we did this too soon?”

“Did what?” He asks, anger flashing in his steel blue eyes turning them into ice.

“This. Us. Maybe we shouldn’t have gotten married so quickly?”

“How can you say that?” Bucky growls moving towards you, his hands cradling your face once more so that you can’t look away from him as he looks into your eyes, searching for the regret of marrying him.

He doesn’t find it. He won’t. No matter how much he searches because you will never regret telling him, ‘I do.’

“You don’t know how to fit me into your life, Bucky. And I can’t keep waiting for you in this apartment until you’re ready to see me. I feel like you don’t want me in your life, and you take absolutely no interest in mine. Is this what a marriage is supposed to be?”

Bucky sees that you’re right. He’s created this line in his life and kept you on one side of it and his Avenging and his friends on the other. Why did he do that? Why hasn’t he tried to take you and mingle you with the other half of his life? He’d been doing it a bit before the wedding but after the wedding it all just fell into two parts.

You were here, his perfect, beautiful, wife. You gave him a home and a family of the like he’d never expected to have. He loves you and he loves that you gave this life to him but how does he pair it with the one he leads at the compound?

He can’t see you around Sam’s snarky teasing or Steve’s serious focus when it comes to missions. He doesn’t want you to deal with Nat and her harsh observances or Vision’s lack of tact. He doesn’t want you exposed to anything that might hurt you but here he is, hurting you himself.

Then there’s your life. It’s true, Bucky doesn’t know what you do when he’s not home. He’s never thought about it because who cares? As long as you’re with him when he’s here, what does it matter what you do?

At least, it didn’t matter before today. Then he saw just how dangerous not only leaving you alone is but also how unexpectedly dumb he is to the possibilities of what your life might offer away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Who the fuck-?

Bucky slides back behind the wall into the doorway of the stairwell and hides, grabbing the knob to stop the door from shutting loudly. He peeks out and stares down the hall at a tall black man. He’s built like a house and he’s good looking. What the hell is he doing coming out of Bucky’s house?!

Then you appear in the doorway and Bucky’s mouth falls open because you know this guy. It’s so clear in the way you look at him that you know him. You’re also defensive, with your arms crossed tight across your chest. Did this guy hurt you? Bucky’ll kill him!

Instead he watches as the man turns to you with softness in his eyes. Fondness. What the hell is going on here?

“I don’t know what’s upset you. And I know you won’t tell me. I…I took that away from you. Our friendship.” Friendship? You’ve never told Bucky you have a friend who looks like that. What the hell?

“Henry…please don’t.” That tone…why are you so upset? Bucky doesn’t like that tone. It reminds him of…

“I need to say this.” The black man moves towards you, reaching to take hold of your arms just above the elbow. Bucky grits his teeth, squeezing his jaw so tight that his teeth creak and groan as he fights the urge to rush over to you and cut the man’s arms at the wrist so that he can never touch you again.

“I’m here, Y/N. I know that it might not be what it was but if you need to talk, or vent, or just not talk and spend a few hours doing something to get your mind off of whatever it is that’s bothering you—I’m here.”

Like fuck he is! Bucky thinks. What the hell would you two do for a few hours that would silence your mind?

Sex of course pops into Bucky’s head and he grabs the handle so tight with his left hand that it curves to the shape of his fingers.

“I will always be here for you. As your friend…or…whatever you might need?”

Bucky sees red and this time he takes a step out towards the hallway, intent on killing this guy because there was no question in what he meant. He’s offering you sex. Definitely. And from the hopeful tone he uses, love? Does that guy love you? Why? Who the hell is he? Why do you know him so well? Since when did you have a friend who looks like that?!

“Thanks.” Your voice stops Bucky and he quickly hides again. “But I’m fine.”

Bucky can hear it in just your voice that you aren’t okay. What has he done? Why would he leave you alone after what happened last night? He’s an idiot. He deserves to have you stolen from him for the way he’s been treating you.

The man—Henry?—seems to see this too because he just stares at you as you continue to look more and more uncomfortable.

Then he kisses your cheek and Bucky just about blacks out. Several scenarios play out in Bucky’s head. He could follow the man and pull him into an alleyway and strangle him to death. But that would be too quick.

Better to kidnap him, take him into that abandoned warehouse on the edge of town. Then he can starve him and cut at him for several hours. Maybe even days? Then he’ll sew his lips shut and slice them off just when he thinks that it can’t get any worse.

The violence of the images that flash through Bucky’s mind pull him from the haze. He hasn’t felt this way since his brainwashing, and he’s startled by the intensity of the emotions that brought it forth.

There is no doubt in Bucky’s mind—and there never has been but it’s so certain in him now—that he loves you more than even he might understand.

“I mean it. I’m here.” Bucky thanks God that this Henry leaves.

When you shut the door and go back inside, Bucky moves out and walks down the hall towards home.

As he passes him, he sees that Henry recognizes him, probably from the pictures in the apartment, and as much as Bucky wants to reach out and squeeze this Henry guy’s windpipe to crush it, he walks past him with his chest puffed and his eyes glaring death. It’s only when he knows that he’s gone that he shrinks and stares at the doorway for a few minutes hoping that he hasn’t done any kind of irreversible damage to your marriage.

~~~~~~~~~~

Unable to help himself any longer and since you’re the one that brought it up, he asks.

“Who was that guy I saw leaving?” He’s as gentle as he can be in his question. He doesn’t want you to see or hear the anger he felt when that idiot kissed you.

Your face loses all color and you look away from him to the curve of his neck.

“Henry. My boss.”

“That’s your boss?” Bucky demands, surprised and now cursing himself for never showing an interest in your work before today. He’s an idiot not only because now he knows there’s this dude, so clearly wanting you every day that he can’t be around, reminding you that if Bucky’s not there, then this guy surely is, but also because it took this kind of jealousy to make Bucky realize how little he knows about your life.

He understands what you’re saying now. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. The two of you should be living a life together. Not apart. How has he not seen this until now? Stupid hot Henry guy making Bucky all jealous.

It’s quiet between the two of you for several minutes. Bucky drops his hands, trailing them down the sides of your neck, along your shoulders, and then finally stops them on the sides of your arms. He squeezes them, relishing in the softness of your body.

So much of his life has been hard, cold, rough, sharp, and painful. You give him everything opposite; soft, warm, smooth, gentle, and love. So much love. Bucky needs to make this up to you, and he knows what the first step must be.

Bucky pulls you closer, leaning down to rest his forehead against yours as your hands trace the shape of his shoulder blades, straining and tense on his gray t-shirt.

“You’re right.” Bucky admits and your breath catches. “You’re so fucking right, and I’ve been so blind. I’m sorry. I haven’t been trying hard enough to build us a life together. I’m sorry I haven’t shown any interest in your work and the things that you do. This isn’t how it should be. You’re…you’re right, Y/N.”

You don’t want to hear that you’re right. That’s not why you’re angry.

“I don’t want to be right, Bucky. I just want you and me to be happy.”

You can see the pain flit through Bucky’s eyes at the implication that the two of you haven’t been happy.

Since that first problem you two faced with him calling you when he got home, small things have cropped up. Nothing serious. Small marks of irritation or annoyance as you two learn to live together. Bucky hates that you leave the dishes unwashed for a while. You hate how he doesn’t pick up his towels after he showers.

He complains about how you leave clean clothes piled on the chair in your bedroom instead of putting it up right away. Bucky doesn’t clean up his hair from the sink after he trims his beard. You don’t pick up your hair from the drain in the shower. Bucky forgets to put the toilet seat back down. You put your feet up on the coffee table. Bucky drinks straight from the carton of milk.

Small things piling up and making life just a little less easy.

But these aren’t the things that have made you unhappy. Though life is more real for the two of you now, the fact that you still feel like you’re living two lives is why you’re unhappy.

“I’ll do better. Next time we have a mission, I want you to come with me to the dinner we have afterwards.” Bucky promises and you feel bad because he’s not the only one that’s been messing up. Sure, he’s the one that’s been leaving you alone, but you should have spoken up much sooner.

“Really?” You ask, surprised and excited suddenly.

“Of course.”

“I’ll try harder too, baby. I’ll do better, too.”

“You’re perfect, Y/N.” Bucky insists, but you’re not.

“We’ve both been messing up. We’ll both do better. I love you. I don’t want to lose you.” You sigh, eager for this fight to be over. It does finally seem like Bucky gets it and that more than anything softens your anger.

“You won’t lose me, kitten. I’m not going anywhere.”

You lean up to kiss him because you need to feel his lips, but he pulls back and your heart clenches painfully.

“Hold that thought.” He smiles down at you and hurries back towards the door. When he comes back, he’s holding a bouquet of y/f/f.

You smile, heart fluttering. You really are too easy to woo. Some reassurance and an offering of flowers and you’re putty in his hands.

“I’d been waiting for a bit and I thought maybe I’d need some backup to apologize so I went out and got you these. Should I have got you a necklace instead?”

You laugh lightly and nod. “They’re beautiful, Bucky. This is perfect.”

When he offers them, you take them, and smell them before leaning back up towards his lips. Bucky pulls back again and this time you frown.

“Bucky…”

“It’s just, what you said-I don’t only want you for sex, Y/N. I need you to know that.”

“Ugh, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you about that. It was a fleeting thought after we had sex and you left the next morning to workout with Sam and Steve. It was a flash of a worry and then it was gone.”

“But it was still there. I love you, so much. Not just your body.”

You reach over and put your flowers on the counter as you move in close to press your body against Bucky’s. He looks down at you, intense and confused.

“But you do love my body, right?” You slide your hands up under his shirt, tracing your hands along the hot skin of his sides.

His eyebrows twitch upwards at your touch.

“Of course, I love your body.” He assures you. “But I love you too.”

“Okay. I get that, but right now, I need you to show me how much you love my body.” You explain. “It’s been a week, Bucky. I’ve missed you so much.”

There’s a groan in your voice as your hands move up along his bare back. They go about hallway up before they drop down to the small of his back and you slip the tips of your fingers down into the waistband of his jeans.

The curve of his bum is sudden and deep. He has a really nice butt. You trace it down, touching him with desire.

“You’re not angry anymore?” He asks, but his hands are already on your waist, slipping the strings of the apron you’re wearing off. He reaches under your puffed sleeve yellow top and traces the skin of your back, all the way up to the center drawing you closer.

You shake your head slow and mid-shake, Bucky dives down to meet your lips.

He swallows your sigh and you inhale his groan. Both of you melting into the other after such an exhausting fight. He pushes you back until you hit the counter and then he reaches down to lift you up by your waist and sit you on the cold tile.

He undoes the buttons of your dark gray; lace tiered shorts and you lift your butt as he tugs them down and off. He tosses them over the counter and into the dining room quickly followed by your underwear. He nudges your legs open and settles between them, with his right hand searching your folds for your nub.

You’re already dripping wet, having missed him in his absence and wanting nothing more than to have him touch you.

You shudder at his prodding and when he slips two fingers into you, you gasp and lean forward towards him. He wraps his left arm around you, catching you in a kiss as he pumps his fingers in and out while his palm presses hard against your nub.

His kiss slowly shifts and somewhere between finger pumps, he deepens it with feeling rather than lust.

You pull back, surprised and breathless by the shift because you can feel it in your chest. You can feel the ache of confusion and he doesn’t let you get far. He pulls his fingers from your core and lifts you from the counter.

He stares into your eyes as he carries you to the bedroom then lowers you onto the bed. You fall with a small bounce, but you watch as Bucky strips himself naked. There are bruises on his torso and you sit up, startled by the wounds you hadn’t found yesterday because you hadn’t been looking for them. You’d been so wrapped up in your feelings of neglect that you hadn’t noticed his hurt.

“Oh, Bucky…” There’s a gash along his left side, a faded pink puckered line. You know it’ll be gone by tomorrow but the thought of the cut that had been there before it sealed. The blood he must have lost and the sharp pain he must have felt?

“I’m okay.” He assures you then as you look up at him, still tracing the scar, he kisses you breathing you in as he opens his mouth to deepen it.

You shut your eyes as he hooks his hands into the bottom of your shirt, and he relieves you of it. Your breasts are freed shortly after and Bucky pushes you back to crawl over you. He reaches down to pull your legs apart, settling between them once more but this time sliding into you without warning.

You go still beneath him, your mouth open in a silent gasp as he stretches you. He watches you, enjoying the expression of surprise, pleasure, relief, and love you’re giving him.

Pushing your hair back, he bites his bottom lip as he begins to pump in and out of you, burying himself as deeply as he can. He blinks slowly, never breaking eye contact.

You see what he’s doing. What he’s saying. As your body jerks upwards, bouncing against the bed, he’s telling you that he loves you.

You don’t know why it happens now, maybe it’s because of the fight? Or the sheer intensity of his gaze? Maybe it’s because he’s still cradling your face, staring at you as if he’s already lost you and he’s just now realizing how much he loves you, but you start to cry.

“Oh, Y/N…” Bucky sighs, leaning down to lay on you completely as he wraps you up in his arms and his lips find yours to kiss you with feeling.

He moves slowly, his hips moving in soft waves as he pushes himself into you. Every time he bottoms out, his pelvis rubs against yours, pressing your button just right to draw a small moan from your lips. He’s like water in his movements, smooth and flowing.

This isn’t the sex that you two have when it’s lust that drives you forward. You had never been able to really tell the difference between making love and having sex. Not until you met Bucky. The first time this had happened after your fight about calling home, it had been similar but nothing like this.

The way he’s holding you against himself, clinging to you as he marks you as his, something’s changed.

He pulls up, tracing kisses along your jaw and neck before stopping beside your ear. “I love you.”

His whisper is warm and smooth. The flutter in your heart and the stretch of his cock war for dominance in importance. Together, they make your body hum.

“Bucky…Bucky…” You moan, sweet whispers as he takes you closer and closer to ecstasy.

His hips begin to move faster, he groans, pushing himself up as he angles himself to pound into you a bit more roughly. Despite the pace, his hands are soft, feather touches against your skin as he traces the shape of your breasts and then your ribs with the tender tips of his fingers.

His touch raises goosebumps and you whimper raising your knees and reaching down to grab handfuls of his bum to press him down harder against you.

“Tell me, baby.” He coaxes your desires forth, wanting to hear how much you want him just as much as you want to feel it. “Say it.”

“Harder, Bucky.” You plead, begging for contact. “I want you in deep.”

Your words make him growl and he leans down on his forearm as his metal hand reaches down to take hold of the right side of your ass. He holds it still as he shoves himself into you, roughly pounding into your nub.

You shut your eyes, your hands wandering up to his lower back as his movements become quick and wild.

“I love you so much.” Bucky gushes. “Come for me, kitten.”

You’re not sure whether it’s his declaration of love or the way he’s talking dirty—well, dirty for you, but your legs suddenly wrap around his waist and you pull him flush against your core as it explodes with fire and sparks.

Your head goes dizzy, whirling the world around you into fog.

Bucky keeps thrusting. Just a few more times before he groans and drops his head to your neck. He bites down, making you purr, as he erupts within you.

Ragged breathing, musty sex, and the fresh scent of soap fill the room. Sweating together, you cling to each other, desperate to hold on to this moment of bliss after the terrible low of your fight in the kitchen.

But reality comes crashing down as you wonder if you both forgot or just you? How could you let all the emotions get in the way of this one thing that you had sworn to keep in mind before you and Bucky had sex each time?

Bucky pulls out of you reluctantly and slides to the edge of the bed. You see him fumble between his legs as he pulls off the condom and tosses it into the wastebasket by his bedside table and a wave of relief washes over you.

For a moment you’d thought both of you had forgotten protection. Relaxed, you sigh. “Bucky?”

You reach for him, your fingers sliding along his lower back. He looks back at you and lays back down, turning to hover half over you and half on the bed. He kisses you lazily, still wrapped in the warm glow of his orgasm like you are.

“Tell me about your day.” Bucky says. “Why did your boss come here?”

You smile because you know he’s doing what he promised. It’s easy to do it right away, just after you had a fight about it. He’s taking interest in your life. Hopefully he’ll continue to do it when things are busier and time has passed.

“He was helping me carry the box on the dining room table home. It was heavy.”

“You should have called me.” Bucky argues lightly.

“I should have.” Yes. You really should have.

“What’s in the box?”

“Manuscripts. People send them in for publishing and I have to pick one to publish for the next Spring release. I’ll choose one in the next few weeks and then we’ll have the author come in to do edits. Then eventually we’ll publish it.” Bucky’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“Don’t agents have to send the manuscripts in? Or can anyone send them in?”

“Normally yeah, it’s agents. But we’re still a growing publisher so we take what we can get. If we ever get really big then maybe we’ll start to do it that way but if I’m honest, I like it this way.”

“Why?”

You shrug. “Because this way, I get to truly know the author. I call them. I talk to them. I set everything up. I get to see why they’re writing. What they want from it. I see the passion for what they do or lack thereof. It’s eye opening. Some people do it for the money which almost always means a shallow story. Some people do it because they really enjoy writing. Fusing words together in unique and beautiful ways. And others…my favorites…are the ones that like to tell stories.

“They’re not weighed down by the idea of perfect grammar or amazing prose.”

“Isn’t that important though?” Bucky wonders, relaxing beside you. You turn to look at him as he settles in, head on his pillow.

“Of course, you want to see that a writer has taken time to go back and fix things. Misspelled words are okay and sentence structure has always been flexible for me so long as it benefits the story, but when I read that first manuscript, I’m looking for a spark. A good story. Something people want to read. I’ve read some stories that are beautifully written that aren’t very interesting. Every once in a while, I find someone who’s good at what makes the writing pretty and also good at telling the story. But it doesn’t happen often.”

“Sounds like you love your job.” Bucky realizes, a small worry in his eyes.

“I really do.”

Speaking of jobs. On your bedside table, where Bucky’s phone is charging, it suddenly begins to ring.

You know that ringtone.

Bucky pushes himself up and rolls over you to reach for his phone. As he stretches towards it, you quickly react, and grab hold of his right wrist.

He looks down at you, slightly startled by your hold.

“Bucky,” You start, chewing your bottom lip. “Don’t answer it.”

Bucky stares at you then looks up towards his phone as it stops ringing and then shuts off. He meets your eyes again and slides his hand down until he can intertwine your hands together. He pulls both of your arms up over your head as he dips down to meet your lips in a clearly lustful kiss.

He reaches over, closer to his side of the bed than yours, and takes another metallic silver package in hand so that he can pound you into the bed once more.

You’d fallen asleep in Bucky’s arms, clinging to his strong torso, nestled in the nook between his metal arm and his side. He’s breathing heavily, fast asleep, and you’re only awake because you swear you just heard knocking.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

There it is again. Your eyes open a bit wider as you look up towards your bedroom door.

No. You think because you know what that is.

THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

Bucky shifts beside you, sitting upright, startled by the knocking. You’re already awake and you sit up with him.

He looks down at you, sleepy but happy to see you there.

Like instinct he leans down to kiss you, forgetting the knocking on the door, as if he needs to make sure you’re really there.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! “Buck!”

You groan and when Bucky pulls back, you whine. “No.”

Bucky sighs, hating to leave the bed but he does get up. He pulls on a pair of sweats then makes for the door. You rush to get to your feet, pulling your gray robe on. You quickly fasten it as you follow him but stop at the mouth of the hallway to glance towards the front door as Bucky pulls it open.

Sure enough, just as you’d first suspected the day after your wedding, if Bucky didn’t answer the phone then Steve would surely come and get him.

Here’s the proof that you were right. There’s Steve, looking serious, in full uniform.

“What is it, Steve?”

“We found him. I think we finally found him, Buck.”

Bucky’s relaxed body quickly shifts into mission mode and though you would normally admire the tight pull of his back muscles, the tension there means he’s already decided.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes. We need you.”

“Give me five minutes.” Bucky leaves the door open for Steve to come in as he moves back towards you.

As he passes you, he gives you a quick look of apology as he caresses the right side of your face with his metal hand. You reach up to clutch it there but there is no holding him back when he’s decided to go.

He disappears back into your bedroom and you turn to give Steve a nice hateful glare.

How surprised had your neighbors been to spot Captain America walking up the stairs?

“Sorry, Y/N.” Steve apologizes, and it sounds like he means it.

You continue to frown as you move after Bucky and find him already dressed in his black Avengers garb. The spare that he keeps in the closet in case he should need it. It makes you feel better to see him at least appropriately armored but at the same time, you just want to keep him here with you.

He shoves a few more things into his duffel bag, reaches up to tie his hair up into a loose low bun, then after a minute he reaches into his duffel and pulls out a handgun. He places it on your bedside table.

You know that handgun. It’s the one he cleans on the dining room table. It’s got his name, Barnes, etched into the grip. It’s his favorite handgun.

“You keep that there. Steve is such an idiot, coming here wearing full uniform.” And you’re surprised at how angry Bucky sounds as he says Steve’s name.

“Why is he-?”

“Anyone who saw him walk in here will know that someone important lives here now. And when they see me walk out with him, it won’t be hard to guess who.”

You think back to the first week after you were married. News and internet articles had sprung up with stories about Bucky getting married. Everyone knew that he had a wife though no one knew who it was. They didn’t know where you lived with him, but they knew that somewhere out in the world there was a woman who’d married James Buchanan Barnes. Someone he loved.

Although the public still avoided Bucky, they gave him his space because he was—to some of them—still the Winter Soldier, they feared him. But Captain America? There would be pictures of him surfacing from this building within the hour.

“Why do I need the gun though?” You look at it, uncomfortable and worried about having to use it.

“I’ve been an idiot for not getting you ready for this possibility before. When I get back you and I are going to start training a bit. I’ll show you how to fight and how to shoot.” Bucky closes his duffel bag and throws it over his shoulder.

You’re too busy staring at the gun, suddenly terrified about someone showing up here to pick a fight with Bucky to find you alone.

Bucky’s in front of you, arms wrapped around you as he pulls you close. “You’re safe, here, Y/N. I’ll ask Tony if he can send someone to tighten up the security. Make it harder for someone to break in. The gun is just in case someone happens to get in. You point, hold the gun with both hands, Y/N, and squeeze the trigger. Don’t pull it. And don’t you dare close your eyes. You keep them wide open when you fire. Aim and shoot.”

“Bucky…” You’re suddenly scared of being here without him.

“I’m sorry I have to go so soon.” He sighs and pulls you into a mind-numbing kiss. When he pulls back, you’re breathless but your mind is alert and worried.

“Please be safe.” You beg. “I need you to come back to me, Bucky.”

“How can I do anything but come back to you when I’ve got such a beautiful and loving woman waiting for me?”

He hugs you, holding you tenderly to his chest as he tells you without words how much he doesn’t want to go either.

“I love you. And I’m so sorry I’ve been such an ass.”

“I love you.” You whisper back at him.

Bucky pulls away but takes your hand and walks with you into the living room. Steve gets to his feet and moves for the door.

“Sorry this is such a quick visit, Y/N.” Steve says.

“I hate you.” You tell him and Bucky smiles while Steve turns around just outside the door and looks offended.

“What did I do?”

You ignore him as Bucky stops at the door and turns to give you one last kiss. “Lock the door.”

After he and Steve are out of sight you shut the door and do it.

Thanks for reading!

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[arcane-nonsense]

Okay so. Asra tending to Muriel's wounds after a particularily tough battle in the arena. He's not in a critical state or anything, but he has extra emotional trauma bcs he really didn't wanna kill that person and they fought back so bravely, so Asra also has to deal with that. Discuss.

OhoHoHo *rubs little goblin fingers together* we go from smut to angst and feels. Challenge accepted.

800 words. Some blood n stuff. Some sad feels. The works. @sinningforasrian

The pearly-haired young adult dashed down the steps, dodging servants and cluttered gear, as he nimbly picked his way through the coliseum’s underbelly. The sound of steel on steel, the cheers and cries of the crowd, and the grunts and yelling from the arena still echoed in his mind.

Asra had learned how to get places without being seen, without being noticed. He could go anywhere he pleased, unlike his friend. And after what he’d just witnessed, he knew that Muriel would need him.

The ‘chambers’ Lucio kept his precious scourge in were barely more than a jail cell. A too-small cot, a rough wooden table and chair, and a chest were carefully arranged in the small square room. A collection of furs and worn clothes were hung up next to the bolted iron door. Asra grimaced as he peeked in the barred window and saw the familiar broad, scarred back turned to the door in heavy silence and shame.

He gave a soft whisper to let Muriel know he was there, then quietly unbolted the door. Muriel didn’t turn around, but his shoulders relaxed a little bit. There wouldn’t be any guards or a servant coming by with dinner for a little while. They had a few moments.

“Hey.” Asra gently squeezed his shoulder as he pulled the chair away from the table and carefully positioned it facing his hunched-over friend on the bed. “Sounded like that was a tough one.”

“You saw?” Muriel’s voice came out, deep and ragged. He still wasn’t looking at Asra. “You saw what- what-“

“Only a little. I heard the rest. You ok?” He rummaged in his satchel, digging around for something.

“No.” Muriel replied in a grunt.

“I figured. I brought you pumpkin bread, if you want it.” Silence. “Ok. I’ll leave it on the table in case you’re hungry later.” He set the folded cloth, still a little warm, on the tabletop. One of Muriel’s eyes watched him from underneath his scraggly long hair that fell in his face. “Is it ok if I heal your wounds?” He reached out, fingers hovering over a gash in his arm. “You got a little banged up.”

“No.” Muriel shook his head. “No healing. I want- I deserve the scars.” Asra chewed on his lip, biting back a protest.

“Can I at least clean them? I promise I won’t use magic.” He dug in his bag again, pulling out some fresh bandages and a water flask. Muriel didn’t respond, so he proceeded. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked as he began to mop up the dried blood.

“No. Well.” Muriel sighed and finally made eye contact. Tears pooled in the corners of his green eyes as his brows knit together. “I- they fought so hard. They were so brave. Even when-“ he grimaces “-even when they’d lost the ability to use their good arm, they kept fighting. They didn’t really want to hurt me. I didn’t want to hurt them.”

A flash of anger crossed Asra’s face, his fist clenching around the rag as he cleaned the deep gash in the massive bicep. Lucio. Even from a distance he could hear the Count and his cheers and jeers and cries. “I’m sorry Muri.” He wiped sweat and grime and blood from his friend’s face. “You had no choice.”

Muriel gave him a doubtful look. “Did I? They had no choice, fight in the arena or be hanged. All because they tried to steal some of the Count’s food supply. Did I have no choice?”

“We’ve been through this. It’s not your fault. It’s his. Lucio. The blood is on his hands.”

“But he’s not the one-“

“Muri. Don’t blame yourself for doing what you need to, to stay alive. Survival isn’t a choice that you have free will over.” Asra muttered through gritted teeth. His mind was working at a breakneck rate, all jumbled thoughts and half-formed magics. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“Lucio will find me. He’ll hunt me down. He’d love it.” Muriel sighed. “Don’t bother. I don’t want you getting hurt because of me.”

“I won’t.” Asra gave him his best guess as a halfhearted smile. “He couldn’t catch me before. He won’t get me now. I’ll get you out of here, Muri.” He gave his friend’s massive hand a comforting squeeze. “I’ll figure it all out.” He set aside the cloth and reached for the bread. “Eat some of this? For me?” He broke the loaf in half, offering it. Muriel’s lip twitched up a little, and he gingerly took it from his palm.

“Thank you.” Muriel rewarded him with a small smile. Asra sat down next to him on the bed, which groaned under both their weight. He reached out as far as his arm would go, pulling Muriel into a one-armed hug.

“I’ll get us out of here.” He promised, once again.

[axther]

Distortion

In which war touches all. 

Episode One

@multifandomgirl37 

Death was a cruel master. 

Kaleo knew all too well, with scars littering her skin from all the times that it tried to take her. She felt like they were coming to life, making her bleed again, as though the alcohol in her veins were waking them up again.  

She fingered the whiskey glass, before drinking the last. It burned her throat and woke her up from whatever delirium she was having. 

“Another,” she called, waving a hand and a coin. Her thick Buanaí accent had no place in the Gealach tavern, and some turned in confusion and distaste.

They had lost the Deireadh War. There was nothing more to be said. 

The Buanaí were the servants of Bás, Death, and longtime enemies of the Gealach peoples. The Buanaí were considered to be brutal, taking the souls of any Gealach that died, and the Gealach were considered stingy and sensitive. They bore with each other for thousands of years; after all, the average lifespan of both races was 800 years. 

All it took was a Buanaí to spit an insult at a Gealach politician.  

The war was quick, to most standards. It lasted about 3 years before both races called a stop. They had killed themselves out, leaving themselves as an endangered species. Imagine, two of the only sentient races in the world, wiping each other out to the point that one last battle would put them all to rest. 

But everyone was still holding their breath. 

Technically, the Gealach won. But to the Buanaí, they were cowards that saw them dying as weakness. The Buanaí were more than willing to go down if it was in a blaze of glory with the Gealach being dragged under. But the Gealach weren’t fighting, and what was the fun in that? 

Kaleo grit her jaw. She, at least, was willing to burn for the Buanaí and for Bás. She knew that her best friend, her dead squadmates, and two trillion Buanaí were willing to burn, and they did. 

They really did. 

The Dóigh Mountains were closed in on each other, creating a forested valley in the middle that was both dangerous and important. 

And this demanded some attention from the Buanaí. 

Kaleo started at the forest line from her squad’s camp, a black battle axe clutched in her hands. It was dark. This was good. 

That was one of the ways that the Buanaí were distinguished from the Gealach. The Buanaí always wore black trench coats and had dark hair and eyes. Their skin was never on the pale side; at lightest, it was tan. And wherever they went, there was darkness in front of them and darkness behind them. 

The Gealach, on the other hand, were pastier than snow, and always had lanterns and white all around them. You could see them coming miles away because they would have a light cloud surrounding them. But it wasn’t like the Buanaí were much better off. It was only at night, could they be sneaky under the cover of a darkness thicker than lard.  

“Kaleo,” a voice behind her said. “There’s some mild movement to the south. They’re functioning under the moonlight.” 

Kaleo looked up and spat at the moon before turning, seeing her squadmate, Nyx. She was tall, with a soft and kind face that did not belong in a war. She was too sweet, often looking out for other members and trying to avoid murder as much as possible. 

“Understood. Bring the others to my position, after packing up.” 

Nyx raised a confused eyebrow, before nodding and disappearing into the thick trees. 

Kaleo turned back to the trees, knowing that Gealach soldiers tried to stay under the moonlight as much as possible. Their patron was Gealach Mhuire, after all.

The Lady of The Moon. 

Kaleo began walking back to the camp, ducking low branches and watching three other Buanaí rush to pack everything up. Truthfully, there wasn’t a whole lot, but enough that it could lead to some time being wasted. 

She heard them before she saw them. 

There was a clattering noise to her left, and Kaleo turned with a furrowed brow. 

“Buanaí, at atten-!” Kaleo’s call was cut short when a pearly arrow went right into the middle of her chest. She could feel that it had narrowly missed her lungs, heart, and major veins, but it was still an arrow in her chest. The battle-axe fell from her fingers, as all blood flow went to the gaping wound next to her heart. Another arrow came down, hitting her in the kidney. Kaleo let out a yelp at the second shot, abruptly aware of what had happened. 

They were under attack.  

“Kaleo!” Another squad member, Azazel, rushed forward, only for a brilliant streak of light to come out of the woods and slit her throat. Kaleo felt delirious; there was no way that the Gaelach had snuck up on them in woods that were darker than the shadows the Buanaí carried with them. 

Kaleo began to feel the blood seep out, despite the arrow still there. She was wondering why she was still standing. She could hear her dying heartbeat. 

Nyx let out a scream of pure terror and darted like a doe. The last Buanaí standing was Dante, and he pulled out a greatsword. 

“Neamh Críost,” he swore. “Come at me, you cowards!” 

“Tá leathcheann ort.” She spat out miserably at Dante, her knees finally buckling. “Go! Warn others!”  

“No!” Dante began swinging at the Gealach, doing his very best. Kaleo pitied him, for what he was doing would only postpone the inevitable. 

Everyone’s death. 

Gealach fell, slowly, and Kaleo wondered for a moment if she was wrong. 

Then Dante took an arrow to the throat. 

He collapsed, sputtering last curses and grasping at the head. Kaleo watched him fall from her knees, not having the energy to cry. 

Two more Gealach came out, charging at Kaleo. She gripped her axe, standing up and shaking. One was beheaded, and the other was viscerally stabbed. No others came out, and Kaleo dropped her axe. She stumbled to a tree, falling with little grace as the adrenaline began to fade.

Out of the corner of her eye, Kaleo saw light. 

“Come on and just kill me! Or are you scared?” She glanced at her axe and turning towards the light. It shifted a little, before walking out of the woods. They were tall, wearing a helmet. An arrow was drawn, pointed at her. They approached until the arrow was lightly tapping her forehead. Kaleo smirked.  

“Scared of a dead woman, huh?” She sneered, wrinkling her nose. “Of course you’d not take any chances. Go on. Finish the job.” 

The Gealach wavered for a moment, almost dropping the arrow, before steeling up their resolve. 

But a flash of black hurtled at them, toppling them over. Kaleo’s eyes seemed to pop out of her head, watching Nyx materialise with a broad blade.  She was on top of the soldier, blade pressed against their neck. 

“Nyx!” Kaleo cried. “Do it!” 

Nyx had tears in her eyes, bubbling and landing on the soldier’s visor. There were short hiccups from her, and she raised her sword up. 

She was too slow. 

The soldier took an arrow from their quiver and thrust it into Nyx’s heart, pushing it in further when she let out a cry of pain. Kaleo watched in horror was Nyx fell to the ground, twitching for a moment before going painfully still. The soldier stood up, retrieving the arrow before turning to Kaleo. They picked up Kaleo’s axe, preparing to hit Kaleo on the head with it. 

“You’ll be the messenger,” they muttered. 

Then all Kaleo saw was blissful darkness. 

Kaleo blinked out of her reverie when someone pulled a chair beside her. She felt tears stinging her eyes, and the last thing she wanted was to be crying in public. She chugged her fresh whiskey glass in one go, hoping that the burn would make her forget it. 

“Long day, huh?” The person beside her said, before telling the bartender to get him the same Firebrand whiskey. Kaleo looked at him, popping her jaw. 

It was a Gealach, about her age, with some obvious scars on him. He was freakishly pale, even for a Gealach, with gold streaks in his white hair and silver eyes. 

Kaleo wasn’t sure what she was expecting. But it wasn’t an albino that probably tried to kill her kin 100 years ago. 

She narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, sure.” She turned back to her drink, which had been refilled. The Gealach nodded, trying to make conversation. “Did you serve in the war? Well, I mean, you look old enough to have served...not that I’m saying you’re old. Sorry,” the Gealach began to mutter, panicked. Kaleo raised an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, I did. Why?” 

The Gealach bit his lip. “The only Buanaí that are alive are the veterans or the kids. No offence meant.” 

“None taken.” Kaleo took another sip. “From the looks of it, you did, too.” 

The Gealach nodded. “Yeah! I was in the 165th Regiment! Were you with the rebels?” 

Kaleo nearly spit out her drink. Of course one of the few civil Gealach assumed she was with the rebels that revoked Bás and tried to kill their own race alongside the Gealach. The degenerates. 

“No. No, I was most definitely not.” Kaleo began pulling out more coin to pay for the alcohol, wanting out of the dive bar. The Gealach paled. 

“Oh. Oh, oh. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t want to...oh. You were on the other side…” He began to hastily leave his chair when Kaleo began to get up. “I am really, really, really sorry. Uh, for, you know, everything.” 

Kaleo stopped. “What?” 

The Gealach stopped, relieved she wasn’t running. “Sorry.” 

Kaleo raised an eyebrow. “No, I mean...you’re apologetic?” 

“Yeah,” the Gealach nodded. “After all, we are kinda responsible for making the Buanaí, um…” he trailed off, looking nervous. “Ya’ know, almost extinct.” 

Kaleo sat back on her seat. She tried to ignore the fact that some of the bar were listening in. The Gealach looked ecstatic. 

“Sweet! Thanks! My name is Alain!” 

Kaleo watched him sit down again and order tea. “Kaleo.” 

“Well, Kaleo! I don’t suppose we could exchange war stories or something?” Alain looked excited. 

“Actually, if you don’t mind, I have a question.”

“Shoot.” Alain was bouncing in his seat. 

“Your weapons and armour. Were they mass-produced?” She looked up from swirling her whiskey. 

“Not really.” Alain shook his head. “There wasn’t enough time for that. We kinda just...took what we had and left.” 

Kaleo nodded, then reached into her boot and pulled out two white arrows. Alain flinched, and his eyes widened. 

“Do you know who’s these are? I was shot with them, and they massacred my squad.” 

Alain looked up, slowly, before shaking his head. “No. But, I, ah, could have some of my old friends to see if they could track them.” He placed his hand on one. “Is it okay if I take it for now?” 

Kaleo nodded. “Thanks.” 

They both stowed away the arrows, and Alain turned to the clock. 

“I have to go. Maybe we could meet here again?” Alain looked suddenly anxious, and Kaleo gave a small smile. 

“Sure. Just be sure not to break that.” 

Alain nodded, before taking his leave.

Alain collapsed onto his bed in his apartment, trying to calm himself down. There was no way she knew, otherwise he wouldn’t be panting in the middle of his room, staring at his ceiling. The only way she could recognise him was by voice, and she had barely heard him.

Alain sighed. 

He held the arrow before him, sitting up and squinting at it. He then looked at the back of his closet, where a glowing white bow and quiver hung. Inside were beautiful, pearly arrows, almost calling to the one in his hand. 

It was their sibling, after all. 

Alain walked the perimeter of the woods, in the middle of the Dóigh Mountains, his bow and arrow at the ready. The new armour that they received was able to dim the Lady’s Blessing, keeping them undercover for small amounts of time. 

Alain watched as a Buanaí came into view. She was alone, with a battle axe on her shoulder. She was watching the treeline, and the other Gealach stood as still as possible. Another Buanaí talked to her, before both walked through a small trail. Alain looked at the other Gealach and nodded. 

The unfortunate Buanaí had led them right to their camp, and Alain smiled. There were only four, and it was all easy kills. 

Who he presumed to be the squad captain had just arrived, and he drew back his arrow. 

And without a moment of hesitation, he let go.  

[marleyfiction-blog]

Murder For Love

A/N: I have no idea why this idea came to me. I hope you enjoy it. I’m trying to get better with this writing. I also can’t write smut to save my life, ima do better.

Warnings: Cursing, blood, murder, guns

Erik x Reader

Word Count: 1, 138/ 4 minute read

You were sleeping, like dead to the world type of knocked out. Aliens could’ve invaded your city and you wouldn’t have noticed. You rollover wanting to snuggle with Erik but his side of the bed was cold.

You lift your head and look around the bedroom as if he could still be in there. He wasn’t. Erik was gone and only Bast knew where.

Your head flopped back down to the pillows, you were too tired to keep it up. You were sure you’d just drift off to sleep until you heard this noise, then you got a text.

Basement. Now.

Why would he want me down there?

You thought a feeling of uneasiness crept over you. Y’all basement was unfinished and creepy. You always heard strange noises from time to time coming from down here but Erik always told you not to worry about. So you didn’t ask questions, out of sight out of mind.

When you finally reached the bottom step you saw Erik. The look he gave you made your blood run cold. You had seen him turn this glare to others countless times but you never thought you’d be on the receiving end of it. It kinda turned you on.

Erik was looking at you with a deadly glare. You couldn’t help but look between him and the whimpering man tied up in a chair. Plastic was lining the basement floor and made a crinkling noise with every movement you made.

Erik smiled, showing his gold fangs. Dazzling against his pearly white. & smooth chocolate skin. You melted. Erik knew you would do anything for him, all he had to do was ask.

Y/N you love me right. He asked with a deep gruff voice. It was a statement, not a question. He knew you loved him, you knew him. You also knew he expected you to answer his non-question.

Of course. You know that.

Erik started walking towards you, just smiling, a wild look flashed in his eyes and was gone as quick as it came. Erik walked with confidence and death, it was sexy. He could be doing anything and it was going to turn you on. Even now during this crazy ass moment, he was turning you on. Scared and confused your anxiety was starting to kick in. The air was starting to get thick. You were searching Erik’s eyes for anything, to explain the situation but you were in, but all you got was a cold glare and a warm smile. Erik was standing right in front of you now and you were more confused than ever. Erik never had you in the basement, especially not while he was doing “business”.

You felt his calloused hands on the base of your neck, lightly playing with your curls.

Then you felt the heavy cold steel pressed into your hand. Erik pulled your forehead to him and placed a kiss. Pulling you back.

Prove it. He says while walking away to stand against a far wall.

What? You thought. He couldn’t be asking you to do what you thought he had.

What? You squeaked. Your mouth suddenly dry.

Erik was standing against the wall, arms folded, across his well-defined chest, as if you were having a conversation about the weather.

I want you to pull the trigger and kill that man. He answered flatly.

Your body went numb. You always thought you would kill for Erik. But now that the opportunity had presented itself. Would you really kill for Erik?

I-I-I can’t, you stammered. You couldn’t look at Erik but you could feel him staring at you.

A part of you really wanted to pull that trigger and be fully immersed with Erik in his world. You would always have half of him unless you did it. Was that a good enough reason to kill a man who hadn’t wronged you?

You lifted the gun and pointed between the eyes of the man bound to his chair. He hadn’t stopped crying since you had walked in and now it had picked up in volume. He was pleading with you with his eyes since he mouth was covered with duct tape.

You turned to fully face the man whose life you were suddenly ready to take for your own selfish reasons. He had a family you thought. Children possibly. Gun still pointed at his head, you closed your eyes.

You could hear Erik moving around, he came to stand next to you. It was eerily calming having him next to you at this moment. Eyes open, and a few calming breaths later you had made your decision.

You pulled the trigger.

With a final deep breath, you pulled the trigger. Blood splattered across your face and clothes. The man's head slumped forward. You had killed a man, all in the name of being closer to Erik. A grin was slowly spreading across your face.

You turned to look at Erik. He seemed impressed with what you had done. He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip. You licked your lip in the ghost trail of his finger. A faint coppery taste glinted across your taste buds.

You meet the chilling lustful stare of Erik just as his ticked flicked pass his full lips to lick the drop of blood off his thumb. At that moment you wanted nothing more but for Erik to push you against the wall and fuck you until you saw stares.

As if reading your mind Erik picked you up, arms pulling you to him. Low groan coming close to your ear. His lips leaving soft kisses on your neck. This got a moan from you. Your emotions were all the place, you were feeling high from committing murder and Erik was causing a flood between your legs.

Erik slammed you against the cold basement wall. Lips hungrily seeking yours. You could feel Erik growing hard beneath you. You started whining your hips, desperately trying to create a simulating friction.

Erik stopped the assault on your lips and slowly dropped to his knees. Legs over his, he moved your panties to the side. Erik started an aggravatingly slow assault on your pussy. He was teasing you. Erik loved when you begged him to fuck you. He loved watching you come unhinged while he worked your body. Erik would play your body like an instrument only he knew how to play.

Y’all fucked in the scene of a murder. It was a moment of pure depravity and you loved it.

[rebel-band]

Track 2. Here on the Starting Line

At 7.38 in the morning a train woke Yoo-mi up from a rather jittery and watchful sleep.

It was always going to be rough first nights, he knew, as he adjusted to the sounds of the new surroundings. But all things considered, he felt good. Laying in the futon he reached to his phone to see an unread message from yesterday written all caps.

"LET ME KNOW WHEB YOU GET THE RE."

He smirked. That old man will never learn to use the phone.

"I'm here. She's nice," he sent a text in reply, and tossing the phone to the side, looked at the stack of papers Mika handed him yesterday. He still had some time to have a look.

It was the first tenancy agreement he'd ever had in his hands but from what he'd learned, googling all things that seemed unclear, it was pretty standard. Minus maybe one thing -- Mika didn't include the rent payable. Instead of the monthly sum, a simple "n/a" occupied the row.

Yoo-mi frowned at the sight. She had better had made a mistake here. He's been on charity long enough, this was supposed to be different.

It was a contract for an indefinite time but at least the notice period was only two weeks. Long enough to plan a getaway, not long enough for someone to make him change his mind.

Toothbrush in hand, he rummaged through the kitchen cabinet taking mental inventory of the items at hand. Two pots with lids, a frying pan and a small square one for tamagoyaki, a matching set of two coffee mugs and a bunch of mismatched Muji and Ikea plates, bowls, and cutlery were more than enough. It would be nice to have a rice cooker for once, he smiled at the thought, but all in all it wasn't necessary for when he stayed.

If he stayed, Yoo-mi reminded himself.

He pulled a basic t-shirt on, jeans, and a black hoodie on top, specifically to have a place to keep his hands.

He skipped the onigiri for breakfast, this time going for a katsu and yakisoba sandwich. It wasn't the best, he liked the ones from 7eleven better, but the carb on carb combo at least would keep him sated until he finished the walk he had planned to get to know the hood today.

Quarter to nine, he decided there's no point stalling anymore. Since he'd heard the shutters pull up outside already, with two boxes from the kitchen heavy in his hands and the envelope with documents rolled into the pocket of his parka, he slowly braved the staircase. The cold morning wind rustled his hair.

It was warm in the coffee house, and he was greeted with the smell of ground beans as he maneuvered in with the boxes. The cafe seemed bigger again today in the light coming through the giant front window, and felt fresh and modern with the whitewashed brick and black steel details around.

The grinder was working so Mika didn't notice him from behind the counter at first. She also seemed occupied with doing something close to the floor, occasionally disappearing low behind the bar.

"A, good morning. You didn't have to yourself," she gestured in embarrassment at the boxes as she finally turned to face him.

"It's fine. Where to?" he asked, looking around.

"Just here by the counter. Kotarō is in the car."

He placed the boxes by the wall between the counter and one of the tables.

"Hi."

Out of the employee door a toddler ran up to Yoo-mi and looked at him leaning from behind the boxes, as if playing hide and seek. She was barely sticking out from behind the cardboard hideout, curiously watching his reaction.

"Hi yourself," he answered, a bit surprised. "What's your name?"

"Mei," she said, a row of pearly baby teeth exposed in a grin. "Are you a big brother?"

Mika chuckled. "This is our daughter. Sorry, we're teaching her about family. She asks everyone around now."

Yoo-mi waved his hand. He didn't mind, it was cute.

"Yea, I can be," he said, still crouching on her level, a small smile curling on his lips. "I'm Yoo-mi."

"Yumi nii-chan," she laughed pointing a finger out towards him. "Mama, it's Yumi nii-chan."

Mika tried to contain a squee but didn't quite manage to, and Yoo-mi rolled eyes at her. Mei ran away giggling for no reason as toddlers do, and her steps were accompanied by the sound of a toy tambourine she was carrying.

As Yoo-mi straightened up, Yamaguchi entered the cafe also carrying in a box of what smelled like baked goods. He placed it on the counter, and Mika started unpacking the various croissants, sandwiches, and pies to a patisserie display case to the side.

"Ko-kun," the man nodded good morning to Yoo-mi, taking off his coat. He had a black polo on this time and was currently putting on an apron.

"Yamaguchi-san," Yoo-mi answered and, shit, it came out just so faltering, with his voice almost timid at the sight of the tattoo again, there was no way the man wouldn't notice.

"Problem with the name, kid?" he crossed his arms over the chest.

Yoo-mi shook his head, and nervously turned to the coat rack to take off the parka and escape his gaze, bumping into a chair by the table in the process. He swore silently at the noise he made.

"This doesn't help," Mika slapped her husband over the shoulder with a dishcloth, and he relaxed the posture ever so slightly. And when Mei ran back from the stage room and tugged his leg to be carried up, he relaxed completely. With a heartwarming smile he placed her on the barstool. Mika handed the girl a croissant.

"Do you want anything? We have them from a local bakery down the block," she addressed Yoo-mi.

"Sorry, no wallet. I had breakfa--," he didn't get to finish when a croissant and a mug of coffee landed on the counter for him to grab, Mika rolling her eyes at the mention of money.

"Eat up. You're skin and bones."

That wasn't true, and he wasn't particularly up for anything sweet for breakfast in general but her tone didn't leave much room for negotiation.

The croissant was still warm, sweet and flaky, simply melting in his mouth. The coffee tasted different than yesterday, almost silky this time.

As he finished his plate, and handed it back to Mika to the dishwasher, the door to the café swung open again.

"Good timing, got you a coffee ready," Mika beamed at the woman going in, and almost jumped through the latch door to the common space.

"Sorry, my car didn't want to start. Had to wait for Satoshi to get back from his shift," the woman said with a slight accent.

They hugged and Mika coaxed her to the table by the window, where she placed a cup of the same coffee she poured Yoo-mi before. The woman took off her coat and steadied a grey felt hat on the coat rack, then faced him with a smile.

"Ko-kun, I'd like you to meet my colleague," Mika addressed him.

"Hikaru Shǎnyào, nice to meet you."

She was rather petite, with hair white as snow not really matching her age, cascading down the sides of her face. Her eyes framed in a pair of rose gold glasses were watery blue. Dressed in a grey sweater dress and black overknee boots, she looked stylish yet approachable.

Yoo-mi caught himself staring at her with mouth wide open.

"Nice to meet you. Ko Yoo-mi. Sorry...I didn't mean to stare," he mumbled upon reflection and blushed slightly.

"That's alright. It's not always you get to meet someone with albinism, hm?" she answered with ease, as if she had a tried and tested reply ready at hand for such an occasion.

"Hikaru-san is a counsellor. We work together at the Promise House."

Yoo-mi gave Mika a questioning look.

"It's a foundation. We help kids off the streets, and those coming into adulthood from institutions. You know, things like shelter, crisis intervention, legal."

"Sounds better when you don't say I'm simply a lawyer," Hikaru laughed, then addressed Yoo-mi, "What I do is give advice and deal with legal matters that are too hard to untangle for someone in your situation. I think you might have a thing or two I could help with."

Yoo-mi put hands in the pockets of his hoodie.

"I can't pay," he said, eyes fixed on the white haired woman.

"We're non-profit. You don't have to."

That was a first, he thought, a lawyer not wanting to get paid.

"Since you're still a minor, you're gonna need the help with the legal stuff," Mika encouraged, seeing his uptight expression.

And he knew it, alright, tried to figure out what to do on his own, but without a parent or guardian he wasn't gonna have, there was only so much he could do legal wise.

He tapped his foot, sending a nervous glance at Yamaguchi, and the man finally caught his gaze.

"Come on, rock star, time to play," he picked Mei, with her croissant and tambourine, and piggybacked her to the stage room. In a minute or so you could hear the banging of drums and a toddler laughing with the sound.

Hands still in pockets, Yoo-mi sat down at the table with Hikaru's coffee mug already waiting. Only then she joined him down, and Mika grabbed another chair to sit as well.

"I'd like to know anything that helps us manage your situation," Hikaru reached to her expensive looking bag and came up with a set of documents and a mini notebook. It flashed a green LED light as she opened the lid.

"Usually, I help with residency, ward office, getting a hanko, a social number, and a bank account."

Yup, he needed all of them.

"But first, I need you to agree to set me up as your proxy."

The form she handed him wasn't long, it already had her name written down in it.

"Did you do it?" he addressed Mika, scanning her face for a lie.

"Had a representative?" she asked surprised. "No, not really. Kobayashi is after all family."

Right. He forgot. There was no resemblance between them whatsoever.

He shifted in the chair trying to get more comfortable, to no use.

"I'm just here to face the officials," Hikaru added. "Won't do anything without your consent but I'll spare you the boring details and waiting times."

Pen tapping the paper, he finally decided to write down his name but didn't move to the dotted line to sign anything.

The lawyer made a small sound seeing katakana and Hangul instead of the kanji in his name.

"You're Korean then?" to Yoo-mi's surprise, she switched to the language with ease.

"No. I'm a half," he answered in Japanese, voice flat.

She gave him a knowing glance and typed down "Father unknown?" in her own notes but knew better than to push him to explain further. "Nothing to worry about. We're all kinds of different here. I know from Mika you were in the Amagasaki Children's Home."

Yoo-mi clenched fists at the name and straightened up as if by reflex. "Long time ago."

"Sorry, gramps sent me the information so that we can try to sort out your papers," Mika apologized after seeing his reaction. He just sent her a quick glance.

"Was it because of family issues?" the lawyer asked.

He half smirked and looked straight into her eyes. "It was because my mom died."

He wanted to make her uncomfortable with the deadpan tone but she didn't really look fazed.

"I'm very sorry to hear that," she replied instead, compassion in her voice. Then typed away at her notebook again.

It was Yoo-mi who felt suddenly uncomfortable. When did he hear someone say it? His brain raced through memory and came out with nothing.

"Any living relatives?"

The question kind of took him by surprise and just for a second he thought he wanted to mention Yoo-ki. "No."

"Were you ever in foster care?"

He hesitated for a minute. "With one couple, they didn't really like me much," he settled on saying finally.

"So you left?" Hikaru asked, no judgement in her voice.

Yoo-mi looked away. Was it okay to say he had run off?

"Don't worry. I'm not here to pry. I know there's usually a reason behind it, and a good one. Do you remember their name?"

He shook his head.

"When was that?"

"First grade middle school."

"And after that?"

"Pretty much on my own." It wasn't a complete lie.

"Regarding the ward office, we'll need to deregister you from your previous address and register you in Tokyo. Where did you live?"

Yoo-mi squinted at her. It felt like a conversation he already had years ago, and he didn't really like it.

"You're gonna kill me, but I messed it up a bit already," Mika made a pained sound, addressing Hikaru, not letting Yoo-mi speak. The lawyer shot her a questioning look.

"He needed this address for the school. Otherwise, he wouldn't be able to take the exams," she sighed.

"So you signed yourself as sponsor but didn't really register him officially," Hikaru narrowed her eyes. Mika made a face and shook her head.

"Never one to play by the rules," the lawyer sighed. "We'll fix it, no worries," she said and Mika mouthed "Thanks" in reply.

"We still need the old address," she looked into the form in front of her, and finally took a sip of the coffee.

"How about Kobayashi's place?" Mika suggested to her.

"I wasn't registered there officially too," Yoo-mi said, not even trying to hide the irritation in his voice at them talking over his head.

"Sorry," Mika replied. "Didn't want you to feel left out. So his place is no good?"

"No."

He didn't want Kobayashi's address recorded anywhere in his paperwork anyway, just in case.

"What about Osaka? Do you remember?" Mika asked. Yoo-mi felt his stomach tighten.

That one he could hardly forget. But the address in Nishinari was out of the question. He stared blankly at the white sheet, face growing pale as well.

"You have to give us something to work with. Even if it's just the ward with the school district you attended," Hikaru coaxed him, handing over the form.

After careful consideration, he wrote down the address for Mama Han's. It would match his school paperwork, if anyone would ever check, though Yoo-mi doubted there was an official record of him staying anywhere near Sung-hee's place.

He stuck his hands in his pockets, after handing Hikaru the form. This was all kinds of wrong, he thought.

"Nothing's wrong with you," Mika leaned in to him, voice steady and soothing. "It's the system that's flawed. Doesn't seem to be very friendly to those who have different circumstances," she made sure to avoid saying special. "Like the both of us.

"My records were a mess too when I moved to Onjuku. But things got sorted out. And now, look at me go," she shot him a smug smile. "It's just bureaucracy, nothing you can't handle."

"If anything, its inefficiency gives us leeway. You just have to know your way around," the lawyer's blue eyes gleamed with a flicker of excitement.

Mei's cry for a drink snapped Yoo-mi out of thinking. Mika stood up to the counter, while the girl tugged at Yoo-Mi's sleeve.

"Pick me, nii-chan," she demanded, scrambling into his lap. He obliged with a sigh, and she pressed her face against the glass.

"Look. Kit cat," she pointed out the window. Yoo-mi spotted a black stray crossing the street.

"Mika already mentioned school," Hikaru stared at him holding the girl with a smile. "Thoughts on that?"

"I know you promised gramps to try," Mika set down a paper cup with water and a slice of lemon for Mei and shot him a challenging look.

"Can you--," he gestured to the envelope sticking out of the parka on the coat rack. Mika stood up and took the documents. "It's inside," he said, hands busy securing Mei from falling as she was standing up on his legs.

"You didn't sign the agreement," Mika gave him a sharp look going over the papers.

Yoo-mi made a face. "You forgot the rent."

"No I didn't," she shrugged. "I know how starting from scratch feels. Believe me, it's a lot easier if you don't have to worry about things like money. Then you can focus on the important bits," she seemed to ignore his objection completely, and just shoved the agreement in front of him with a pen on top.

She then looked at his report card taken out of the envelope and whistled.

"That's quite a lot of absences," she said and Yoo-mi frowned again and looked away.

Mei giggled at her mom whistling and tried to copy. Then she jumped off Yoo-mi's lap and followed Yamaguchi behind the counter as he entered to grab himself a coffee.

"But considering all that time off, your GPA is the more so impressive," she winked at him and Yoo-mi straightened up in the chair. He felt almost a blush crawl up his ears.

"There's a school nearby I thought I'd try," he addressed Hikaru.

"Yes there is, and quite a good one," she smiled.

"The exams are mid Feb. I don't even know if I can attend," he shot Mika a pained look.

"I'll follow up on it. But I sent the paperwork on time so I don't see a reason why you shouldn't."

"What if you don't get in?" the lawyer asked, taking another sip of the coffee.

He startled at the sound of the grinder shattering the coffee beans.

"I'm gonna get a job," he shrugged. "I think I'm gonna have to get one anyway, part time, if I get to school."

"Sorry to butt in, but that reminds me," Yamaguchi raised a hand and ducked down the counter for a moment.

"What's that--?" Yoo-mi asked cautiously as the man handed him an envelope.

Inside was money, almost 5,000 yen.

His mouth went dry and his heartbeat pounded loud into his ears.

"Your wages from yesterday. You've worked your honest hours so there you go," the man smiled. "I also have a contract for you, if you'd like."

"Contract?" Yoo-mi repeated, brows pulling in. He was beginning to feel a headache.

"Yea, a job," the man eyed him with amusement. "But since he's a minor," he addressed Hikaru, "I didn't really know if it's appropriate."

"Let me see." She took the papers and scanned them. "There's nothing here he can't do. It's a good deal," she smiled and handed Yoo-mi another set of documents.

Yoo-mi leaned away from the mountain of papers in front of him with an uncomfortable swallow. He somehow felt like he was going to be crushed by the stack any second now.

Instinctively his eyes darted towards the glass door. He counted to three.

Hands no longer in pockets he rolled them into fists on his knees, whole body tense like a string on a fingerboard.

"I'm sorry but I can't sign these," he said, voice insistent.

Mika and Yamaguchi opened their eyes wide. Hikaru just gave him an attentive look.

"It all sounds promising. But the truth is, you don't know me, and I don't know you," he gave them a look one by one, stopping at Yamaguchi.

"For all I know, this might be a scheme. For all I know, you might be a..."

"I swear, if he says 'gangster', I'm gonna change this fucking name today!" the man erupted angry, addressing his wife.

Yoo-mi paused mid sentence. That was exactly what he was meaning to say.

"Kotarō, language," Mika laughed, trying to diffuse his anger, pointing at their daughter running around, while he addressed Yoo-mi with a tone of someone who is tired of explaining things over and over.

"Kid, have you ever seen a yakuza run a hipster café?"

Café, bar, club, same thing, different name, Yoo-mi thought but didn't say it out loud.

"Scratch that, have you ever seen a yakuza at all? Gangsters don't run around in broad daylight scamming people."

"Unless in Osaka," Yoo-mi smirked, his eyes serious all the same.

"Well this is Tokyo. We may be Yamaguchi but we're not the Yamaguchi," Mika replied matter of factly.

"It's the 14th most common name in Japan. Do we even look like we'd be trying to scam you?" he added raising his hands in disbelief.

Yoo-mi narrowed his eyes at the man's tattooed arm.

"And before you answer, kid, for the sake of clarity, this is all her doing," he replied defensively, pointing first to the tattoo and then to Mika who nodded with an amused grin.

"Yeah, I made him get it when we met. To prove he's serious about me," she laughed. "Never thought the idiot was so in love to actually get that tattoo. Kurōta, you know, like the blackbird, was my maiden name," she explained with a smile.

Yoo-mi swallowed and shot them both a look again. He shifted on the chair, tension in his muscles letting down a bit.

"I thought the café is a Beatles reference," he noted, clearing his throat.

"It's both," Kotarō exhaled, his anger already gone. "But mostly a tribute to her family. This place is her house turned into my dream."

Mika sent him a blow kiss.

Yoo-mi crossed his arms, and furrowed his brows.

"It's not that I think you're gonna scam me," he started carefully, looking for the right way to put it. "It's just...too good to be all true.

"I mean, first the flat, then free legal advice. Now the job. Things in life aren't free. There's always a catch."

He felt suddenly tired and disillusioned, the seventeen years of his life feeling more like seventy.

Quickly, he checked himself and straightened up, defiant, under Mika's worried gaze. He didn't want her to think he was hurt or weak, or he needed anyone's compassion, like maybe some other kids she'd worked with before.

"Would it help if the rent at least wasn't free?" she asked.

He looked at her surprised.

Seeing how he didn't reply, she dug out the sheet from the pile in front of him, and scribbled a monthly sum on the tenancy agreement, then handed it to Yoo-mi.

"But that's like -- barely 100 yen a day, it's nothing," he protested after a quick calculation.

"Is it? Oh you know, I'm not very good with math and accounting and all that market economy crap," she made an exaggerated, confused face.

Of course he knew she was lying, she was running a business after all.

"Well, I think I'll have to raise the rent at some point," she added in a carefree manner. "Just gotta do some research first. I mean, it's a good neighbourhood and there's demand, and I don't know..."

"Okay, fine. I get it," he rolled his eyes.

He inhaled, exhaled. Loudly. Twice. Then he cracked the tiniest smile.

Now that looks much better on you, Mika thought. "Yumi-kun," she addressed him quite casually by the Japanese first name.

Though surprised at first, he let her go with it.

"It may be hard to believe but people are generally not trying to screw you over all the time," she added with a reassuring smile.

Yoo-mi looked around at the group of people he was surrounded by. The lawyer, the wife and husband, the little girl who wouldn't stop calling him big brother. No ill intentions, no hidden motives. Happy to have him there, meaning to help.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly again.

He knew there was no way all his insecurities would disappear in a day or two here, and that he'd be able to simply discard all the safety measures, emotional or otherwise, that kept him alive for the last year.

But if he was going to really start things over, again, now was as perfect a time as any.

The dotted line on the paperwork felt almost like a starting point to what he, yes, hoped to be a new kind of long distance run in his life.

Holding a pen in hand and a heart on his sleeve, he couldn't keep still on the edge of the seat.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 43

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Masterlist: http://flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash.tumblr.com/post/145984606962/irresistible-danger-masterlist-negan-x-reader

Characters: Negan x female reader

Words: 3,056

Warnings: nsfw, swearing, fluff

Be Honest With Me

You marched to Negan’s room, your mind racing and so focused on the questions swirling around in it, that you hardly even remembered going up the stairs and walking down the hall. In fact, it almost seemed as if you had just suddenly appeared in front of his door, and before you knew it, your hand was raising to knock on the solid wood. After hearing his muffled, ‘come in,’ you turned the knob and opened the door, stepping inside.

 He was sitting at his desk, black-rimmed glasses perched on his nose and papers spread out all across the gleaming surface of the desk, most likely full of inventory lists and numbers from the recent run. He glanced up sternly, for just a moment, before refocusing on the papers in front of him. He had obviously been expecting someone else, because his eyes widened in surprise and jerked back up to latch onto your own, before his lips stretched into a genuine smile of greeting. You couldn’t help but smile back, a warm, fuzzy feeling starting up in your chest that only added to the confusing plethora of feelings bouncing around inside you.

 Hesitantly closing the door, you stepped further into the room. Negan pulled the glasses off and set them on the desk, before pinching the bridge of his nose between two fingers. The chair squeaked across the floor, as he pushed it back with his legs and stood up.

 He wasn’t wearing his gloves or scarf, and the leather jacket was draped across the back of the chair, leaving his upper body clad in only a grey t-shirt. It took a great deal of willpower not to openly stare at the way the shirt clung to his torso and arms, a teasing reminder of all the tan flesh and tattooed muscles you now knew were hiding under there, thanks to the front row show you had gotten in his room, the other day. Instead, you let your eyes drift for just a moment, before locking them back up on his face. You could think about his body, later. Right now, you needed to know what was going on in his mind.

 His gaze flickered down to the book in your hands, and his grin widened, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he looked at you expectantly, eyes twinkling in amusement. He knew how excited you’d be about the book, how you had never expected to own a copy of it, again. The knot in your chest tightened, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to laugh, cry, or curse him for being so incredibly thoughtful.

 The realization hit that neither one of you had said a word to the other, since you walked in the door. And, despite Negan’s usual love of hearing his own voice, the two of you had been communicating strictly with nonverbals...and had understood each other, perfectly.

 All of a sudden, you felt shy and uncertain, almost out of your depth, being here. Flustered by the clusterfuck of thoughts racing through your head, you held up the book, and asked, “Where the heck did you find a copy of this?”

 His grin stayed in place, as he strolled slowly around the side of the desk, before leaning back against the front of it, a few feet away from you. “Turns out Gregory has a pretty extensive library. I was perusing the shelves while he stammered around, trying to kiss my ass, when they caught my eye.”

 “They?” Your eyes widened in excitement, all other important questions being temporarily pushed to the side, as you hopefully asked, “Did he have the entire series?”

 Negan ran his tongue across his lower lip, then tucked it into his cheek and showcased his pearly whites. “Maybe,” he teased. “Let’s say he did have them all…what would you be willing to wager for them?”

 You felt the first embers of desire start to burn in your stomach, at his words. This was not the path you had wanted the conversation to go, but damn, it was tempting to just ease into flirty banter with him and forget all the questions you had been bottling up. No, this is what always happens. You get distracted by his charm, and don’t get any of the answers you’re hoping for, your brain chimed in, tapping its foot impatiently.

 Giving a mental shake, you steeled your shoulders, and said, “Perhaps we can make a wager, later. I’m more curious to know what made you bring the books back, in the first place.”

 Giving a noncommittal shrug, he tried to play off your question, by dismissively saying, “I saw them, I grabbed them. Simple as that.”

 “But why did you grab them,” you pressed.

 Squinting his eyes at your insistence, as if trying to figure out where you were going with this, he replied, “Does it matter?”

 Giving an exasperated huff, you waved the book in front of you. “Of course it matters, Negan.”

 He looked both confused and annoyed at your interrogation, as well as surprised at you saying his name with such force. You were probably coming across a little more aggressive than would be effective with him, but at this point, you didn’t care. You were sliding down a slippery slope with him, and were looking for some type of lifeline to slow down your descent, before you crashed into the bottom and ended up hurt.

 “Chill out, doll, before you give yourself a fucking aneurysm,” he said, the length of his body still reclining casually, despite the intensity of his expression.

 You gave a small snort of false amusement. Chill out…that was rich, coming from him, the king of no chill.

You wanted to ask him about not sleeping with his wives, but were certain it would only cause him to shut down and not answer you, not to mention he’d want to know where you’d gotten that information. And what if he denied it? Then you’d really look like a fool. No, it was best to stick to the safer topic of the books.

 “I am chill. All I did was ask a simple question: why you brought back the books. You’re the one who’s evading whatever the answer is.”

 “And I did give you a fucking answer, doll. I said I saw them, and therefore, I grabbed them.”

Ignoring his shitty excuse of a reply, you tried another tactic. “I’m just curious as to why you went out of your way to grab them for me, when you didn’t have to. It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, because I do. But it doesn’t make sense, why I would get a gift like this, without having to use my points or work for it.”

 You knew you were probably starting to sound like a petulant child at this point, but to be fair, so was he. You knew that his answer wasn’t the full truth, that there was more to it, and you were done with accepting his vague, sugar-coated answers to all of your serious questions.

He almost looked uncomfortable at being put on the spot like this, his gaze avoiding yours in favor of staring off to the side. He hadn’t been expecting an interrogation to go along with the book, and you wondered if he now regretted the kind gesture. Giving a huff, he ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Does there have to be a reason for me giving you a damn gift?”

 “Yes,” you responded softly, then steeled your shoulders, and said more firmly, “Yes, there does, at this point. I need to know what is going on here. Are we…friends? Friends who exchange books and play chess and go berry picking together?”

 He took a step towards you. “I think it’s safe to say that most people don’t kiss their friend goodbye, before leaving their room,” he said, in reference to the last time you were here.

 “Maybe I do,” you said stubbornly.

 “Well, I sure fuckin’ don’t,” he quipped.

 You had already known that kissing him was a huge deal, especially since you were supposedly the only one who had gotten away with doing so, but his words still caused your subconscious to swell with joy.

 “So, if we’re not friends, then what are we? Technically, you’re my boss here, since you run the Sanctuary. But, last time I checked, employees definitely aren’t supposed to kiss their boss.”

 You knew that you were baiting him, that this whole conversation was borderline ridiculous, but it seemed to be the only way to discuss the topic with him, without scaring him off…without scaring you off, as well. Directly coming out and asking if you were in a relationship was too intimidating. It would cause you to feel too vulnerable, put you at risk to be laughed at by him, or told you were a fool. So, instead, you were ruling out other potential labels, in an effort to make more sense of what was going on, to force him to acknowledge what was going on.

 He hadn’t said anything in response to your boss comment, and was just staring at you neutrally, trying not to give away what he was thinking. However, you focused in on his eyes, looking for any flicker or indicator as to his thoughts, as you said, “So, we’ve ruled out friendship and a strictly professional relationship. And I sure as hell am not one of your wives…so where does that leave us?”

 Still no reaction, so you pressed harder. “Perhaps, I’m more like a companion for hire, then? You pay me with books or a watch, in exchange for my company…” You stared upwards thoughtfully, acting as if you were thinking out loud, contemplating the idea. “Although, that would mean I’m almost like a female escort, or even a hook-”

 You were cut off from finishing that thought by him interrupting in a voice that was low and almost a snarl.

 “Don’t you even fucking think of calling yourself that.”

 Now you were finally getting a reaction. His eyes had lit up and were blazing warmly at you, not at his full-anger glow, more annoyed or frustrated. And his mouth had tightened into a thin line, showcasing his displeasure with your words.

 You felt a tiny ounce of relief, that he had reacted so negatively to that last idea. It wasn’t that you saw his wives as sex workers, per se, although the idea that they had (previously, at least) exchanged sex and companionship with Negan for a lap of luxury screamed “sugar daddy”, at the very least. And that was not the type of arrangement you wanted from him, no matter how nice the watch or amazing the books.

 “So...then, what am I to you?” you asked.

 Realizing that you weren’t going to let the topic go, you could practically feel the frustration vibrating off of him. You were surprised that he hadn’t started pacing at this point, but a glance downwards showed that his hands had a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk at either side of his hips. You were pretty certain that that grip was all that was keeping him from gesturing wildly and doing the expected pacing.

“What do you fucking want from me, doll?” he said, his voice sounding strangled and almost pleading. “What answer are you hoping to hear?”

 “I don’t want a certain answer. I just want the truth,” you simply stated.

He let go of the desk and stood up to his full height, hands coming up from his sides as he harshly waved one in front of himself. You had finally chipped away at his armor, and now that chip was allowing him to finally crack open, and say what he was really feeling.

 “The truth?! The fucking truth is that the second I saw those books on Gregory’s shelf, I thought of you. Of how fucking excited you’d be, if you were there to see them, too. I didn’t stop to think if you deserved them or had enough fucking points for them, or any of that other bullshit. I just grabbed them, because I knew that they’d make you happy. And, apparently, seeing you happy makes me feel fucking happy, as well. Your smile over a book or some berries or a watch is a bright spot in this otherwise fucking depressing place.”

 “And as far as ‘what you are’...I don’t fucking know,” he growled, running a hand through his hair, causing a few pieces to stand up and ruffle his otherwise polished exterior. “Unlike every other fucking person in this place, you don’t fit into any of the categories I have set up. You’re not a wife, you’re not a Savior, and you’re not just a worker who makes points. You’re a goddamn enigma, and I don’t have a label or category for you. You’re just...you’re just you.”

 He finished the last sentence on a harsh exhale, his arms coming back down at his sides, as he seemed to deflate in front of you at the admission. Meanwhile, you were frozen in place, both your brain and subconscious working overtime to process his words. You had wanted his honesty, and he had given it to you. And his response was more than you had hoped for. The fact that he saw you for who you were, as an individual, was huge. You weren’t just a means to an end, or someone who served a specific purpose for his community. You were without a label, a round peg who didn’t fit into any of the square hole categories he had set up to keep everyone at an emotional distance. It felt as though someone had finally pulled the veil from over your eyes, and let the sun shine through. And the sun was telling you that this man in front of you cared about your happiness and well-being, not because it benefited him in any way, but just because he wanted to see you happy.

Oblivious to the epiphany happening in your brain, Negan looked bemused by your extended silence, hands dangling at his sides as he stared at you with uncertainty swirling across his face. “So, there’s the truth. Is that what you wanted to fucking hear?”

 You silently stared at him for a few more long moments, before giving a nod and moving forward. Not stopping until you were close enough to reach out and put your free hand on his chest, you tossed the book on the desk behind him and raised up on tiptoe. A whispered, ‘yes,’ left your lips, right before they sealed onto his own.

 He was frozen for a moment, most likely in surprise, but he recovered quickly. His arms came around your waist, as he pulled you in closer, the length of your body molded into his tall, warm frame. He leaned back into the desk again, bringing you with him, so that your pelvis was nestled into the cradle of his thighs. His lips moved lazily over your own, as if he had all the time in the world. The hand on his chest curled, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his shirt to help anchor you, before the emotions in your chest caused you to float up to the ceiling like a balloon.

 Slowly pulling back from the kiss, you gazed up at him, taking in his handsome face. You smiled and reached up with your other hand to smooth down the pieces of hair that were still sticking up, before running your hand down over the side of his face, your nails scratching through his beard, causing his eyes to flutter slightly.

 “I’m not quite sure what I said right, but doll, remind me to keep saying it, if this is the fucking result,” he purred, chuckling when you rolled your eyes with a smile.

 Leaning forward, you meant to kiss him again, to shut him up before he said something else and ruined the moment. However, the moment didn’t need Negan to ruin it, since the knock at the door did a perfectly good job on its own.

 Freezing, you gave a loud sigh, before letting your head fall forward, your forehead thunking into his chest. “You have got to be kidding me,” you whispered, the words semi-muffled against his shirt.

 “Ah, shit. Sorry, doll. I told Simon to come up after he finished dinner, so we could go over the run and how things went here, while I was gone. I thought you were him knocking, earlier.”

 Taking a deep breath, you lifted your head and looked up at him. He leaned down and gave you a soft peck, before his arms left your waist, allowing you to take a step back from him. You instantly felt cold and bereft from no longer being pressed against him, and your subconscious was throwing a temper tantrum at being interrupted, while your brain practically dragged it away from Negan.

 Grabbing the book from his desk, you turned and walked across the room, towards the door. Feeling bold, you glanced back at him and said, “So, is there any free time on your busy schedule that I can claim in the near future?”

 His lips quirked upwards on one side, and he replied, “Fuck yeah, there is. How about I clear my schedule tomorrow evening, and we have dinner up here? Whatever time works best for you, chef.”

 Grinning, you said, “I should be able to do that, I’ll bring two trays around, say, 7 o'clock?”

 “It’s a date,” he quipped, just as another knock sounded on the door.

 Turning, you grabbed the knob and opened the door, unsurprised to see a smiling Simon on the other side. He looked completely unfazed to see you there, which actually made you more uncomfortable, rather than less so.

 “Hey, there,” he greeted with a small wave. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?’

 “No, of course not,” you said, perhaps a bit too hastily. Darting past him, and out into the hallway, you gave a quick, “Have a good evening,” before starting down the hall.

 It wasn’t until you were almost back to your room, that what Negan said had really sunk in.

 He had called it a date.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

@crzcorgi, @burdenedwithsexyfeels, @hannibalssweaters, @my-achilles--heel, @strangersangel9, @crazytxgradstudent, @aestheticimagines, @kizzy-angellips-deactivated2017, @ericuhlorain, @is-this-you-manning-up-sammy, @see-you-then-winchester, @sunriserose1023, @supernaturalocalypse, @breakfast-of-a-teenage-killer, @lucifers-trash-stash, @grynaszeme, @despoinak27, @crowleyshellkitten, @thewalkingdeadfanatic, @coloursunlimited, @colorsunimaginable, @imhissecret, @generalmeow92, @ornella95, @rapsity, @mygoldenmile, @alexjkk, @angelak72081, @angixla, @aalexandra2712, @nijiru, @belahbelieve, @insomniasnightmare, @kayla-dabel18, @immostlyconfused, @winchesterr67, @rvstinhart, @riotguuuurl, @mega-kawaiipeacheagle, @ioanashalala, @wearethelastgenerationofhope, @sweetdreadfulness, @ashlynbug120, @squid-from-mirkwood, @thatgingefromtheinternet, @whiny--pissbaby, @squirrelmoosejdm, @iwannabeyoursonly, @lydiiv, @heartfulloffandoms, @whoopxd, @mrstrump, @umad0bitch, @no-movrners-no-fvnerals, @nohararin, @doctorswife221b, @toogardenenthusiast, @avasmommy224, @bulletcult, @12noboundaries13, @sabinab-vall, @magnetosgirl, @volatileviolentviolet, @lalabasuco, @ashesashleyweallfalldown, @mamapeterson, @favs-imagines, @bigboldhead, @kezzasaurus-rex, @katyiskool, @assthetic-princess, @halloweenbeauty, @hockeygirl7, @nicholeex, @your-silver-and-gold, @memphisgirl1977, @hellhouse1, @fangirlindenial, @haloaleah, @castielandhisapologies, @waywardsoulpainter, @rizflo-blog, @because-imma-lady-assface, @rosebloodstuffandthangss, @queen0fants, @seirensou, @gnarlydoll, @sentimentalwonderer, @petrovadixon, @burningteenagers, @silverlark1975, @wickednerdery, @vizhi0n, @panicnowandrun, @hopeluvsuworld, @fandomsthatkandiceloves, @g0back2bed, @portsidewonderland, @latebloomerlife, @nerdy4itall, @katrineh, @vitalliundead, @britbrat7502, @katshitcrazy, @venusdemonroe, @leathernegan, @marvelmaxima, @gladixlusamicitia, @dead-head-joker, @botdfallinginreverse, @voidobsession, @oc-ashi, @glittered-unicorn-lava, @alschumer, @1337n00dlz, @loliftingg, @shadowstar123, @wohenpiaoliang, @bloodyrayofsunshine, @devochka15, @charlottedurin99, @superpinkkcat, @georgiagrl1990, @221cbakerstreet, @marvel-imagines-16, @harmonizer666, @linqobe, @kiraaaa28, @sweetvengeancee, @charlottedurin99, @idonthavehusbandsihavelovers, @shanaatjelovell, @buttbuttons, @rheesgrimes, @beaniebabycreature, @toxicstardust, @asshatry, @bookaddictedhedgehog, @yair-can-i-give-you-a-lapid-dance @dean-winchesters-ass, @winmommy, @crimsoncomradeposts, @justtrey19, @brie-cheeze, @caffeine-nights, @alwaysacliche, @morganpierce, @lion-hearts136, @oliviazoee, @downeyofmischief, @neganstrash, @moonlessnight14, @hating-life-rn, @lettersshapes, @blondekel77, @knee-gan, @falloutboywifey, @hisirishsoufflegirl, @lauradoesnotexist, @buckybarnesisalittleshit, @xdiscombobulate, @letsdosciencekids, @miss-nori85, @jessd-lion, @0nlywishfulthinking, @psychedelicelysian, @flawless-luz, @itsneganswife, @isayweallgetdrunk, @therealcaitie, @jalixaa, @corieander, @superavengelocker, @darkchocolaterey, @peachtickler69, @giveittome-itthrowitallaway, @beautiful-violent-vulgar, @thefrenchmistakespn, @myheart4ever47-blog, @xspecialneeds, @clubvengeance, @daydreamsandchai, @ayodaddydom, @family-friendly-villain, @rune-skyjumper, @deanssweatheart, @comeseemycage, @negans-wifey, @deez666, @fandom-imaginessss, @cooooooooooooolson, @thewalkingdeadhighway, @beingafangirlisinmydna, @kedds52, @karaokke, @j03221, @mimiab94, @happynothlit, @romanceyour-ego, @malmaldude, @selfishlydisp0ssessed, @death2thevirgin, @ahappysoul0, @scentedshitcollector, @londoncapsule, @ohokaybyethen, @elenuch, @despoina-nt, @hotfornegan, @boohoolisa, @neganslittlebae, @collette04, @miiraal, @dreamsndarkness, @jaylaelizbethw, @cupcake5365, @enchantedfleur, @kellyn1604, @badsongwinchester, @ronweaselz, @starshinesupergirl, @littlepsychobear, @dixonwinchesterlover, @xnegansgirlx, @mrhowardstark, @soullessbody, @trishaferdream, @prettyepiic, @negandaddyjdm, @monicapernas, @jasoncrouse, @libby822, @megnog, @sc1525, @sigorneyweaver, @chief-peach, @frandalf, @ali-pennell, @daintyunicorn, @backseat-negan, @speedy-secret, @ladyhawk4133, @li-ssu, @nerdyowlbookfreak, @beltz2016, @yellatthetopofyourlungs, @goddess-of-sloth, @thhriller, @perfectus-in-morte, @emlchick, @harry-titss, @negan--is--god, @you-just-got-jacknifed, @papa-maddow, @zombeeemomeee, @jml509, @xfandomqueenblrx, @babyblues915, @jeffreydeanneganstrash, @scrumpescapes, @faith-in-dean, @musiccitymel, @tolaughistolove, @velvet-vvitch, @mssharingisfun, @mad-ren, @mwesterfeld1985, @fuckyeahsaviors, @twdncgan, @wheresthekillswitch, @marvelmaximoff, @bamby0304, @carleymartinez, @ryangoslingstanktop, @genevievedarcygranger, @princessmoonspunky, @foofyschmoofer, @magpiegirl80, @cass-xxo, @efeysa, @sillykittyface, @jmackie1983, @supernaturally-lucky, @multireality

[bxebxee]

Before I pass out, here’s the werewolf jimin i was supposed to write and never finished.

x

x

x

You never thought you’d actually enjoy attending Yoongi’s wedding.

When the invitation first came in the mail notifying you of his impending marriage to some human girl, you weren’t exactly jumping with joy to congratulate your ex, but at least you didn’t feel that weird, empty anger that had plagued you for months. And since Yoongi was pack you had to go… There was no way out of this.

You had steeled yourself for a mental breakdown at worst, and boredom at best. But nowhere did you factor in Park Jimin, one of Yoongi’s groomsmen and the current reason for your sanity.

“Are you hitting on me?” you ask, more stating a fact than really trying to get an answer out of him.

Jimin smiles and takes a sip of champagne. “Took you long enough,” he mutters.

And you try not to blush; you try your damnedest to manage the palpitations in your heart, but it has been so long since another wolf looked at you like the way Jimin is looking at you right now.

Like he wants to eat you.

“Don’t pout,” you reply, “It’s not a common thing.” Full werewolves generally don’t come onto you…. Something about scary, annoying alpha females apparently turned them off.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “I would have thought that when I told you to ’come join my table when your feet hurt too much from standing in those sexy heels’ it would have been obvious…” That was about an hour ago, and you decided to approach Jimin when his friends vacated the table.

“Why?” you blurt out, giving up on controlling your emotions. “Why would you…”

“Have you seen you?” he asks, shaking his head in disbelief at the way you second guess yourself. “You’re ridiculous.” Jimin’s gaze is purposefully obscene as he runs his tongue over his lower lip while eyeing you up and down.

“Stop,” you hiss, and it’s a lie. You don’t want him to stop looking, and you don’t actually know why you’re so embarrassed.

“You know…I’ve fucked a human girl exactly once in my life,” Jimin suddenly says, switching topics like it was no big deal. “Just the once.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Keep going, you want to say instead.

“Because you need to know that while human girls may be soft and cute, and they may even listen and obey… they’ll never get it.”

“Get what?” you swallow, aware of where this was going.

“What it means to really submit.”

Your mouth goes dry as you swallow a few times. Jimin’s nostrils flare the slightest bit as he tries to get a whiff of your scent as discreetly as possible.

“You’re talking to an alpha,” you remind him.

Jimin smiles, and your heartbeat quickens when you see the mischievous twinkle of his eyes and the smallest hint of pearly, white fangs peeking out from the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, I know,” he chuckles, “I can’t stop picturing you riding the hell out of me. I’d so get on my back for you.” You suppress a shiver and cross your legs, toes shifting uncomfortably in your heels at the stirring feelings of excitement. “Bet you’re really good at pulling hair…”

Your eyes scan the crowd to see if anyone is looking or listening.

“I’m very, very happy for Yoongi,” Jimin smirks, “And I’m even more grateful that he’s off married to his human wife. Hope you feel the same way.”

So he knows. Jimin knows about the brief history between the two of you.

“I do now,” you concede shyly, not knowing why a beta wolf was currently making you act like a giggly schoolgirl.

Jimin stands up and moves to leave the table. He pushes his chair in with a wink in your direction.

“I need to use the restroom,” he mentions off-handedly.

“Oh, okay-”

“You should join me,” he cuts you off.

Oh.

*

“I can’t believe I’m letting a Beta do this to me,” you sigh, eyes crossing as Jimin fingers you deep. Your tattered panties lay on the floor, ruined beyond repair. You pant against the stall door as quietly as you can while Jimin drags his fangs over your neck. He can bite down at any time, and the knowledge fills you with no small amount of excitement.

The satiny fabric of your dress slips down your hips, partially obscuring Jimin’s view of your ass. It’s a shame, and Jimin longs to rip the flimsy dress off of you, but he knows he can’t do that – not in the middle of Yoongi’s wedding reception. He lets himself indulge in a few minutes of imagination as you coat his fingers with your arousal, his mind running wild with all the things he would do when he could truly Have you.

(The first thing he’d do is bend you over on the bed and lick you until you couldn’t see straight. And then he’d tease and tease and tease even more until you presented to him properly like a good bitch.)

Hearing you comment about his beta status makes him smirk because you’re so transparent.

“You’ve never fucked a wolf, have you?” Jimin asks softly, removing his fingers from inside you to rub wet circles over your clit. “Of course you haven’t. Because they’re all idiots.”

“Are you sure you’re a Beta?” you croak, not believing that Jimin (sweet, kind, shy Jimin) was actually saying these things to you.

“Trust me, you’d know if I was an Alpha,” Jimin chuckles into your ear before taking your earlobe into his mouth. “We wouldn’t be here if I was an Alpha. We would be at home – naked – and my dick wouldn’t come out of you until I got you good and pregnant with my pups.”

“Jimin,” you moan, resting your head on his shoulder as he continues to pleasure you with his fingers. “Please…”

“You want it?”

A thrill races through your body because yes, you desperately want him inside. Your voice is stuck somewhere, so you can only nod and hum in assent. And that’s all he really needs to shove you against the stall door, pulling your hips out and pushing the dress up once more. You adjust your footing to accommodate him.

“Say it,” Jimin orders.

You close your eyes at the demand, your face hot with arousal and excitement.

“I want you,” you parrot in a clear voice. “I want to get fucked by your dick.” It feels like something abstract and new to be in a position where you are the one being ordered around for a change.

Jimin squeezes your ass as he smells your pheromones and arousal fill the space with its thick scent. And there it was – the reason he could never be with human women again. Human women never smelled this good. Jimin rubs his dick over your entrance, nearly whining at how you dribble over his dick with your wetness. And when he finally pushes in, it’s heaven.

Your legs shake as Jimin eases into you. He’s pressed flush against your back, and you can feel and hear him breathing hard as he goes still. You want to cry at his thickness and the overwhelming feeling of belonging as he holds you tight.

“Jimin…” It’s barely a moan but more than a whimper.

It’s different. He’s different. And then he moves.

You let out a nasally, keening whine when Jimin rotates his hips without thrusting, letting his dick rub against your inner walls in a slow, circular motion. A hand drifts over to the back of your neck, and Jimin squeezes gently, letting his thumb press soothing indentations on your skin.

“M-mmore…” you groan, unable to enunciate clearly when he’s wrecking you without even thrusting.

“I don’t think you could take it,” Jimin chuckles, barely twisting his hips to keep you far away from the precipice of pleasure.

You grind your ass back against him, but he puts an end to that quickly by pinning you fully against the stall door.

“Jimin please,” you beg, “Please, please, please, please…..”

Your shameless begging is rewarded by Jimin pressing a kiss to your cheek and then eventually moving over to your lips. You engage him frantically, hoping that he’d let up and do you Both a favor by screwing you until you couldn’t walk.

And Jimin is also close to giving up the pretense of having any self-control, having wanted to fuck you for some time now. Except right as Jimin begins to rock against you in shallow thrusts, the door to the bathroom bangs open.

Feminine giggles from two women sound off as you hear the deep chuckle of a one Kim Taehyung.

“Ladies, no fighting… There’s enough of me to share.”

You swallow in surprise from Taehyung’s abrupt entrance, but you yelp when Jimin does the unexpected and thrusts into your roughly from behind.

There is a pause in the giggles and confused, hushed voices, but Taehyung laughs it off. “Looks like everyone’s having a little slutty wedding sex.”

And that’s the rest of Taehyung you could bother to think about because yes, slutty wedding sex is driving you mad with horniness.

“Fuck off, Tae,” Jimin finally mutters, exhaling loudly as he bottoms out inside you, not holding back this time. Jimin’s thrusts are even and smooth, and if you weren’t so distracted by the obscene sucking noises coming from outside, you’d probably be into this more.

As retaliation for the semi-interruption and mood killer, you let your voice join in with Jimin’s.

“Yes, baby I love it,” you moan theatrically. It’s rooted in sincerity, but you’re normally a quiet lover. Jimin straight up laughs as he grabs your hips for torque. You scowl at his reaction. “Just for that I’m gonna ride you at home and not let you cum.”

Jimin loses his rhythm as he jostles his hips faster.

“Fuck,” comes Taehyung’s voice.